i want to want nothing.

.

I am on hiatus until perhaps mid-January.



Going through some personal issues and also working through college apps. Channel me any strength or wisdom. I'll take it with as much grace as I am capable of bearing.




After the hiatus I will be back with full force, because I know no other form of force.






.

michelle wie is surprisingly not articulate. but lily, on the other hand...

.






stupidxstace (9:01:22 PM): *le sigh*
stupidxstace (9:01:25 PM): what i would love
stupidxstace (9:01:28 PM): is a justice remix
stupidxstace (9:01:29 PM): of mama mia
stupidxstace (9:01:33 PM): holy fucking shit cock






tee hee
HEE HEE
HA !







.

my name is overwhelming to me

.



tonight i go out and bless the air for being so cold.

i was thinking about music and god today as we were discussing the dan graham exhibit that's coming up for moca..
it's interesting how for some people, music is enough--the human mind is enough; emotions and beauty of life are enough and more to fill us and to motivate us into obsession, passion, pride... the doors, patti smith, sonic youth... you watch their live concert videos and both the musician and the crowd are completely pulled underneath a tide of very human, very honest and very raw energy.
but for others.. they spend the majority of their lives searching for more, yearning and following something that is greater than life (could anything ever be?) and praying fervently for something that lies outside of human understanding. this thing called faith and it's demands on the soul... i don't know.
i don't know which is greater; i don't know which constitutes a better life. i think these things change with age, and i think these things can coexist, although it's never easy to bear.







.

i just sit and question for hours upon hours, and then i'm given morning; because that's just how the world works--it just give you a brand new day

.


music: sigur ros--ara batur; makes me want to cry and laugh and run and shout and love everyone





sometimes i want to leave everything and go to europe, meet someone funny enough to room with and share nice wine with him.
sometimes i want to cry until the day shakes away from me.
sometimes i want to make foreign policy decisions and write treaties.
sometimes i just have to assume that the crevices in my brain haven't started cracking and bleeding.
sometimes i want to do nothing but lie in the comfortable, soft bed of my favorite boy all day, smoking with him and being soft-spoken.
sometimes i want to bang my head against the wall.
sometimes i want to be secretary general of the united nations.
sometimes i would rather be a hermit and isolate myself from everyone.
sometimes i want to spend entire days in parks and laugh and laugh and laugh.

all the time, i don't know.















you are the war to end all the wars inside me. the soldier runs, face scarred and mind ablaze with the thought of home. and in the distance a sun quakes. closer, the heart echoes. i feel the tremors stop, the voices halt, and your blood is on my hands again. the fight is still and quiet, giving us time to cry as we need, to sing as we must and to love in the only way we can.




.

i take your clothes off and they fall reluctantly, as if they know how much of an honor it is to be on your body.

.


thanksgiving
was nice--dinner with jennifer and lisa. food is overwhelming. we went for a walk/smoke later and talked.

i'm thankful for my friends. i'm thankful for lily, mary, dominique and neha. rick, beautiful rick, and chris--forever my chris. and i'm thankful for mayur mayur mayur. mayur, idiotic mayur.

i'm thankful for family. my sisters. my mother. my father.




and i'm thankful for the beautiful things; the things that i know exist in this world, even though often they are hidden by other, more saddening things.


.

mary mary. sweet mary.

.


it's raining outside.
it makes me want to weep.
the world is new.





it has been a while, my loves. my hearts. my souls.

since i've been gone i've
rekindled a friendship and
discussed having a romantic relationship with said friend
although i really think i like
someone else
who is too old and too uninterested and too...
nice
for me.


keeping my shirt on didn't do much good.




chuck palahniuk said that "when you're an addict, you can go without feeling anything except drunk or stoned or hungry. still, when you compare this to other feelings to sadness anger, fear, worry, despair, and depression, well, an addiction no longer looks so bad. it looks like a very viable option."
i am addicted to cigarettes, staying awake, sex, coffee, self-destructive behavior, writing, painting, and chris.
but. like chuck said. compared to everything else, i'm fine with what i've got.

keeps the monsters at bay.













i will post more-- promise.

secret heart...

