BumbleBunny: I feel like I am a disney princess
BumbleBunny: and you are saving the crap out of me
Bushido481: you are like a pimply 13 year old sci fi geek trapped in a womans body
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
The only girl I've ever loved
Was born with roses in her eyes
But then they buried her alive
One evening 1945
With just her sister at her side
And only weeks before the guns
All came and rained on everyone
Now she's a little boy in Spain
Playing pianos filled with flames
On empty rings around the sun
All sing to say my dream has come
But now we must pick up every piece
Of the life we used to love
Just to keep ourselves
At least enough to carry on
And now we ride the circus wheel
With your dark brother wrapped in white
Says it was good to be alive
But now he rides a comet's flame
And won't be coming back again
The Earth looks better from a star
That's right above from where you are
He didn't mean to make you cry
With sparks that ring and bullets fly
On empty rings around your heart
The world just screams and falls apart
But now we must pick up every piece
Of the life we used to love
Just to keep ourselves
At least enough to carry on
And here's where your mother sleeps
And here is the room where your brothers were born
Indentions in the sheets
Where their bodies once moved but don't move anymore
And it's so sad to see the world agree
That they'd rather see their faces fill with flies
All when I'd want to keep white roses in their eyes
- Neutral Milk Hotel
Was born with roses in her eyes
But then they buried her alive
One evening 1945
With just her sister at her side
And only weeks before the guns
All came and rained on everyone
Now she's a little boy in Spain
Playing pianos filled with flames
On empty rings around the sun
All sing to say my dream has come
But now we must pick up every piece
Of the life we used to love
Just to keep ourselves
At least enough to carry on
And now we ride the circus wheel
With your dark brother wrapped in white
Says it was good to be alive
But now he rides a comet's flame
And won't be coming back again
The Earth looks better from a star
That's right above from where you are
He didn't mean to make you cry
With sparks that ring and bullets fly
On empty rings around your heart
The world just screams and falls apart
But now we must pick up every piece
Of the life we used to love
Just to keep ourselves
At least enough to carry on
And here's where your mother sleeps
And here is the room where your brothers were born
Indentions in the sheets
Where their bodies once moved but don't move anymore
And it's so sad to see the world agree
That they'd rather see their faces fill with flies
All when I'd want to keep white roses in their eyes
- Neutral Milk Hotel
Friday, May 23, 2008
"On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning"
One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her on the street."
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
- Haruki Murakami
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her on the street."
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
- Haruki Murakami
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
His Fnordship, Robert "T|-|vNd3яβ0!7" Stormsend, KSC says (9:35 PM):
you should go over there and kick him in the face
His Fnordship, Robert "T|-|vNd3яβ0!7" Stormsend, KSC says (9:35 PM):
then load him into you car while he's knocked out, take him home, and tie him to your bed.
His Fnordship, Robert "T|-|vNd3яβ0!7" Stormsend, KSC says (9:36 PM):
he'll appreciate it in the long term.
you should go over there and kick him in the face
His Fnordship, Robert "T|-|vNd3яβ0!7" Stormsend, KSC says (9:35 PM):
then load him into you car while he's knocked out, take him home, and tie him to your bed.
His Fnordship, Robert "T|-|vNd3яβ0!7" Stormsend, KSC says (9:36 PM):
he'll appreciate it in the long term.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Monday, May 5, 2008
"And if I did have a choice
I'd never want to live forever
Just let me have a voice so I can make my points
I can't imagine running a race with no finish line
Just let me keep my pace and make the most of my time
I love giving but I'm bad at receiving
The truth is, I'd prefer to be the one bleeding
But I'm a paranoid that stays between play and work
Cautious and aware, 'cause I'm afraid of being hurt
Which brings me to the issue
And that would be this:
How often must I ask myself why I exist?
I feel like a freak, this world is a circus
Just trying to find myself as well as my purpose"
- Atmosphere
I'd never want to live forever
Just let me have a voice so I can make my points
I can't imagine running a race with no finish line
Just let me keep my pace and make the most of my time
I love giving but I'm bad at receiving
The truth is, I'd prefer to be the one bleeding
But I'm a paranoid that stays between play and work
Cautious and aware, 'cause I'm afraid of being hurt
Which brings me to the issue
And that would be this:
How often must I ask myself why I exist?
