"home"

.




I'm going to NYU :]

no crash. no bang.

Love letter, No. 2

In defense, I never thought this day would come. I never understood that we might be able to know each other, and never thought that the languages that give us speech and heart would be understood. I knew you and you knew me. In the beginning, both of us thought it an impossibility.



J

You and your exuberant, symphonic self. Shit, everything you can’t keep within yourself you allow to spill out, like music, like a performer losing control on stage. You perform for this beloved audience, belonging to the world, although the world never reciprocates and belongs to you. I’m always catching up to you, aren’t I. You became yourself so long ago, but here I am, becoming more and more like myself everyday, falling behind with the new ideas that expire before I can reach them.

Not that it matters.

See, for the longest time I found it difficult to talk to you, thinking that we’d forever be untranslatable to each other and thus the possibility of conversation would always escape us. Your self-assurance and your easy, breezy sublimation of daily anxieties that belied your so apparent yet all too easily forgettable fragility made me want to kiss you and hurt you and uncover you and bury you all at once. But then I think we found that, a fait accompli, we became a “we,” without any choice in the matter. People used to tell me that I have too much spirit for my circumstances. And your spirit was never ending, unseen like the wind and the most forceful gale to ever sway me.

So nothing else mattered.

You convinced me that I existed. Disregarding our masochistic need (everyone’s masochistic need) to be conflicted and stay that way, we held mirrors for each other and peeled the second faces off so that the heat emanating from the first, true ones could finally be released. We mingled. We borrowed languages from each other to add more to our names. Nothing else mattered. You always acted like the war reporter who was born after the negotiating of peace, unable to understand the news around you or comprehend the terms of peace. By those terms, I’m forever acting like the war-stricken veteran, inanely rambling a steady stream of dialogue that consists of questions constantly answering itself and never arriving anywhere, too sarcastic and ironic to sound like any language. At least not one you could discern. Too much emotion there; not knowing what to do with them all, we involuntarily let them escape, revealing them so we could live beside each other.

You
mattered.

You still matter; you’re the fragile extension of myself that I keep closer to me than anything, like utopia and like memory, to assure myself that I am, indeed me. I am the darker half of you. I yearned to be nostalgic for childhood even when I was a child, and then we met and there was no such thing as growing up, so remembering and childhood and youth became one and nothing mattered. Everything was everywhere all at once: we were everything and everywhere all at once. We were, we are, the raw and trembling energy, music, motion that can only be boiled down to “feeling,” forever moving and dancing, speaking in tongues and meeting halfway to grant peace and comprehension, forever living like so, forever loving.

We’re assaulted and overwhelmed by memories that always seem as though they’re not ours, but nonetheless feel like they’ve happened to us. We own them, just as we own each other.

loose

.


Reading: Closer, Patrick Marber; Diary, Chuck Palahniuk
Listening: Soulwax; Fleet Foxes
Watching: Skins




I think back to my childhood and I remember barbecued chicken and fruit pie, never getting along with my younger sister, and reading because real-life people were generally much less interesting than those I met in books. I remember going to the bookstore a lot. I remember fighting with my mother a lot. My mother’s the kind of mother who doesn’t see/know a difference between “doing this to her” and “doing this for me.” But really, I grew up on Kerouac and Kesey, Palahniuk and Bukowski, Vonnegut and Heller. I never had anything that I could call a relationship with my father, but I was raised by men. In spite of all my mother’s Presbyterian teaching/preaching, I was raised by men. Of the beatnik/post-war/nihilist type.

I think back to my adolescence now and mostly remember only the feelings; numbness and provocation, feeling lusty and wanting to be close to the next boy, and eventually girl, that I came across and found attractive. Feeling wonderful. Feeling high. Feeling attractive. My friend theorized that a “social buzz” scale existed—the higher the number, the more fucking awesome you felt. I don’t clearly remember ever reaching that ten, but I’m sure I have several times. That’s basically how I remember adolescence, at least, that’s how I remember the parts of it that I want to remember.

The parts that I don’t want to remember come to me in emotions too. Feeling like I want to run away from home. Feeling like drinking myself to death. Feeling like the scum of the earth underneath my parents’ noses, making them sneer. Feeling judged, wanting to say that it takes one to fucking know one, so don’t judge me because I’m sure that if we were to lay out our honest opinions of each other, I’d figuratively cut your pretty little throat and bleed you dry. I remember miscommunication and fat culture gaps that made me ashamed of who I wanted to be, confused and unaware and frightened of who I wanted to be. I still want the same things, but I haven’t quite gotten rid of the feelings yet. My vision for the future is relatively the same, it’s just the present that I live differently.