.

... why so mysterious ?





i... am unsure. last time, i did this to keep him. i offered myself physically and made myself into temptation in order to ensure that he would stay. i used my body to keep him close to me, and we fucked in my room, the window open and the sun bright. it was too bright for me. i've rarely felt so dirty and vulnerable before. i saw everything, his facial expression and the clenched jaw. it was the worst.
and now, this time, i can't be positive that i'm not doing it again. it's been a year since we've spoken, emotions have been either erased or sufficiently subdued, but i'm still relatively frightened of him, or more frightened of what he is capable of making me feel. so when i kiss him, i don't know whether or not it's because i'm insecure. i don't even know how secure i am. i want to put my fingers on his lips and whisper that i'm scared; but he'd only tell me not to be, that it will be different, and i won't really believe him.

i told him i wasn't confused. i think i lied.









.

YES, WE CAN

sometimes we sit close and i scheme to get closer to you

.




WHEW .

fri/sat: halloween-- HARD FEST. justice, crystal castles, soulwax, crookers, simian, etc. my ears are still ringing in this beautiful, beautiful way. this is going to keep me happy for the rest of the fucking month.
then, SAT IIs. pfffft.
then, LILY. and unurban and.. gigi? and smoking too much and too much coffee and not enough eating, or sleeping, for that matter...
and... galactic violet birds.






3:23 i went crazy.

you just have no fucking idea how amazing it was...

wonderful, isn't it

.



G: I was thinking about how it hasn't rained yet and how I'm a little scared of it raining. I remember you smelled a lot like rain.
C: When I'm off lockdown, idk when that will be, would you like to hang out or get something to eat one day?




often, i feel uncontrolled; hunger is satisfying because in my mastery over it, i'm assured a sense of satisfaction that is derived from unadulterated denial. i feel composed. i feel focused. i feel like i'm making progress. i feel like i am literally answering to myself and refuting the forces that push me toward chaotic gluttony. i feel sharper and more confident.
maybe that's what i crave-- the confidence. the strength of will that i can hold and lick and devour and possess with incandescent greed. it's mine, and i won't give it to you. it sounds like a sick concept, even to me. but we're all sick. we're all twisted in some form or another. we all crave certain things for entirely impure reasons. we all lie and cheat and whore ourselves. we all relish being degraded in some way or another. we're all voyeurs and exhibitionists, tantalized by the idea of bondage and submission. we all crave power. we all sin whenever we convince ourselves that god can't be watching. we all cry when we realize again that he's always watching. we all take pleasure in pain--our own or that of others. we all curse our deities. we all masturbate. we all enjoy temptation in this glistening, sinful way.

and if you call me a cynic for thinking that way, i'm just going to ask that you prove me wrong.


i'm pretty sure i ate less than 500 calories today. which is good, i suppose. mrs. park saw me and told me that i look like i've lost some weight. which is also good. but i will not stop until my BMI is at least 4 points lower. i refuse to stay so fat. i refuse. i refuse.

but i still feel like i'm getting f a t t e r.






.

the black force in blood that wakes, wakes, wakes

these days i have been forced to judge myself as others would judge me, to worry about how i appear to others. i really hate that. more than anything, i think it degrades my sense of knowing who i am, makes me more detached from myself. i really hate it.


i got back from deadline night. it was stressful, just because feature theme was rather late and a&e needed a lot of touching up. i sat in front of a laptop, working on photoshop for around 45 minutes or so before getting a text from R. i guess he was looking for booze and fun people, but before he found them he came and talked with me for a bit. we sat on the stairs and smoked, then sat on the bleachers and kissed. i told him to stay safe when he left.