I feel like a freak, this world is a circus
Just trying to find myself as well as my purpose"
- Atmosphere
Saturday, May 3, 2008
"Men are not punished for their sins, but by them."
I went home to Westchester last night planning on having a relaxing evening with my parents. Fifteen minutes into the traffic laden journey, the car in front of me stops short. I swerved to the right to try and avoid it, but the entire left side of my car smashed right into him.
With a sore neck and anger flushed cheeks, I swing open my door to tell him exactly where he can shove his Toyota. Unfortunately for me, my door has been bent shut, and I have to force it open. I gracefully edge my way out of the car, half falling as I pull my foot free. I come face to face with two pre-pubescent pimply faced children who probably didn't even have drivers licenses. They stammered hello, shuffling their feet as they looked at the front of my car. I take a deep breath, and ask them to drive off the exit and meet me on the side of the road. Luckily, my car is still functional.
My headlight is shattered, bumper has chunks torn out of it, the hood is bent up.
Long story short, I got back to Westchester in one piece. There's nothing wrong with the other car, and mine will probably take about $3000 to fix.
With a sore neck and anger flushed cheeks, I swing open my door to tell him exactly where he can shove his Toyota. Unfortunately for me, my door has been bent shut, and I have to force it open. I gracefully edge my way out of the car, half falling as I pull my foot free. I come face to face with two pre-pubescent pimply faced children who probably didn't even have drivers licenses. They stammered hello, shuffling their feet as they looked at the front of my car. I take a deep breath, and ask them to drive off the exit and meet me on the side of the road. Luckily, my car is still functional.
My headlight is shattered, bumper has chunks torn out of it, the hood is bent up.
Long story short, I got back to Westchester in one piece. There's nothing wrong with the other car, and mine will probably take about $3000 to fix.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
"What a curious life we have found here tonight"
"You should never hesitate to trade your cow for a handful of magic beans." - Tom Robbins
I've been in Brooklyn for almost 6 months now, and I'm already getting the urge to move on. This constant need for change haunts me. I've moved so many times in the past few years, and it's never enough. I am on an eternal quest to piece together a life where I feel comfortable being in this skin. Mainly I change locations, whether it be apartments, cities or coasts.
I have this restless feeling that is always bubbling below the surface. Every so often I do something new (latest was piercing my nose) or different and it soothes it for awhile. Moving is what helps the most. I never feel as exhilarated as the moment I start the car and drive off to a new destination. I can glance in the rear view mirror and honestly smile. Smile at memories of what I'm leaving, smile at memories of where I'm heading. I have never let myself move to run away from something, no matter how much I have wanted to. You can't hide from your problems, they catch up to you no matter where you go.
I am always moving towards something that I think is going to fix everything, make me feel like a whole person... but nothing ever does. That's where my problem en lies. I keep thinking that changing something is going to fix me, but it doesn't. Maybe it will make the situation a bit better, but it's always the same. I always lapse into the same routines, the same feelings, the same emotions.
When I was younger I had this theory that life is on an endless loop. You keep encountering the same situations over and over again in disguise. You relive the same thing until you learn your lesson and do things right. For example. If you keep dating the type of person who treats you badly, it's because you are supposed to handle this one differently. You wind up with the same sort guy over and over until you respond correctly.
But hidden in this love for change is fear. Fear that it won't work, fear that I will fail, fear that I will end up unhappy once again. Apprehension forever clouds my mind.
I'm suffocating and it's only been six months.
I've been in Brooklyn for almost 6 months now, and I'm already getting the urge to move on. This constant need for change haunts me. I've moved so many times in the past few years, and it's never enough. I am on an eternal quest to piece together a life where I feel comfortable being in this skin. Mainly I change locations, whether it be apartments, cities or coasts.
