break my heart for what is yours, everything i am for your kingdom's cause

.


another response to a bit from thoreau's walden--

The intellect is a cleaver; it discerns and rifts its way into the secret of things. I do not with to be any more busy with my hands than is necessary. My head is hands and feet. I feel all my best faculties concentrated in it, My instinct tells me that my head is an organ for burrowing, as some creatures use their snout and fore-paws, and with it I would mine and burrow my way through these hills.

Thoreau and I agree, apparently, on the importance of the mind, the fact that the intellect provides merit in life, and without the growth of knowledge and curiosity, one is rendered incapable of divining truth. Knowledge and curiosity are extremely important to me, and although the author of this passage and I would most likely exercise our intellects in entirely different manners, we seem to be of the same mine concerning the dominance of the brain over the body; the human mind is a masterfully crafted work of art. He believes that with the mind one should search for answers, delve into secrets and concentrate on discerning the answers to life. I however, find such efforts to be, although not necessarily unimportant or useless, futile to a certain extent that we are, regardless of our incredulous ability to think, human, after all. In my opinion, mortals were not made to comprehend the choices behind our creation; the most we can do with our minds is to create ourselves, and through our creations, communicate and deliver means of improvement in society. I do ponder and write often of the philosophical questions concerning the secrets that Thoreau himself endeavored to reveal, but I find greater value employing my mind and acumen towards invention and fabrication.














matthew: I was one of the insatiables. The ones you'd always find sitting closest to the screen. Why do we sit so close? Maybe it was because we wanted to receive the images first. When they were still new, still fresh. Before they cleared the hurdles of the rows behind us. Before they'd been relayed back from row to row, spectator to spectator; until worn out, secondhand, the size of a postage stamp, it returned to the projectionist's cabin. Maybe, too, the screen was really a screen. It screened us... from the world.
--from the dreamers
i recommend that you watch it. one of my favorites.










i think about the future and it's frightening. the glory and wonder of it is fading, terror increases, inch by angry inch. there is fear because i see myself alone.


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the whole earth shakes

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current listen: hosanna--hillsong united.
and yes i am aware that it is a gospel song.




*blushes with shame*
i apologize for not having posted anything in so long. i've been rather mortified by the steadily mounting quantity of sheer work i have to do.. O_O.
nonetheless i'm sorry.

tomorrow's hallow's eve-- must prepare my annual freudian slip costume.



yes, well... i've been reading thoreau again for english. i remember reading walden and civil disobedience in freshman year. thank god i read the latter book first since, if i had read walden prior to reading civil disobedience, i most likely would have never picked anything up by thoreau again. i loved civil disobedience. walden was just...
it's interesting though, because snippets of it, certain quotes, are actually very appealing. it's just as a whole the book doesn't attract me at all.

I learned this, at least, by my experiments; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. He will put some things behind, will pass and invisible boundary…

I agree with Thoreau in this statement, but I do not think that it is all-inclusive. Usually, with honest and diligent work towards one’s goal, one may find contentment. The matter of obtaining the said goal is not necessarily a matter of concern in obtaining happiness, for it is the effort, the knowledge that one has exerted as much as he or she is capable of, that fosters contentment and self-acceptance. However, in some cases, the disposition of the individual in question may prevent such satisfaction from breeding. I myself am an example of this; with my overtly ambitious nature and vulnerability in regard to the possibility of not being able to attain my goals, I doubt that failure would bring even a glimmer of satisfaction, the output of effort aside. In the stead of fulfillment, I would be faced with anger directed towards myself, insecurity and most likely self-disgust. The mere fact that I have given as much as I can and done as much as possible would never be enough to assuage failure. However, this reaction is particular to me and those with similar temperaments, at least concerning ambition and success; Thoreau’s opinion is thus indubitably that of most readers—one would think that in the dusk that accompanies failure, the rational reaction to submit to would be optimism, most likely as a defense against the maddening sadness that one would otherwise succumb to in the aftermath of having what may be one’s life work be put to waste since, honestly, there isn’t much else that one can do that offers a remote chance at recovering after such a significant failure. It is only that I, personally, have never put much stock in happy endings in the first place.