Bless your body, bless your soul

pray for peace and self-control...


This is the world we live in
-- The Killers

Explain to me how Franz Ferdinand rocks my world.
Like sex and lucid dreams.

Today, I feel a little lighter inside. I had some herbal tonic from Arizona, which was nice. I also went to school in the middle of second period after having written a ten page essay the night before. Had two cigs while walking to school and felt productive with my nice shades on and a thermos of coffee in my hand and cig& iPod in the other. It was nice.

I want to lose more weight.



I don't have a simple answer, but I think I can answer with something better. I can at least take your hands and tell you that I don't care if they're clammy. I can at least touch your denim covered knee and trail my hand upwards. I can at least make you think of nothing else but the physical sensation of two bodies touching... that's more than a lot of people can say.
And I can give you freedom if you are willing enough to be vulnerable enough to let me in. I can teach you to fly if you'll look my way and touch my wings. I can give you small spurts of joy, intensity, sadness, growth, and an irrevocable sense of peace.
If you let me.

domoneeek is back!

Since my last post...


Thurs: MOCA meeting, then went to Pasadena with R and tried to find coffee.

Fri: Deadline night; I had a very long, very candid conversation with A, which was enlightening at least and entertaining at most. Afterwards, went to Guppy House with D for food; I didn't know that the Guppy House was open until the early hours of the morning, but it's nice to know.

Sat: Oy vey. Had 2 hours of sleep and did some work before going to MOCA... Once there, set up for TEEN NIGHT. Bwahahaha. Which was absolutely delicious...
left MOCA with R, then went to C&J's and had... well, fun, I'll say. then there was a fight, the house shook and Q and I sat in disbelief in the back room of the house. J stumbled in with blood everywhere. The cops eventually came, we scrambled to hide things, and after interrogating everyone, R asked the police if he could take his girlfriend home, and the two of us left...
A rather frightening night.
Came home and tried to sleep, to no avail.

Sun: Went to an anti-homophobia/gay rights youth rally in LA... marched and marched and yelled and yelled. Also went for dim sum for lunch and La Golondrina for dindin.
Came home and had a phone/text conversation with C that made me want to cry. Tutored someone from Walnut before trying to sleep.
To no avail. At least until 5 in the morning or so.

I'm tired.





He's very beautiful.

He was trying to put a poster on his wall. I was sitting on his airbed when he asked me if it looked straight,and I said no. The right side's a little lower. He asked me to get him a piece of tape, telling me that there are scissors on the shelf next to me. Before he finished his sentence I had already ripped it with my teeth. "Or, I guess you could resort to animalistic behavior."
"What if I happen to enjoy animalistic behavior."
"I figured. You seem like the type."
"Why?"
He never answered.

The fight was scary. Halfway, he walked in with a knife in his hand and said "shit" before hiding the knife and leaving again.

When he came back home, he asked me how I was doing, and I looked at him once before looking away again. "Ah. It's one of those days, huh." He then asked me if I wanted to share a bowl, but I said no.
"Weed fucks me up."
"..Like I said, want half?"

We were walking to the living room, and he let me go in front of him, saying "Ladies first."
"Bullshit."
"Chivalry is dead?"
"Yep."
"Damn, so I can't play that card."
"I wasn't aware that you were trying to play any cards."

His voice is... throaty, in a sense. Not in a raspy manner, but when he speaks, there's a slight crackle to his 'r' and his vowels. I can imagine that against my ear. That's not a good thing, but I can't help but smile whenever I hear his voice close to me.

He asked me to hold the chair while he was taping that poster. After he was done, I pushed the chair with my foot and made him go round and round.

When all of use were outside, waiting for the police to talk to each one of us, I was shivering in a chair as he stood next to me.
"It's cold."
"There's a difference..."
"Difference between what?"
"There's a difference between cold and..."
"..Hmmm?"
"Nevermind. Just remind me to explain to you later."

But I never got to ask because R took me home so soon after we were cleared. I'm afraid that he won't remember what he was going to say next time I see him.

tell me why i can't wake up and start the day over again

classical greek mythology says that humans were originally combined with four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces.
zeus feared their powers and split them all in half, condemning them to spend the rest of their lives searching for their other half to complete them.