the other day, i saw someone that i wasn't prepared to see. you know how there are certain people in your life that you just have to brace yourself for--certain individuals who, because your history with them is so... dense, you have to grit your teeth and tell yourself a few things before you can actually physically face them?
i almost passed him without noticing. but then i saw his nose. i know that nose anywhere. and i bounced down the stairs as softly as i could and peeked. he saw me and i blinked, then left. he was on the phone. as i was walking back up, i heard his footsteps behind me and started to climb the stairs faster, and when i got to the top, i turned around, and there he was, coming back up. he has a green t-shirt on. his hair looked darker than i remembered. it had grown out again. he waved. i gave as much of a smile as i could. someone called him from the gate and he said "that's my cousin"
i nodded and left, not really turning to see if he had gone.
over a year of not speaking to each other, and then, "that's my cousin"
the encounter disoriented me for the rest of the day. you know how you get that out-of-body feeling--you feel as if you are an illusion, a meaningless blob of barely functioning blubber. weak bones. it was disheartening, but also a relief that i wasn't drastically affected. i wasn't crying or shaking or thinking of old memories. that was the best part: seeing him but being able to keep myself from actually thinking about him.


right now its 215am. i'm sketching, writing a bit. then i'll sleep a few hours and wake up in time to finish some work before rehearsal tomorrow.
my exhaustion is reaching an unreasonable extent.

for you, i am unhurt. but for me, i'm frightened.

.



there are certain beauties that shine from inside my eye, outward toward the world, so that i never know whether the source is within me, or if its merely a reflection of external wonderment. i can feel them glow when my thoughts get hazy, and i'm lifted into a calmer state of mind, where i can think of old hurts and new patches of rawness without the sadder strains of emotion.
my foot is on a ledge of a bureau on which faded pictures are scattered, half burned. a candle sinks too fast and the wood is cold.











before nov 1 i must finish:
studying for physics, mathIIc, lit subject tests
stanford supplement/common/rec letters/secondary school report and send everything

that's in less than two weeks. i feel like a fish in a boiling metal pot.

warcut

.



these days i have been fighting migraines, wearing sparkly skirts and trying not to cry and trying not to kiss all these boys that i half love, half want to be with, but could never give myself to.

these days i want to talk to c--- again, even though that would be a very delicate thing. a perhaps dangerous thing. i just need to "set things right" and be able to not wonder.





i don't believe in the sun.
sometimes i believe in me.
i believe in the moon
the tide
and the anger
you paint me with.
but i don't believe in
memories or
the way you move your mouth.
i don't believe in you.
i don't believe in you.










.

pass the parcel

.


the crack of light underneath your eye is disheartening. i've never seen it there before, and i guess i expected more from you.




these days i feel perpetually tired, perhaps because of the exhaustion of applications and whatnot, or perhaps because journalism is so draining, or perhaps because i'm just extremely sick of having all this negative energy flood into me when i am not in a position to relieve it.

these days i've been wishing that i still did coke.

these days i haven't been finishing everything that i need to finish. i haven't been losing weight either. i haven't been seeing friends or writing in my journal, i haven't been sketching and i haven't been singing. i apologize for the rather gloomy mood, but i feel rather grey these days.




today my mother needed to get some jeans, so i went shopping with her and ended up buying:
leopard print shorts (21)
black gladiator heels (21)
long-sleeved cardigan (gap)
black/silver sequined skirt (express)
multicolored print/sequin skirt (express)

then came home and cut a pair of my mother's extremely old jeans to fashion a pair of shorts before going to meet eric for physics. he bought me milk tea and i stole a no smoking sign from near the stairwell




i believe this is from the recent sonia rykiel show...


.

it's getting colder. the bones begin to cool and remind you of certain, rainier memories.

.







i spent today watching the starter wife and thus feeling like a lazy, divorced woman with trust issues. it was a combination of watching debra messing make feeble attempts to take charge of her own life and being incredibly frustrated with my lack of cigarettes. i left my pack in genesis' car.