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more than once

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and here she is !
the gorgeous one:









i saw him and her today. i saw them kiss and i saw them--- i saw him-- smile. and laugh. he hasn't done that in such a way in front of me for so long...
and we didn't say one word to each other. not a single one throughout the entire night. i had a migraine that made me feel as though my brain was literally suffering third degree burns, but even worse than that was the weight in my blood from just watching them.
it's interesting; i've never wanted him romantically. we've never had such an entanglement, but i think that simply because of the sheer amount of caring that i've exercised towards him for the past six years, knowing that he chooses not to talk to me and gives me flimsy excuses, knowing that i can no longer make him happy, knowing that he no longer wants me to make him happy, and is indifferent to it, even...
indifference is worse than hate. it really is. hate actually requires attention and a conscious effort towards feeling so much for the said person. but indifference, the idea of just not giving a damn as to whether or not someone lives or dies, hurts or not...
and i don't understand how. or when. six years and suddenly he's indifferent.
i wanted to cry. but my head hurt too much and my eyes wouldn't focus. she kept looking at me, and he tried not to.
life seems to be getting lonelier.









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deep rumbling line of sound

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY LILY LOVE ! ! !

i'm so so sorry that i didn't say so yesterday, but i wasn't able to go online and thus i couldn't message you or post anything :[

ALSO !!!
yo this chick was in the la times !!!
i'll scan the picture as soon as i can and post it, but i'm at school at the moment, working on the school newspaper for deadline night, so... :]

~aria loves lily.












and, yes. i'm not at home and unfortunately i don't have the comfort of being able to pensively post thoughts for this entry, but...

i was thinking earlier today about the fact that certain people don't fully comprehend the extent to which life can be painful and taxing on the self and the strength of mind.
i have friends-- dear friends-- who suffer tremendously either as a result of family-- a unit that is undeniably and, at times, unfortunately a cause of a disproportionate amount of strain; they grit their teeth and draw blood in order to cope but they never utter a sound in order to complain. when isolated or only in the presence of close friends, they allow themselves to be vulnerable-- they break down at times and reveal the weight of this thing called life, but in public they don't intrude on others by complaining or laying down their problems on the shoulders of others.
on the other hand, i know others that are undeniably fortunate to have been blessed with functioning parents, intact homes, health, love... yet they never stop expending energy on trying to make their "misfortunes" known. every small thing that is not in accordance with their wished is a subject of complaint. and i suppose everyone, particularly at this age, is guilty of that. but some are admittedly more so than others.
makes me sick.







.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LILY LOVE ! ! !

i'm so so sorry that i didn't say so yesterday, but i wasn't able to go online and thus i couldn't message you or post anythign :[

ALSO !!!
yo this chick was in the la times !!!
i'll scan the picture as soon as i can and post it, but i'm at school at the moment, working on the school newspaper for deadline night, so... :]

~aria loves lily.

i will try to fix you.

.







my current sunday school teacher is male.
i've never had a male teacher before at church. when i was younger and an adamant feminist, i would at times find the gender division in sunday school to be unjust, wondering why we couldn't simply all have class together.
now, i'm still just as passionate about female rights, but i've realized-- most likely as a result of my intellectual growth-- that the separation, specifically because it's sunday school, is crucial. for one thing, it's an entirely different dynamic with girls in comparison to boys, and i'm not saying one is better than the other, but in an environment that concentrates on matters so close to one's essence, like spirituality and faith, the natural differences between men and women can't be ignored. and i think that i'm realizing this to such a degree because of our age-- junior year of high school is, in my opinion, rather significant in our development as young adults, not only because of the academic strain from the school year but because of our progress with maturity and emotional development; we're not yet the supposedly adult seniors that are preparing to embark on their college careers, yet we're no longer the immature underclassmen that we were less than a year ago. i can feel it, as hackneyed as it sounds-- this year seems so much more ambiguous and emotive than previous years. i think differently. and i'm sure that it's not only me.
i know that i would never claim to be a firm christian and that my journey with my faith has involved entanglements that i have yet to rid myself of, but church has been for me a certain form of sanctuary where i can be emotionally at peace within myself. no, i'd never openly discuss my problems with my sunday school class, and i still can't call myself close to them even though i've known the majority of them for my entire life, but i at least don't have to alter my disposition. i don't have to worry about judgement-- they might look at me oddly and question my faith, but they don't apply false assumptions and regardless of their level of maturity, every church member has seemed, to me, open to hearing me speak. it's only that i have been thus far unwilling to do so, partly to protect myself and partly to protect them.
this aura of peace hasn't been marred, but it seems.. interrupted, somehow lessened by the abrupt presence of males. and my teacher, although he's understanding and he seems to be a nice enough person, is a male, after all, and it's through no fault of his own, but he simply won't be able to completely connect with his female students, and i'm afraid that this year, some of us girls will need an older, influential and spiritually right person to guide them. i'm sure he'll be helpful and open to leading us in whatever way he can, but there's only so much a man can do to understand and heal a female psyche-- the two genders may as well be different species, you know? neither is inferior, just drastically different.
also, i'm worried about dissension amongst the girls as well. we haven't necessarily been... close. maybe it's only me-- i know that some of them are good friends, but as an overall group i've never felt a stable cohesiveness that may have allowed us to open up to each other. we've always been guarded, and i can't say that i really know any of them, and i've been attending this church ever since i was born-- in fact, the church itself was founded the same year; my mother is one of the oldest members and i've never gone to a different institution-- ever elder knows my name and my mothers, and so many adults have seen me grow since i was an infant. none of them know me, really, but my family's name has been a constant in the church's directory since its creation in spite of my father not being a member.
during our sophomore year, the girls had finally seemed, although the difference was meager and not necessarily profound, to be allowing each other into the lives of one another. we had finally taken a step towards the center of the circle, the circumference of which we had been loitering on for so long, looking at each other with indifferent gazes. and i'm... just afraid of that being for nothing. afraid that this year will bring further steps back.

