winds and tango

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i'm back from all-state. it was okay. or at least as okay as any convention in fresno can be. i got to see nick, which was cool, and i met several interesting people--matt, danny, kevin, ross, spencer, ray, steve... and of course i saw all the usual people--mike, the other mike, james, jared, caleb...
it was four days of seven-hour long rehearsals, cute white boys, obnoxious woodwind players, smoking in a parking lot and not having enough water and coffee to drink.
it was fun, though.
at least i got to see mr. gunderson.









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wear a different shoe, comfort the soul.

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i am leaving for fresno in roughly 8 hours; i'm in the middle of packing, i haven't practiced enough and i feel as though i can't catch my breath with the amount of make-up work i'll have to do when i get back. my head is swimming and in constant motion and yet it seems as though i'm only absorbing the surface of it all.
and i prepared three sheets of paper for the three calcII assignments that i'll have to do, and i can't find said papers anywhere.
marrrr.

at least i'll have some time away from my family, but i won't get to see mr. gunderson until monday :[. no more 1,2,tree,frog... and i tend to sleep even less at hotels, bring loads of work with me and do it all there...
and i don't know how i'm going to go around smoking. the hotel we stay at is horrible for anyone who wants to get around without others knowing (i think that's why they choose it every year--just for strategical reasons; you can see the entrance to every room from the ground floor lobby. perfect for herding mass amounts of high school students. bad for those with nicotine addictions.) and the coffee is absolutely horrid.

anyway. i'll be back very late at night on the 24th, dead tired and ready for another week.










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will i walk from earth into eternity?

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tonight i had a relatively lengthy conversation with henry. he's doing well in japan, thinks he's part asian, and the highlight of the conversation was my hair.
lovely.
i do miss him, regardless of whether or not the only thing we can talk about while he's on the other side of the world is.. my hair.
mmhm.






i'm working on something. a more sculptural work of art. so far the materials include half of a violin, extremely small blown out lightbulbs and a pair of eyeglasses (just the frames) that have been run over by a car.
i'm trying to express the duality of being artistically gifted. not saying that i am, but i think that i'm creative enough to be able to relate somewhat to the nature of the "tortured artist." the generalized stereotype tends to be a frequent truth-- i'm trying to express how being an "artist" can be at once like a blessing, so much so that it seems as if the artist has been elected to share in divine power, and also a maddening in that the artist is inconsolably subject to internal, self-afflicted conflict, instability of the kind that tends to make one even more vulnerable to the hatred that breeds against the self.
i hope that it turns out okay.

















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you have nice bones.

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doing justice. that face. that look.
http://www.fashionologie.com/photos/sasha_pivovarovas_i_spy_a/index.html


today i didn't go to school except for the last 20 minutes of fourth and lunch for my physics makeup test. why-- because i was up till 5 the night before tossing and turning with stomach pains and heaving with nausea in the restroom next to my room. my mother heated up herb bags for me to put on my stomach and i froze and burned and craved for smoke while feeling as though i had consumed way too much gin, minus the numbness and plus ten times the pain.
so. i ended up sleeping till 8, then getting up to take a hot shower, drink tea, read until my migraine worsened, study physics, go to school, come back, do homework, draw.
the only good thing is that i don't have to eat.
but making up all the work i missed at school is going to be such a bitch.
i wonder if my being so ill has any remote, indirect and subconscious connection with it being loveday today.

oh yeah. i gave a flower to mr. gunderson. and other people, but he's the notable one this year.








kiss someone.









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in with the new. but still i hold on to most of the old. i'm a pack rat. don't blame me.

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this morning i walked a mile or so to the starbucks near h-mart to meet joann, wearing my mother's old red sweater, realizing, wow it's spring, as i passed the green underbelly of diamond bar high school and the white blossoms of the sidewalk trees.
i've always hated sidewalk trees. they seem, however beautiful, unfitting for a sidewalk; it's too dirty and confining of a place, isn't it?
regardless. some of the petals from the flowers were drifting down. a few got stuck underneath the neckline of my shirt.

then after finishing things with joann (we are done with writing the application. yessah), my family and i went to anaheim to this great noodle place for lunch. we used to have to go all the way to downtown la for that, but the branch opened up in anaheim. good noodles.
then after coming home, i read more of kate chopin, finished up art history homework and indulged in some painting.

then i went to get my haircut. i wanted it more androgynous, but the hair stylist said that becuase i have such thick hair, any shorter on the sides or in the back would end up being way too high-maintenance. and i don't have time for that, shit.










the new broad contemporary art museum opens in a WEEK.
i'm so excited to see it, really :] i'll probably go for the first time on the first of march with my ap art hist. class-- wooot.



can. not. wait.















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cage protect another essence this is my half god.

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The assignation of safety onto my shoulders--
me, the visitor of the Devil's hour and
my curved back--
occasional virgin.
The weight of being awake
during this long and unremembered, few--
Hours of molded stone.

There is a callously breaking ridge
of foam and bone,
much like the gap between
the sky and the sea;
my frame is shaking, immersed
and raw
as the salt of this water
loathes and covets--
another in between.

My knees hit the floor,
a star on a line under my brow,
the tongue laps in tandem with the wind.
One step away from redemption, I question--
the meaning of--













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numbers for the last week:
packs--2
explications written--2
emily dickinson poems read--18
pieces of blue and white floral pottery found--1
days spent at dr chang's--3
emails written in past 4 days--31
scarves word in past 4 days--6
friends with whom i've reconnected--1
sketches--6
paintings--1/2








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the awakening

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current read: the awakening-- kate chopin.
"she was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet, half-darkness which met her moods. but the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. they jeered and sounded mournful notes without promise, devoid even of hope."

current watch: brokeback mountain-- ang lee; in honor of heath.

current listen: elsa's procession to the cathedral, from act II, scene IV of lohengrin, an opera of richard wagner







recently, nights have been bereft of inspiration and the days have been stretched over a hesitant reluctance to write. it has been some time since i have put my pen to the page; my short story has yet to release the breath it's been holding and my poetic sense seems dry, as if i have met yet another obstacle in my struggle to reign and mold raw intuition into an intense performance as an écrivaine.
i don't know what it is, but something has fixed its teeth into both of my ankles, and i'm just watching it bleed, unsure and with an ambiguous, downward gaze.







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