one cigarette left

i feel like i'm connected to him by a bridge of memory, a tenuous and ever-present stream of fleeting images, thoughts, words, emotions, that remind us forcefully of each other... we don't speak to each other yet we ... do in a way. in our minds, by reliving conversations, taking joy in those recollections.
it's as though...we've transcended the physical?
and we've always been able to connect more with silence than with conversation, i suppose. our relationship is... felt out, not talked out. talking it out leads to disaster and misunderstanding, which causes tension, angry glances, deep resentment. and now that we're so far removed from each other, i feel more connected to him in my thoughts as though i'm maintaining a relationship with the memory of him, and not him... is this a step backwards?
i don't really know what i'd say to him if i saw him. i think i'd just want to hold him close to me and breath him, kiss him, and sigh... it's odd, being away but still feeling.

c'est assez pour maintenant.

e & i would never work.

i would love him & maybe he would love me. but, nonetheless, i'd give myself to him in a way i've never given myself to anyone, like a timidly and carefully wrapped gift. and he'd open me up & discover that i'm not the gift he expected, but he'd smile and nod and say thank you all the same, because he's kind like that, then that fragile falsehood of appreciation and those callously let down expectations would eat us apart.

which makes me a little sad. because i really think i could love him. i could love myself for him, even.

but its okay, because he still listens to me and puts up with my oddities when i need someone to simply accept and tolerate.

he's good at that.






he's just one of those guys i know whose presence in my life is heavy with possibility, and maybe desire too. because i can think of him when i'm happy and when i'm sad. because i want to know what he thinks of me and of the beach. because i want to be able to know, even only once, exactly how he kisses girls he really likes, and because i want to be able to matter enough to him to be able to see him years from now with a wide grin on my face.

because i want to dance and sleep and yell and scream in front of him, and have that be a natural thing.

i guess what i'm trying to say is that it would be nice for a guy like him to be familiar to me. i think familiarity with a guy like him would be a very peaceful, and beautiful thing.

with insomnia, you're never really asleep. you're never really awake.

friday night/saturday morning... i revisited an old habit while at c&j's. it was a very, very entertaining night if i may say so myself. not necessarily all that great for my health, but too fun for me to care, if you get my gist.
so much for my resolution to stay clean.
then on saturday i went in for work @ moca for 6 hours... which was actually a lot more stressful than anticipated. then met with ana to finish the editor-in-chief app for next year...


life has been very hectic and full.

"je pense donc je suis." i think therefore i am.
and with the amount of thinking that i do, i must be a fucking god.
i "am" too much. everywhere.



listening: machine slublime --vive la fete
reading: one flew over the cuckoo's nest --ken kesey
watching: shakespeare in love


the world is bright.


oh yes. in other news: i got accepted into nyu, which is very heartening. r took me out for coffee tonight as a little "celebration." he really is a darling. i like that he's in my life, and i like even more that i'm in his.





when i'm alone, i like to listen to songs from every facet of the music spectrum-- give me wagner and puccini, daft punk and justice, the doors and queen--and sway, gentle, or shake and tremble to the quiet, urgent, soothing, brilliant beats. just so i can feel. just so i can be, in a sense, affected by music song dance melody rhythm.


...ah .

to snort or not to snort

that is the question.



i want to have fun tonight. i want to laugh and not have sex and be close with others tonight. i want to be really cheerful tonight, and i want to be free tonight.

no one stops me, so i might as well.

what do i always say?
icarus, take me with you.

my mother

is an absolutely amazing person.
the best Christian
i know.
one of those give all types
of mothers
who always say
why are you doing this to me.

i used to say that
i never want to be like her,
a shackled domestic
engineer
who never votes.
so i did everything she wouldn't do
thinking that i could
figure something out
that way
through the smoke
and twisted branches.

and i will never be
an absolutely amazing person
or
the best Christian
you know
and i won't ever
give all

because i could never be like my mother
even after
the smoke clears
and the branches
straighten out

because she always asked
why are you doing this to me
and i found
that there's no difference

between doing this to her
and doing this
for me.

la vie? c'est un jeu--un jeu d'enfants. et moi?

je suis toujours un enfant.



i went out for a smoke just now; the sun was bright and the sky was clean, and as a gentle breeze brushed against my temple, i wanted to look at my reflection and say, clearly, "don't fuck this up. do not fuck this up."

this is a restless night we face, isn't it.

damn straight, but we're young& we've got fire on our side,
so fuck all and run.



my eyes have been blood red all day, which has led to A thinking that i'm completely faded, and J looking at me funny.



this is going to be another long post.