it's odd. everyone who knows me wouldn't consider me to be someone who acts like a christian. and i don't; i don't say that i do. but that doesn't mean i'm not spiritual, and that doesn't mean that i don't struggle tremendously with my faith and beliefs. and i do think about these things. rather often, actually.









.

sick sparrow

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current listen: "a mouth of fingers" by telephone jim jesus






today i woke up too late to go to church, and i guess my mother didn't want to bother me since she didn't make me go.
after i climbed out of bed, tied my hair and washed up, i went downstairs and had a cup of soy milk. then i had some v8. and now i'm drinking iced black coffee.

and i just finished watching three times. i really love hsiao-hsien hou. he's an amazing director-- i've loved every film that i've watched of his. i just wish that his films were released in the u.s. anybody who's really into cinematography would glean something useful from watching his films.
and there's an actress named qi shu who is amazing. she's in at least three of hou's films and i've loved her in them, especially millennium mambo. she's very pretty on top of being a great young actress; i can't take my eyes off her whenever she's on the screen. she has a certain presence that i, personally, find to be riveting. and it's not just her appearance.













your words were anonymous as though it did not matter whether or not it was you who uttered them. they were only half formed, spoken with a chilled nonchalance.








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forgiveness doesn't run so deep.

.






today was a young day. i had fun and understood that it was a choice. i worried about tomorrow, but i smiled and wished myself luck.

in art history we covered the greek hellenistic era and i came to realize that this, this diffusion of pathos and emotional significance, is what i consider to be my definition art. painted pots are gorgeous and technically impressive, but the emotional content is what makes the piece truly artistic.
we also reviewed the classical era, and that just reasserted the fact that human civilization really has not progressed much in regard to intellect and humanity. we're simply cloaked in metal devices that have replaced the outstanding minds of older, no less intelligent, civilizations.
















you took the bones of someone else through your bed, leaving me dry. i felt the red marrow there, left behind-- such stains on your bed.






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for the cause of fear

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this is me today. i felt like seeing my own face, just to check that i'm concrete, something tangible and susceptible to feeling and life.











.....











me: why don't we talk anymore
him: we have nothing in common
me: ... so.
him: you like talking about art and literature and stuff. i don't know those things.
me: five years we've been friends and i've never asked you to talk about something you didn't want to.
him: i know.

i feel as though he is, to come degree, consciously drawing himself back and away from where i'm standing. something has shifted and i'm no longer as great a concern as i used to be, which is fine. it's just a little cold, that's all.







.

~royal

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let me.. uhm, peep back in for a second here.



why? because i love wes anderson like no other.
and because film stills are amazing. i look at films in an entirely different way when i see film stills-- something about rendering motionless a genre of art that is so dependent on constant motion.






.

the skin was too thick

.







being clean is difficult.

















i was thinking today during lunch as i was watching my friends talk to each other. there really isn't anything more important to the human psyche other than companionship. there are different forms of companionship-- mainly platonic, filial, and romantic; but it's really all the same. that undeniable want of being important to somebody, that need to be loved. i don't think that's absent in anybody. even darius. during this search for love and concern, we pursue our material dreams, discover and build, attempting to mend the broken seam that we were born with.
when i look forward and think of the plan that i've made for myself, i realize that my entire life is that search. maybe it's because of my youth, but i can't imagine reaching that end, that completeness that comes from knowing, in a concrete way, that one is truly loved. my ambitions are so terrifyingly great but i can't be sure as to whether or not all i really want is someone to hug me when i need it, and even when i don't.




