she is not from this world. she is a breath of vacuum.

.




Today I've been in an oddly negative mood. It's been one of those days that irk you, regardless of any good news. I've been finicky and uncomfortable and exasperated the entire day.
It frustrates me.

I did, however, watch a lovely Japanese movie. My favorite scene is embedded below.











Yesterday night, around 3 am, old haunts came back and I had trouble sleeping. I remembered old friendships, and that horrible, unbearably feminine insecurity grabbed my wrists and kept me from writing, painting, doing anything. I felt so ridiculously devalued. Anger flared before receding into continuous waves of self-hate.
It hasn't been a very good week.




















Perhaps the problem is that I do not even know the right questions to ask in the first place--I do not, I cannot, begin to understand the manner in which I should turn inward, towards the root of reasons. I don't even understand the fundamentals; my fingers are barely touching the fringe of the self.









.

pose it out.

.








I never did edit my other post after I came back from the beach...

Sorry about that.


It's odd. Today after I came home, I sat down to work and thought that I'd clean up the desk a bit, but it turned into nearly two hours of organizing one cabinet and the top of the desk.
Shit.
I understand what my mother means by us having a lot of junk.
We really, really do.
And so, I have decided that one thing that will go on my To Do list for Spring Break is spring cleaning. Just my room, of course. I'd die if I had to do the whole house.




Tomorrow will be a good day. A Friday without a physics exam. It will also be deadline night, but Editorial has already finished, of course, so Joann and I will go have linner at AJ's Chinese restaurant after school before getting some yogurt. Then we will cross the parking lot to Starbucks and we'll have roughly three hours of interviewing Editorial applicants to finish. Blehhh.
Then we'll go to deadline night, bring our colleagues a coffee traveler and stay in Room 250 until midnight before turning into pumpkins.
That will be tomorrow.


Today, however, was off-center. I woke up very early and finished homework, took a hot shower, debated my wardrobe and went to Calc before the first bell rang. Not my usual start to the day.
And Mr. Gunderson wasn't as cute today, for some reason. That was weird.












http://www.nylonmag.com/index.php?section=album&albid=128
Chloe, Anja and Clemence-- three of my favorite blonds in one fragrance campaign.














The broken name rippling over the walls of your dry throat,
small omitted sounds that reach from your heart to touch my ears.
My eyes will not open.
I am holding those words behind my skin,
but I will not see.
You have given too much to me; while I burn my hands and dream
of something else, some sin.
I dream of your prayers, unable to make my own.







.

coffee mug rings on my calculator.

.


I'm posting two days in a row. Shazaam.




I've been out of it these days.
I can not wait for the wheel to continue moving.
In that fraction of a breath I stand, irreversibly inclined
towards in different mode of living.
One that is entirely suffused in want and unbridgeable gaps.










.




I will post more after I get back home. For now I am off to the beach for sun and tacos and salt water.






.

slow degradation of guilt, regret and blame

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Ah, it has been a while, has it not?





These days I have been... writing fairly little and refraining from allowing close relationships.
There is relative calm and quiet.

I've been watching Becoming Jane, Brokeback Mountain and Atonement, reveling in the sheer injustice of love and all the pain that it brings, wondering it's.. really worth it, I suppose.









.







My favorite cézanne painting:




And a teapot that I made that was inspired by it:







.

is this the wrong kind of love or the wrong kind of faith?

.




today, i sat on the bus seat right next to mr. gunderson's. i confess that i looked at him through the driver's rear view mirror and marveled at small things.






and today i also realized that since i haven't been friends with a certain someone, he's changed so, so much. it's been over a year now, i think, and after at least 365 days of not being on speaking terms, we've started to hesitate, gravitate, speak. it scared me at first since i think that i always held the idea of being friends with him again in the back of my head. i think that i always secretly wanted to go back to that.
but i think i let go of that today. it felt very natural, as if i had allowed excess weight to leave me. even if the chance was offered, i don't think i would take it.








.

you breathe like the ocean.

.





from the heidi slimane kate liberation shoot.



within arms reach

i can recall certain things--the raking
lines of light on your back, my breath and
yours, swells of softness and excitement,
particular breaking points. you still shiver
when i lick the tip of our history.

but there is no momentum here--
just the lack of trees and old foliage,
whispering remnants of cold nostalgia.





.

walking with the sun in my mouth and a post-it in hand

.

my own:






i am utterly infatuated by a 40-something white male, witty and patient and married. a father of an infant son and enraptured by music. i am enraptured by him. he makes me blush and that terrifies me. i don't know what to do.




.

das vater unser

.



mmhm. i haven't posted in so long. and i apologize. it's just that time tends to mull me over in its brain and mouth before spitting me back out so i can regain some measure of stability.

today i spent the day at lacma and bcam again. then i ate lunch at andrea's and finished my art criticism essay at the starbucks next to whole foods, sitting with adel and ashley. i wrote about max pechstein's lord's prayer.
then i went straight to dr. chang's after coming back from l.a. finished calc homework and studied for the gatsby exam and sketched a piece that i decided to call "dichtonomy."
i came home at around 930, ate 2 creampuffs that my mother had made, checked my email and read more of chopin.
she's encaptivating.
















the other day my baby sister said "when people get old, they die." and she had this perturbed look on her face and she didn't understand that people were born too, that even though people die, others are given life and that overpopulation is actually an international concern. i tried to communicate all that in language that a 5 yr. old could understand. i left the overpopulation bit out.
but when she finally understood, she had the sweetest smile on her face. that smile that tends to light up my world.
i think you grow to understand how precious family is when you look at them and the mere thought of anything happening to them wounds you, brings forth tears and terror.





there were beads of thought, each containing an increment of some intense emotion, a string of pathos fashioned by shaking hands into a braided, beaded trinket; a soft looking thing. it looked familiar and worn, almost feeble and yet intact in its beauty. i had been saving it to put around your neck, to fasten it slowly as i stood behind you, my pinkies gracing the nape of your neck as i slipped on the strand. i was planning on kissing your shoulder after i was done and whispering something lasting into you ear. this was what was supposed to be.