today (which is now yesterday, since it's now past 2am):
told my mother that i was sicker than i really am, crawled back to bed& woke up around noon. turned off the stove that my mother forgot to check on. the rice cake didn't burn, though--it oddly turned to mush.
@ around 6pm, i went out with R.
i never really know where i'll end up when i go out with R.
we ended up in venice. he needed to go to the municipal court around there to clear something up for a ticket, and so we went to the beach at night, which is something we need to do more often.
got a pair of shades in black and gold. R got two white ones. that boy is always a stickler for white sunglasses.
we trekked down the boardwalk, hoods up and cigarettes clamped in our mouths. i convinced him to get closer to the water, so we walked across the sand barefooted and sat down to watch the tide. the sun was almost done for the day; we watched the sky fade, slowly and with excruciatingly beautiful colors.
the water looked silver. it was so violent and i couldn't hear anything but the waves crashing and the sound of the wind.
i was at peace, with the wind so cold and R's arm around me, hand tucked against the crook of my neck to keep his fingers from going numb.
we stayed until the sun was completely gone, lying down eventually, getting sand in our hair, and talking about things that i can't recall.
when we walked back, we saw the moon. "do you see the rabbit in the moon?" "yeah, i can see it's little ears."
we got back to the car, discovered that he got another parking ticket, cursed the police and damned the fucking po-po's to hell and then attempted to find unurban for half an hour, driving along pico. we were too caffeine starved to care that we couldn't find it, though, so we just drove back to db and hit starbucks before going to fullerton to C and J's house.
they were all smoking weed, or, M was smoking weed. and watching south park.
i pet the cat.
when we went out with C and A to for a cig, we talked... about something concerning profanity on the radio. "i don't get why you can't say shit on the radio when you can say bitch or ass." ""because bitch and ass have technical definitions." "there you go. see, G you're too smart to hang."
I know that's just A being A, but it ... alienates me... when he says things like that. earlier we were discussing my schedule. he asked me what time i get out this year. i said i go 0-6 with 6 APs. "you're a strong girl, G."
fuck, man. that's just the way i run.
they all played rock band, and i crawled on the couch, found a blanket that i decided to steal as soon as i unfolded it, wrapped it around my neck and went in search of J.
when i found him, i asked him, "do you guys have any tea?" "no. i actually don't believe in drinking tea." he tripped out the cat by spinning him on a chair until i told him to stop. poor Lenny.
i uncovered J's yearbook. we spent a good deal of time looking though it, even though he told me not to. R joined us eventually. and M. i laid down on M and R laid down on me and J got up and started kind of ranting about cleaning, or something...shit, i don't know.
J is beautiful. you have to understand that. he's the boy who can't forget about the girl who got away, who wants to be a playwright, who's more close than open, even though a lot of people see him as a window they can jump out of.
R had a cig in J's room before everyone went out to smoke. we were standing around in a circle; some guy who had joined us an hour before named Mo found out i'm still in high school; we talked about museums& acid trips; some people drifted to look at the cat in the window, and i realized that... maybe these guys need to hang out with girls more often. even though they're so fun the way they are. i'm the only girl whenever i see them, and they need more estrogen around them... and i'm not really one to do that.
R and i left shortly after. i held out both hands to J as i was leaving and he gave me double high fives before he turned his hands to me and i hit them both. he winced and said "i sliced my fingers open today," and showed me his two hello kitty bandages.
i told R that when he goes for his morning walk with J tomorrow, he should tell him that i like him.
"he's so cute."
"oh, G."

shine on me.

This is nice, you know.
Yeah, it is.
It's cold.
That's okay. It'll be warm soon.
You know...we could actually be pretty good together.
No, we could be more than good.
You think so?
Yeah. I really do.
Then.. why aren't we together?
Just in case it's not, love, and because you are the sun, and I am the moon, and the two match very beautifully because they are counterparts, but they can only be so close to each other.
I can be a star instead.
The sun is a star, dear...the sun is a star.

fucking herbs.

.

i think i'm getting sicker; the phlegm in my throat is gone, but it's left in its wake a roughness that makes me cough like a 98 yr. old smoke ridden cat lover.

i realized that i have aristotle, james joyce, and bukowski lying on my desk, saying 'hello, i'm gina's books.'
nice. if i may say so myself.




the pretty thursday:
on thursday, i went to moca; at the apprentice meeting, after we finished sin factory planning, we went down to the galleries to look at the new permanent collection exhibit.
carolyn and i turned the first corner and saw a beautiful pollock and smiled. then we turned another corner and saw... fucking, at least 8 rothko's and wanted to break down into tears.
EIGHT.
i knew that moca has a wonderful permanent collection, and that often visitors complain when they come because the rothko's aren't up. but eight are right now.
EIGHT.
if you can stop by moca to see them, please, please do. i was absolutely blown away. i love rothko to begin with, but this gallery in the exhibit was overwhelming. i can't really explain the feeling i get when i see a rothko, standing straight in front of it to receive the full impact of the painting.
have you ever looked up at a clear, unobstructed view of the sky during the day while lying down in the grass? your eyes have nothing to focus on because the sky is endless, the universe is endless, and the angels flying up there are invisible. you have nothing to think about because you're too stricken by the vast expanse of atmosphere and blue. i can't really describe it.
that's the only similar feeling i can think of that might give you an understanding of what i feel when i look at a rothko.