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mountains sweating from the weight of the sky

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written in less than 2 minutes, then performed for poetry club today at lunch:


what did you say?
"i'd like you to kiss my marrow
lick it and love it
in that lavish way you do."

that's what you said, so i did.
then i came up to breathe with
lips stained and wet-- the sheen
of red brick colored rust,
young blood,
sweet and metallic,
orgasmic and agonizing.

i drank it up.
all because you said.






...












my friendship with him is the most self-taxing aspects of my life right now. every time he becomes involved in with another girl, a great dissent occurs in our relationship that, to me, is heartbreaking in that regardless of the fact that i know him better and i've been closer to him longer, i'm, once again, a lower priority. maybe it's just the different value placed on friendship by women and men. the former tends to value friendship more, i think. they tend to grasp the tremendous amount of self-expense required in a deep friendship while, for men, the romantic relationship is always more crucial. it's upsetting, though. we've been friends since i was 11? 12? even younger, maybe, and i've held his hand through so much. when he had problems with his health i remember not being able to sleep because i was worrying as to whether or not he'd be okay. when he had problems with is family i tried my best to be there. and even with everything that happened with his previous girlfriend, i allowed for our friendship to be reaffirmed and cultivated. he expects me to forgive him for everything-- i have, really. and yes, he was there for me too, but because i didn't want to bother him even more with my problems, i stopped telling him about my struggles a long time ago. plus, i can't speak with him or confront him on the same emotional level-- he's monotone and unresponsive. and it's incredibly difficult for me because i don't allow people to be close to me in the first place-- i'm incredibly selective with whom i'm close friends with, and i'm not saying that one enters a friendship in order to receive something in return, but it's just that there seems to be no acknowledgement on his part that i have given so much of myself to him. it feels as though i am the caretaker of the relationship, always, and i am the only one expending any energy into maintaining it. he doesn't speak to me unless i speak to him. and when he does talk to me it's short and insignificant-- barely enough to maintain civility. but-- civility? do i not deserve a bit more than just civility, particularly from him? currently, the friendship is at a stagnant, awkward state. i despise awkward feelings when it comes to friends, or anyone for that matter, and i don't understand why it is that he's allowing for such a disintegration to occur and why he has not yet understood that i am too exhausted and tired of supporting the bridge between us. i want-- it's not just a want-- i need him to understand the worth of my friendship. i don't simply bare myself, vulnerable and entirely emphatic, for just anybody. i don't mean to sound condescending, it's simply a matter of self-worth and, to be honest, dignity. i don't feel as though i have any dignity in this relationship because i'm constantly falling to my knees in front of him only to try and get his attention. i can't even call that a true friendship. and no, he's not exactly mature. and he's not exactly intelligent. and he's not exactly articulate. and i'm aware that i don't say that i love him, but in my opinion, through my actions towards him, isn't it obvious that i care for him more than i do myself, even? is it not obvious that i value him? but now i have to force myself to question why i value him. perhaps because we cemented our friendship when we were so young and i was yet more open to being friends with just anybody, i made the initial mistake of being friends with him at all because to tell you the truth, we're entirely incompatible. and such tension has now become so palpable and destructive that i receive nothing from the relationship but anxiety and pain, yet i'm almost sure that he's indifferent to it all. this has never been for me, you know? i've cut at my skin and taken my blood to replenish his, i've tried-- i've really tried-- to be as best of a friend as possible because i found him to be beautiful in his own right and i just cared so much. i've struggled with the fact that i had to forgive him for things that people are really not forgiven for and i've even gone so far as to allow him to treat me in the same way again. and yet i'm here trying to fix everything, always. i can't do that-- i'm not at the point where i can expend myself so continuously. for the sake of myself and in the effort to protect myself from him, i feel as though i have to sever it. but it makes me nauseous to know that he won't even notice or feel anything towards it whatsoever-- not that i wish pain upon him, but only that the utter lack of acknowledgement and affection, particularly at this stage in the relationship, is too detrimental. i'm giving and giving and i don't mind not receiving, but it's the fact that i'm not giving for any certain reason anymore, and as a result of his indifference and silence, the giving has morphed into wasting. and my feelings are too intense and personal and precious to me to merely throw away. but i feel like that's exactly what i'm doing, because i'm not reaching him, since he obviously doesn't care whether or not i do. i don't want to cause him pain or anger him by confronting him and trying to explain why i need to break away, but i he doesn't respond at all and i'm always placed in the position where i have to consciously try to maintain his interest in the matter. so what am i supposed to do when i can't even get him to listen to me; this same person who instigated the erosion my own sense of self-worth while i still clung to him, wishing that he'd pay attention and, quite simply, be a good friend.