I have this restless feeling that is always bubbling below the surface. Every so often I do something new (latest was piercing my nose) or different and it soothes it for awhile. Moving is what helps the most. I never feel as exhilarated as the moment I start the car and drive off to a new destination. I can glance in the rear view mirror and honestly smile. Smile at memories of what I'm leaving, smile at memories of where I'm heading. I have never let myself move to run away from something, no matter how much I have wanted to. You can't hide from your problems, they catch up to you no matter where you go.
I am always moving towards something that I think is going to fix everything, make me feel like a whole person... but nothing ever does. That's where my problem en lies. I keep thinking that changing something is going to fix me, but it doesn't. Maybe it will make the situation a bit better, but it's always the same. I always lapse into the same routines, the same feelings, the same emotions.
When I was younger I had this theory that life is on an endless loop. You keep encountering the same situations over and over again in disguise. You relive the same thing until you learn your lesson and do things right. For example. If you keep dating the type of person who treats you badly, it's because you are supposed to handle this one differently. You wind up with the same sort guy over and over until you respond correctly.
But hidden in this love for change is fear. Fear that it won't work, fear that I will fail, fear that I will end up unhappy once again. Apprehension forever clouds my mind.
I'm suffocating and it's only been six months.
"And I only hide what is on my mind because I can't explain"
"Here's the silhouette, the face always turned away
The bleeding color gone to black, dying like a day
Couldn't figure out what made you so unhappy
Shook your head to say no no no
And stopped for a spell
And stayed that way
Oh well, okay
I got pictures, I just don't see it anymore
Climbing hour upon hour through a total bore
With the one I keep, where it never fades
In the safety of a pitch-black mind
An airless cell
That blocks the day
Oh well, okay
If you get a feeling next time you see me
Do me a favor and let me know
'Cos it's hard to tell
It's hard to say
Oh well, okay"
The bleeding color gone to black, dying like a day
Couldn't figure out what made you so unhappy
Shook your head to say no no no
And stopped for a spell
And stayed that way
Oh well, okay
I got pictures, I just don't see it anymore
Climbing hour upon hour through a total bore
With the one I keep, where it never fades
In the safety of a pitch-black mind
An airless cell
That blocks the day
Oh well, okay
If you get a feeling next time you see me
Do me a favor and let me know
'Cos it's hard to tell
It's hard to say
Oh well, okay"
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
"The world that you need is wrapped in gold silver sleeves"
"But now we must pack up every piece
Of the life we used to love
Just to keep ourselves
At least enough to carry on"
Of the life we used to love
Just to keep ourselves
At least enough to carry on"
Friday, April 18, 2008
"Chaos in the world brings uneasiness"
Something's off.
I've had this jittery feeling in my bones all day.
I'm apprehensive
It's like every part of my body is on pins and needles.
There's something screwy with the Universe
I know something's coming, but I don't know what
I've had this jittery feeling in my bones all day.
I'm apprehensive
It's like every part of my body is on pins and needles.
There's something screwy with the Universe
I know something's coming, but I don't know what
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
"More to come after these messages"
"Cheer up, honey, I hope you can
There is something wrong with me
My mind is filled with silvery stars
Honey, kisses, clouds of fog
Picking apples for the kings and queens of things I've never seen"
There is something wrong with me
My mind is filled with silvery stars
Honey, kisses, clouds of fog
Picking apples for the kings and queens of things I've never seen"
Thursday, April 10, 2008
"Not really knowing where I'm going but my goal's to provoke thoughts"
"The first step was birth
Now forever cursed to analyze his self-worth
The second step was belief
He had to make that move before he even grew teeth
The third step, respect awareness
He could trip over the next step if he's careless
That next step, number four, was love
Can't touch it without stepping the other three above
As he froze for a moment
Ignoring the remaining ones
He was approaching, focus stolen
Looking down at his hands to see what he was holding
Nothing, empty
No choice but to keep going
The fifth step felt like a misstep
It was a re-evaluation of the first four
The anxiety, fear of what it hurts for
Caught in somewhere between the earths core
And the first floor
When he finally made it to step six
He could no longer see it for what it is
All of his views and family and life were askew
Number six had been twisted by the previous two
The last step, the seventh
Was the only thing left that kept him outside of heaven
One last breath and everything could be pleasant
Life through death, man's final lesson"
- Slug
Now forever cursed to analyze his self-worth
The second step was belief
He had to make that move before he even grew teeth
The third step, respect awareness
He could trip over the next step if he's careless
That next step, number four, was love
Can't touch it without stepping the other three above
As he froze for a moment
Ignoring the remaining ones
He was approaching, focus stolen
Looking down at his hands to see what he was holding
Nothing, empty
No choice but to keep going
The fifth step felt like a misstep
It was a re-evaluation of the first four
The anxiety, fear of what it hurts for
Caught in somewhere between the earths core
And the first floor
When he finally made it to step six
He could no longer see it for what it is
All of his views and family and life were askew
Number six had been twisted by the previous two
The last step, the seventh
Was the only thing left that kept him outside of heaven
One last breath and everything could be pleasant
Life through death, man's final lesson"
- Slug
Monday, April 7, 2008
"Everything in it's right place"
It's 4:43 in the morning.