after the meeting, i met up with rick on the corner of grand and 2nd and we went back to moca for knife and fork's engagement party--we played mini golf throughout the museum! it was great; the 8 holes were dispersed throughout the lobby of the galleries, the reading room, the ahmanson theater (which was screening yellow submarine--shit yes-- and the hole that was inside the theater sang a beatles song when a golf ball went in), and the staff offices/storage space.
everyone got a nice, thorough tour of the museum's architecture, and there were also donut holes/pita& hummus being served :]
it was nice; rick and i stayed a bit after we finished playing and left before it got unbearably crowded.
after that we went to little tokyo to koraku for ramen and made the mistake of actually ordering two dishes instead of doing our usual thing where we split one. i don't think i finished even half of mine, and ditto for him.
not that it matters.

after that, we drove back to chino and killed time before the midnight watchmen showing; the movie was absolutely horrible. i don't even want to think about it, so i won't. i have to say this, though: leonard cohen's hallelujah is NOT appropriate music for a sex scene, no matter how badly made it is.

i got home at around 330, and woke up 3 hours later for school, which was absolute torture. not that i minded.



the ugly friday:
last night i ended up shivering and desperately trying to call people while huddled up on someone's couch, completely thrown out of my mind by a terrible, terrible weed trip.
i still don't know whose couch, or house, i was in. i puked twice. weed does this to me every other time i smoke it. i never have good experiences with fucking cannabis. why the fuck do i do this. i don't know.
i just wanted to feel uncontrolled, maybe drink a little and have someone's warm arms around me while i just... float.
but that didn't happen.

and i think i may have ruined someone's birthday get together.
sorry.

maybe it's because i went out with lauren and smoked with people i've never seen before in fucking glendora. maybe it's because i really wanted to be with someone else, and i was too cold, too cold, too cold.



today i went to moca for a shift with esteban and registered some student works. then i ended up at a borders in la habra for three hours; got a few moleskine cahiers, another bukowski, and the cambridge edition of thus spoke zarathustra (which i'm fuckkkking excited to read)





and now i'm off to watch skins :]

hawk

.



the weather is kind of fucked up. my hands are incredibly cold and i wish you were here to hold them. i think there's something wrong with my bones, because at random times they'll ache as if being wrenched apart; i can't grip anything and i can't think until the pain ebbs away. most of the time it happens in my fingers and my wrists, but sometimes it happens in my ankles.

i know i have migraines all the time, but they really have been getting worse; i feel like my brain is deteriorating--it must be if i feel like its burning underneath hot coals every morning. i hate that it makes me feel so damn angry all the time; i become less patient, more irritated, more angry. i don't like it, but no matter how much ibuprofen i down, it doesn't go away. i think i'm going to take a page from house's book and start breaking my hand.



half wrote a poem about your shadows underneath cheap fluorescent lights at dusk and called it "why i love you only in the dark." stored it beneath my ribcage with all the other things that will one day make me detonate. if you'd fit, you would have been there years ago, in that one summer. then maybe i would have let you out to smell the rain once, freeze, then thaw out to become a better person, a truer lover, a more beautiful and resilient friend.

fucker, there's nothing to save

.


this past weekend:
friday - went to chris& jeff's and ended up watching the latter half of fight club before going to rick's for dinner. then i tutored albert. lovely.
saturday - went for lunch with my mother, then she took my sisters and me shopping. i got a pair of enzo angliano gladiator sandals in black and gold, a bcbgmaxazria dress (i have this odd fondness for that brand...) and a black cardigan from free people (hello, lily). i was debating over whether or not i should purchase black flats from facconable, and then realized that i'd fuck up the suede, being the clumsy loon that i am... and i went to a rave with rick and jeff and devon in san bernafuckingdino. came back at around 545 in the morning and immediately crashed on my bed.
sunday - woke up two hours after coming home and went to church.. -_- then spent the rest of the day craving cigs because i got my opened pack taken away by fucking rave security.


but i'm happy now because i got a pack of parliament full flavors before going out with lauren for ramen tonight.

it was nice.



but
the highlight of my day was mr. gunderson giving me his phone number. i couldn't even concentrate on what he was saying to me at the time; i just kept thinking "he's giving me his number. willingly. and for no real reason other than convenience. oh. oh. oh."

yeah...