*head desk*




but, now, i have finished english homework, i don't feel like finishing the rest of my homework, and i think i'll a) finish more of the common app b) print out the TE forms and c) study for physics.

then maybe i'll clean my room













.

LOVVVER FOREVVVER

.



today i felt no need for it, but most of the time i wish that escape could be a definite provision.

today, the machine behind my eyes is eating me.

sometimes when i paint things, i want to give them to people. but sometimes the paintings look scary, and i don't know how to stop them from looking that way.

sometimes writing is overwhelming. with art, it's different--when i'm making a sculpture or drawing, i feel more in control because the distance is shorter: the distance between your brain-hand-sketchbook or brain-hand-sculpture is shorter, more manageable, than the distance between the brain-journal. i feel less autonomous. i feel like people will know things. the line between open and vulnerable is much thinner with writing.
sometimes that's a good thing. but i think, for me, most of the time it's not.

sometimes we need to be loved more than once in order to understand that when the music dies down, and the night goes to rest, all that matters is that soft, lingering kiss.



.

sing quietly

.

are you doing her

.





at times i need to be loved... more than once.
those times, sadness paints me inside and out,
sweeping brushstrokes across the plain of my bones.
but then some fallible sense of carelessness tries furiously
to rub it away.

i danced today. listening to sigur ros.
conducting some 70 piece orchestra in my mind.
my legs, gracelessly swaying,
my eyes shut.









tony: my head's forgotten bits of me. all sorts of bits.









what have i been doing lately

smoking
fucking
studying
singing


what have you been doing lately?

.

PLANETS

.

RATHER LENGTHY POST:
(sorry but I feel like talking)






FRDY:

Deadline night/ Branding Iron game
Deadline night was slightly infuriating because of the slow pace and the fact that we finished at 1 AM. We did eat Moca Salsa, though, which was delicious. And earlier on in the evening I went with Kevin and Janice to watch Burn After Reading, which was a wonderfully dark comedy. Tilda Swinton was amazing, as was George Clooney and John Malkovich. Brad Pitt just looked like he had a fucking shitload of fun while he filmed it. He must have, given his character. I think he acted just like Kevin does, actually. Just a little crazier. Oh, and Frances McDormand was hilarious yet disturbing as well.



And as for the Branding Iron game, I did not attend because of deadline night, but I did go down to the field with press badges and our photographers to make sure they got good shots ... and to see Mr. Gunderson






STRDY:

Took the ACT in the morning. Fuck it. Fuck all standardized testing.

Then R picked me up and we choo choo over to his optometrist, then Yorba Linda to go to Joann's. Then to his house so his roommate can make some makeshift tie for him out of tape and the fabric he bought. Then J leaves. Then R and I kill time before picking L up at work. Then.. then then what . Then we drive over to San Bernadino for fucking NOCTURNAL.
Which was progressively fun. I say progressively because at first it wasn't all that great, what with the bastards and the e that took forever to kick in. But as the night got older, it got to be so fucking amazing.
I admit that the pills were too mellow. But they didn't serve me all too badly.
And the music also got increasingly better as it got later. Which reminds me: when we stepped in the gate, there was a middle-aged white man with extremely long blonde tresses in a gold viking armorish suit playing the electric cello.
After the sun went down, I saw planets and met too many people that I don't remember and watched these people named Guy (?) and Steve (?)do illusionist tricks with these clear acrylic globes. Fucking tripped me out. I kept seeing little people inside them.
And the TREES. There were GORGEOUS TREES that looked kind of like monsters with wonderful layers of thick bark and leaves like none I've seen before. And then the colored paper lanterns in them that kept looking like solar system. And then the cool grass underneath that we laid on for so long...
Damn it was great.
Then L and I headed for the Top Ten Tent... R went somewhere, I think to see So Me. We got in while the second to last DJ was spinning so we could get upfront for for for DIGITALISM. And then DIGITALISM. I was right up front with L, holding onto the railing, rolling on the second pill right as they started spinning.
The fact that I was here makes me so happy:



DIGITALISM
DIGITALISM
DIGITALISM
DIGITALISM
I never knew that Jence was so cute. I've never really seen pictures of them in person, but when the duo got on stage i was all WHO THE FUCK IS THIS BEAUTIFUL SKINNY WHITE BOY. Most likely his German blood, yeah?