I'm listening to Radiohead.
A place for everything and everything in it's place. I feel like I am always striving to fulfill this, but never can. I am forever working towards getting everything in it's right place. Whether it's my never ending battle with school, not being able to find a job, or my inability to just let things happen, it is always a struggle. I think the one thing I would like most in the world is to just let things happen. My overactive brain is always analyzing, always working out the outcomes in a situation. Before something has even happened, I've already run through all possible scenarios in my head and how I would react to them. (Gift/Curse)
On one hand, it is extremely beneficial. I am prepared for pretty much anything and everything, and can handle myself well because of this. I am not easily caught off guard. On the other hand, it mother fucking sucks. Running through everything in my head over and over again drives me crazy.
I can't turn it off.
I'm listening to Radiohead.
A place for everything and everything in it's place. I feel like I am always striving to fulfill this, but never can. I am forever working towards getting everything in it's right place. Whether it's my never ending battle with school, not being able to find a job, or my inability to just let things happen, it is always a struggle. I think the one thing I would like most in the world is to just let things happen. My overactive brain is always analyzing, always working out the outcomes in a situation. Before something has even happened, I've already run through all possible scenarios in my head and how I would react to them. (Gift/Curse)
On one hand, it is extremely beneficial. I am prepared for pretty much anything and everything, and can handle myself well because of this. I am not easily caught off guard. On the other hand, it mother fucking sucks. Running through everything in my head over and over again drives me crazy.
I can't turn it off.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Virginia is for Lovers
Had a fantastic time in Richmond!
Left Brooklyn around 6 PM with Aurora, Connie, Tom and Neil
Arrived at 12:30 AM all in one piece
No pictures were taken... Went to sleep around... 7 AM?
Fell in love with Andi's porch
Fell in love with Richmond <3
Went to an Irish Festival!
Ate some delicious funnel cake
Hung out with the best hosts ever!
Bought some really cheap cigarettes
Celebrated women ;)
I stayed home and played guitar hero :)
Everyone else went and got drunk!
Read about CouchSurfing in TIME MAGAZINE!
Had a dance party in my backseat
Almost left Raul at a gas station in Delaware
Learned an important life lesson
Left Brooklyn around 6 PM with Aurora, Connie, Tom and Neil
Arrived at 12:30 AM all in one piece
No pictures were taken... Went to sleep around... 7 AM?
Fell in love with Andi's porch
Fell in love with Richmond <3
Went to an Irish Festival!
Ate some delicious funnel cake
Hung out with the best hosts ever!
Bought some really cheap cigarettes
Celebrated women ;)
I stayed home and played guitar hero :)
Everyone else went and got drunk!
Read about CouchSurfing in TIME MAGAZINE!
Had a dance party in my backseat
Almost left Raul at a gas station in Delaware
Learned an important life lesson
Friday, March 28, 2008
"Question yourself, are you really what you seem?"
When I was a little kid, I thought that my teachers spent their whole lives at the school. Some slept under their desks, others nestled into the pillows on the colorful corner rug. One time I saw a teacher outside of school, and I just couldn't believe my eyes.