.

the female sex is an incredibly brave thing.

.










sooo maybe i should update more often.

i have a ton of art work to post. a TON. but it's way too much to scan and i can't find my digital camera right now, so.








tomorrow, i'm going to go see angela, and we'll talk in hyperactive voices that bark with short laughs and whisper in vulnerability all in the same conversation. i haven't really spoken to her at length in a while since she's been at victoria island and i never contacted her while she was there-- i didn't want to disturb her writing process. but her book is now finished and i think both of us have so much to say that tomorrow will be wonderfully cathartic and amusing.
for me, talking to her is a release. i've always been more comfortable conversing with those older than i am, but in all honesty, even to the adults that i'm really close with, i don't allow myself to be completely who i am since there's always that bridge of expectation and propriety that i have to maintain. i'm expected to maintain it. most adults converse with me with the preconception that i can. i can talk to them in a mature fashion and they won't feel as though they're speaking to an immature adolescent. and i love that, i really do. but at the same time i feel as though i can't allow myself to be weak or exhausted in front of them. not really. they always acknowledge that i think too much and sleep too little but they don't particularly understand why i push myself to be that way; they assume that i'm simply overachieving, never understanding the root of such self-taxation, that willingness to physically undermine your health and safety to achieve an intellectual goal, or that temerity that i tend to be far too attracted to.
but with angela i can remove the layers that i normally cling to for the benefit of others and their comfort in being in contact with me. she allows for the childish aspects for me to bubble up and peek through the precocious skin and she simultaneously takes in the rips and tears and blood and sweat and anger. and even more than that-- she allows for it and then goes on to say that it's beautiful.
you don't find that often, you know?
does anyone understand what i'm trying to say?
i think angela would.















.

its not even that okay trust me

.








.









today i wore a dark brown suede coat. i looked at darius and realized that he has so must arrogance and intelligence and also so much insecurity and fear that stops you from condemning him for being so proud. the defects of his personality are, in my opinion, so virulent that knowing him inspires sympathy more than it does anger or frustration at his controlling character. it's interesting how, after getting to know a person, one can make deductions like that that are probably true. i mean, someone who doesn't know him wouldn't come to the same conclusions about him.
just makes me want to slap myself for judging anyone, really. the human being is so complex that it's not even rational to judge.

today i fixed the card that i made for mister roubian. i spelled a word wrong on it, so i had to restamp some things.
doesn't it make you upset when great people-- people that not you not only respect, but love-- people who respect you back and to whom you're indebted to-- suffer things beyond any one's control and it's as though God has made a mistake.

today i realized that the company you keep says so much about you. there's a boy i know who's most likely the least mature person on the face of this planet, and his friends are exactly like him. go figure.
but then i look at myself and realize that the people i hang out with at lunch don't know either who whitney houston is or what the word oppressive is.
so what the fuck does that say about me.

today i went to optometrist.



.

go ahead

.





current listen: fix you-- coldplay
current read: atonement-- ian mcewan
current watch: across the universe











his hands were somewhat warm, lips full and ambiguous in the mess of dark shapes and small fears. i didn't hear any breathing but my own and i didn't feel anything but the formless weight of his body on mine. we were fully clothed. but it was dark, the day having indulged itself with the early rest allotted to it in the dregs of summer. he left the exposure only half justified, a good deal of it still bare and quite vulnerable, pathetically forced to fend for itself in the rustling of his sudden departure. i remained, sprawled on the bed, shirt half buttoned, for a long time afterwards, wanting to sleep but feeling too apologetic to do so, wondering at how brazen one could be, how unbelievably and idiotically selfish i had just allowed myself to be. this was how a gentle and dark subject of discussion was made, one to be avoided and spoken of in very circumspect tones. we had made with mild hands, in a room lacking light and heat, the spark of mistrust that would, with its virulence and veracity, teach us the depth of the word friendship.

maybe random pocket lint.

.

i don't have a sense of time these days.




yaaaayuh. finally got my cigarettes.




ho. remember that time when you and i left for a different world; we drove two hours to get there because the palace was in west hollywood and there was traffic, plus we got lost twice? remember how we really weren't old enough? and remember how the host had such sweet breath and cold hands? remember the music and the fading light of seven p.m, late summer?




























weekend.

tomorrow i'm going to go see across the universe and, maybe, silk. plus i have so MUCH painting to catch up on. so much that it's not even funny.
sunday-- church& after, U of W info session at the director's guild of america on sunset blvd. then i have to go to angie's before going to LAX.
busyyyy.