From NOCTURNAL:



Then went to R's house with L at like what 5 AM?
It is now technically

SNDAY:

J was asleep but woke up briefly. R smoked a little bowl and went straight to sleep, as did L in on the sofa downstairs. But MOI. I took a walk with a cig in hand, freezing my ass off and terrified because everything I saw--every shadow, fire hydrant, car, etc-- looked like PEOPLE. Got kind of lost but eventually made it back. Then I took a shower, changed into R's tshirt/boxers and went downstairs to watch HOUSE. Fell asleep on little futon thing.

I slept for two hours before waking up again at 845 AM because it was too fucking cold. I read, wrote, laid down, went on a walk, smoked cig after cig until noon, when finally everyone else started waking up. R went back to sleep and I laid next to him for a bit, then left, went downstairs for D's coffee. Then J made muffins and taught me how to make a shake with the Baskin Robbin's shake machine.

Fucking Awesome. New appreciation for butter pecan.

Then went outside with J and talked about.. about what, politics history literature movies? D joined us and eventually L when she finally woke up. R stumbled out at one point or another. Then R took L back to her car and I played on J's laptop and helped him fold his laundry until R got home. Then eventually J left for work and R and I had... fun. Then it got dark and I smoked half a pack in the dark while R talked online with his friend in Canada, who told me to shut up. Then R took a shower and I tried to gather all my shit before we left. I think I left a shirt next to J's bed, in spite of my attempt to not forget anything.
And now I'm home. Mlehk.




FUCK!!!
DIGITALISM!!!

.

how low can you go.

.



i believe that i am masochistically attracted to constant movement, constant work. i don't like taking the metro because the lines confuse me. i don't like feeling like i am not THERE. and i do not like the awkwardness of speaking and not being heard. i hate the fact that i have been given this beautiful imagination and that i find within myself such dissatisfying or detrimental sources on which this imagination grows. i dream about things that make me sad. i can not stand the instances in which others that once seemed so rational suddenly meet a barrier, on which we stand at opposite ends, forever incapable of breaching our fears and prejudices, our secrets and our hopes.



i think i'm in love with my teacher. it was relatively cold today.

things that save me, once, twice, thrice over:



no official music video. i hope the quality does this song justice. because holy fuck, man. holy fuck:



today i met a lot of people. first day at MAP. esteban. carolyn. berkely. dalia. karina. edwin. ellen. there were a lot more. but i'm bad with names.
we spoke of marlene dumas and other things.

so today i moca'd it out.
tommorow, friday: watch burn after reading with kevin; go to deadline night get home at midnight and SLEEP for test the next day.
day after, saturday: 8am ACT testing; then NOCTURNAL.
later, sunday: cool down down down and then moca for toca assistant-ing.




.

"A stone had been dropped into the well, the well was my youthful soul."

.






Der Vogel kämpft sich aus dem Ei. Das Ei ist die Welt. Wer geboren werden will, muss eine Welt zerstören. Der Vogel fliegt zu Gott. Der Gott heisst Abraxas.
The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must destroy a world. The bird flies to God. That God's name is Abraxas.

If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us.


--HERMAN HESSE, Demian



From my journal--a page from Demian and a metro ticket I found tucked into my battered copy of Blindness I bought used from Amazon.



Today I got up at 730 and went to Elite, where I was told that I looked scholarly today, perhaps because of my glasses, since I was wearing Gap skinnies and a bright green shirt-dress I tied into a tunic... which is also from Gap, now that I think of it... bought it for 10 bucks on sale while I was in junior high. It says "peace" all over it.
And I was wearing my leather jacket too. I don't know how Mr. Mann got "scholarly." I swear they keep the rooms freezing cold just to ensure that you'll stay awake...

After I walked over to Albertson's because I needed some superglue for my sculpture; I was in a rush and finally reached the cashier, only to have her ask me for my ID.
"I need to be 18 to buy.. superglue."
"Yeah. Sorry."
"You know you keep it next to the elementary school supplies, right above the Hannah Montana notebooks?"
It would be nice if it was placed somewhere that indicates that one needs to be a legal adult to purchase it.

Then went to Barnes&Nobles. Read Demian again and it hit me, as it does every time I read that book, why exactly it has been one of my favorites for years.

After coming home my family went over to my neighbors; my father drank too much beer and my mother looked as though she had an enormous migraine. I felt both pity for her and anger at my father, who was singing with the neighbors far too loudly. But then I also felt irritated with her-- she was the one who had insisted we come and say hello, and now she was irritable.
I met the neighbor's son who's a year older than me, but in the same grade.
I came home with my sisters. My parents are still over there, singing...





Thursday I went to R--'s, stole his shirt and drank 6 beers, spoke with M-- on the phone for roughly half an hour and smoked hooka and cigarettes. I saw K--; she seems to have changed a bit. And A-- and some guy named M--. They played beer pong and I closed my eyes and sort of snoozed in J--'s bed, which smelled like him. Then J-- came home and rushed into the room with that overtly energetic gait of his. He said hello and asked if I was enjoying the bed.
"Where did yesterday's shorts go?"
"They stayed with yesterday."










.

hit me, you fucker.

.


the house smells like ant repellent and old spice.


the burden of pleasing you has devolved upon someone else. so leave, and stop your whining.


i had been craving two things: the movie "closer" and the book "out of her mind."
i couldn't find either and thought myself insane for a while, and then was terrified that i had LOST the said dvd and book.
but then i found out i let gimin?jimin?geemin? borrow "closer" and i had lent "out of her mind" to miss chen, neither of whom have returned their respective lended objects. which is fine, really, i was just afraid that i had lost them.

but i still want to watch closer, and read a few excerpts from that book...



yes, he loved the Lord.
but grace does not remove certain shadows, and the scorn of mortals proves resistant to even the frosted breath of God. and He may forgive you, but sometimes you sleep on a scarred back, with self-inflicted wounds. sometimes the lack of light begins in your arteries. sometimes your inability to love yourself makes you second guess your love for everyone else. including God, the Father, who art in heaven. sometimes such questions consume you--you allow them to, slipping into some false bliss.

i will burn you into the end of the earth

.


mr. moran sounds like an italian mob don and looks like xavier from xmen.
i can't concentrate in fifth period.
some people in my lit class are insufferable bigots.


music:
redial: 45 overdrive
vanshe: sex city
tilly and the wall: tall tall grass
the kills: fuck the people
thom yorke: tell me why

book:
may it please the court

movie:
closer











dream:

can i talk to you. in private.

no.

please.

i'm not going anywhere with you. stay here and talk or leave.

i didn't know what to do. all i knew was that things weren't what they used to be like and i couldn't take it.

did you expect it to be the same?

yes. yes i did.

you always expect the wrong things.





i am resurrected.
you are more life than i have ever seen.



.

INDIVIDUAL RESPONSIBILITY AND MUTUAL RESPONSIBILITY

.


















.

the most necessary and unholy baptism has occurred

.


Today I spit out a first name that no longer matters to me. I ruined a mood and I kissed dry, chapped lips, licking plaque-covered teeth. Today I looked up--there were no clouds; I felt the sky, vast and unending as it is, consume my mind, starting with its insides. Today I was an exhibitionist. A sweaty exhibitionist. Today I was a creation. Today I pulled at something that didn't need any more tension and snapped a string, unraveling a machine and lapping the oil that seeped over the gears. Today I held back and did not say the things that would have freed me. Today I did not sigh when I needed to and felt the waiting breath ache within me. Today I laughed too much and smiled too little.

And tonight I watch my sisters play and listen for my mother's melodies as she coaxes our baby grand piano. Those songs bleed with me--I know neither their titles nor their purposes, but the melodies I know by rote, unwillingly, most of the time. Tonight I do not sleep and instead work for something unattainable, fighting advances that I wish would flee from me and move on to seek other victims--my heart, my lungs, my kidneys, but please, not my mind. Tonight I tame my stomach for the sake of experience, memorize a freeway system, dream while awake.

My day and my night are immersed in the air above a winding road--the road on which the ambulance and squad cars move; the road on which the drunken girls lucky enough to make it home unbroken stumble; the road on which the sun leaves its heat.
My day and my night are no more a part of me than the dusk. My days sink and escape; my nights beg incoherently of something unfamiliar and perverse. Sin and healing, deafness and tortous spirals laced with prayer.









You are the space in between days.
This leaves me with no time.
I love once and hard,
branching too far, then,
like a lesion,
I weep,
having been torn
like your philosophies--
your easily fallible philosophies

our
easily fallible philosophies
that I remember forming
with burns and tongues
back
when our sleep was rude
and the arch of the sun
was like a womb.

we fly from sidewalk to monolith

.


it's two in the morning.
i write on your skin. "Mine. I lick your bone."
maybe the reason i am so willing to sleep with boys, or men, is because it's the quickest way to learn each other.

they are all the same and all different.
some of them love very well. some not so well. but those who do are worse at other things.
i take their cigarettes and stare at ceilings and whisper. sometimes it feels like church, but with laughter. sometimes it feels like being rubbed raw. you spit and moan to hide fear and vulnerability.
you can't live with disgrace. i cover mine sometimes with cushions. sometimes with--

i love all of them, some. not with what they say, drunk, at parties. not with the way they remember my skin. we love each other except for the fact that we can't wait to leave, after. and we're not in love with each other's cores, or each other's socks.
i don't even like socks.
i think if we can't love our drunken slurs, how we remember, our facts, cores, socks--this isn't complete love.
this is never complete love. never complete--

this will have to do.
no fondness and such wanting. i have been held. i have
been held.








are there degrees of blindness? because if there are, i'd have to insist that you are more blind than me. i, at the very least, understood the level of clemency that is proportionate to human fallacy. i, at the very least, forgave you. for the first time, anyway. you, on the other hand, were merciless in your standards and irrationally unforgiving--you had no place to not forgive me. it was entirely unfair.



.

i'm a good liar. mostly because i couldn't care less what i say to people, and because i never just lie: i make up a whole story.

.


This is teenage

My best friend is not a Christian.
But he whispers
like the finer things in life I never knew,
and I can remember
sitting in the back of a room together,
the dim light burning between us
as though we were reborn.
I can remember every one
of the easily fallible philosophies
that we created.
To me, they felt like prayers.



.

DEAR ICARUS,

.


You always fly too close to the sun--you're heart's too wild.
But wild hearts never break.

You lucky bastard.










CURRENT PLAYLIST:







We've been through some damn good times together. We've seen the sun divide itself. We've seen the love of the world become a different form of hate. We've done it all together. We've made each other's beds almost as often as we've made each other's murders. Don't you think it's all a bit odd--this slow song that we play for each other whenever we feel like utter shit. We've been to war together. I've killed for you. You've fucked for me. We are each other's rude awakenings. We are each other's fears and sleeps and reasons for insomnia, each other's manias. You stand on my feet. I stand on your heart. We lick each other's ears.
I think we deserve better.
You want to know the truth? I love waking up next to you. But I would never stay in bed long enough for you to wake up next to me. We're worse when we're together. When I'm with you I want to kiss somebody else.
But when we're apart I ACHE for you.

But it's nothing that I can't fix on my own.


.








.

i wish i could be vulnerable more often than i can afford

.


tension, release, tension, release

maybe i am the selfish one. maybe i am the jealous one. i know people who have never experienced the feeling of jealousy in their lives. i am one than feels it more often that i'd like to.
maybe i have every reason to do so.
maybe i have no reason to do so.
sometimes i want to be liberated from myself. especially from my thoughts and the dense, complicated matter that clings to the inside of my skull. but i can smell, constantly, the rust from the metal shackles that bind me down, keeping me from jumping when i want to, keeping me from dancing when i want to. all i can do is use my voice, sing old beatles songs and whisper things that i wish were my secrets.
but sometimes i can't even do that. or it's not enough.

sometimes i sing and the voice echoes maniacally, morphs into something else that i would never call my own; nonetheless it reveals to me the hurt of my nation and the weaknesses that i really, really hope i will be able to overcome.


this morning i went to love and came back.
then later on in the evening, after studying at chang's for a few hours, i went out with rick, met up with al and mike. i drew a lion on a pillar and wrote "RAWR" next to it. al asked why asian girls always do that.
how should i know.
i wrote lenore kandel words on rick's stomach.
smoked maybe 8 cigarettes.
had a venti americano.

then i came back home and took a two hour long shower, one hour of which i just sat in the shower stall, letting the soap suds and cold water slide my body down.
it was that kind of day.
i scrubbed my body raw today. the washcloth was grey at times, the bathroom smelled like vanilla.
most people don't scrub both legs at once. so after i'm done scrubbing my left leg, i stretched my leg out, and it was funny how it was slightly, oh so slightly lighter than the right one.
made me smile.










.

balance through imbalance

.







CURRENT PLAYLIST
Afghan Raiders: Solid Gold (Techjio Remix)
Herve: Cheap Thrills (Detboi Remix)
Sharkslayer: Cold As Ice
















we sat there, watching minnows circle. the sunset was in my back and the edge of the bank was damp. like our hair. the wet stones seemed to tease our sight. i had no sense of space or depth. all i could understand was that we were here together, and the little fish were eating each other. my skin felt distantly clammy, and the light hitting the river pushed me into myself as i rode the sunbeams out.
and then your head was on my shoulder. i smelled the muddled aroma of wet skin and dirt and the crook of my neck became warm. the day was just too hot. everything seemed filtered through orange and deep brown. your musk meddled in mine; your sweat fused us together and i didn't understand what was going on. but i smiled and laughed when appropriate, my elbow in the proper pose and all other thoughts away from me. i remembered you as you remembered me.
how do you explain moments like this to yourself. you remember through vague waves of feelings; you remember joy and timidity and softened hope, and then a lingering depression of acceptance, a weight of understanding. i can't remember specific sights, and every time i relive it in my head, something changes. the only thing that remains constant is the result and the smell of your skin.











.

be vulnerable for me as i am for you

.


i cut my hair.





i was watching the season 1 dvd set of house m.d. today, and i noticed that white people honestly have no idea how to tell asians apart. there's a certain episode in which the korean actor from harold and kumar guest stars as a patient with a jaw infection and various sexual fetishes. the only person that seems to care for him is his dominatrix. there's a seen in which house coerces his parents into signing a consent form, and i'm thinking... what the fuck, that lady's chinese. and that man over there is japanese... so we have a chinese mother, japanese father and a korean son.
and then, of course, house makes a comment about dumplings. and that's the last straw.
you'd think that the producer's of the show would be a tad more consistent in their casting decisions. but what can i say, we all look the same to them white folk, i suppose....





photographer: chadwick tyler

and his demons--

imogen:





and ida:














i have murmured love against every line of your body. i return to you with fever and false wisdom. i want to be beautiful for you.



.