I think teachers have secret meetings after school where they plot our demise. My professors magically match up the due dates on all of their assignments. Two midterms in one day, three papers due in one week, that sort of thing. Next week I have a presentation on Tuesday, midterm on Tuesday, and midterm on Wednesday. The presentation is supposed to be fifteen minutes about "The Perfume" by John Donne. I don't even know what will be on Tuesday's midterm, as of class today the teacher hadn't even created the test yet! Wednesday's exam is in my Intro to Art class. Yes, that's right. The class that has been canceled at least four times this semester. We are behind on the syllabus, and the teacher has no rhyme or reason to anything he teaches. The review sheet is five pages long with 200 slides that we have to memorize.
So I only have about a paragraph done on the presentation. I am unable to study for the first midterm, and haven't even cracked the book for the second one.
Oh, and I am leaving to go to Richmond, Virginia tomorrow at 6 pm for the entire weekend.
Why do I do these things to myself?!
I think teachers have secret meetings after school where they plot our demise. My professors magically match up the due dates on all of their assignments. Two midterms in one day, three papers due in one week, that sort of thing. Next week I have a presentation on Tuesday, midterm on Tuesday, and midterm on Wednesday. The presentation is supposed to be fifteen minutes about "The Perfume" by John Donne. I don't even know what will be on Tuesday's midterm, as of class today the teacher hadn't even created the test yet! Wednesday's exam is in my Intro to Art class. Yes, that's right. The class that has been canceled at least four times this semester. We are behind on the syllabus, and the teacher has no rhyme or reason to anything he teaches. The review sheet is five pages long with 200 slides that we have to memorize.
So I only have about a paragraph done on the presentation. I am unable to study for the first midterm, and haven't even cracked the book for the second one.
Oh, and I am leaving to go to Richmond, Virginia tomorrow at 6 pm for the entire weekend.
Why do I do these things to myself?!
Monday, March 24, 2008
Two of my favorite paintings :o)
Sunday Afternoon on the Island of la Grande Jatte, Seurat
Dusk, Monet
Dusk, Monet
"How do you stop an exploding man?"
the beginning
"Where does it come from, this quest? This need to solve life's mysteries when the simplest of questions can never be answered? Why are we here? What is the soul? Why do we dream? Perhaps we'd be better off not looking at all. Not delving, not yearning. But that's not human nature. Not the human heart. That is not why we are here. Yet still we struggle to make a difference, to change the world, to dream of hope, never knowing for certain who we will meet along the way. Who among the world of strangers will hold our hand, touch our hearts, and share the pain of trying?
the end
We dream of hope, we dream of change, of fire, of love, of death. And then it happens; the dream becomes real, and the answer to this quest, this need to solve life's mysteries finally shows itself like the glowing light of the new dawn. So much struggle for meaning, for purpose. And in the end, we find it only in each other. Our shared experience of the fantastic and the mundane. The simple human need to find a kindred. To connect. And to know in our hearts... that we are not alone."
Thursday, March 13, 2008
"He'll try in vain to take away the pain of being a hopeless unbeliever"
"I'll tell you why I don't want to know where you are
I got a joke I've been dying to tell you
The silent kid is looking down the barrel
To make the noise that I kept so quiet
I kept it from you, pitseleh
I'm not what's missing from your life now
I could never be the puzzle pieces
They say that god makes problems just to see what you can stand
Before you do as the devil pleases
And give up the thing you love
But no one deserves it
The first time I saw you, I knew it would never last
I'm not half what I wish I was
I'm so angry, I don't think it'll ever pass
And I was bad news for you, just because
I never meant to hurt you"
- Elliot Smith
I got a joke I've been dying to tell you
The silent kid is looking down the barrel
To make the noise that I kept so quiet
I kept it from you, pitseleh
I'm not what's missing from your life now
I could never be the puzzle pieces
They say that god makes problems just to see what you can stand
Before you do as the devil pleases
And give up the thing you love
But no one deserves it
The first time I saw you, I knew it would never last
I'm not half what I wish I was
I'm so angry, I don't think it'll ever pass
And I was bad news for you, just because
I never meant to hurt you"
- Elliot Smith
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Saturday, March 8, 2008
"I could never be the puzzle pieces"
I have always tried to be a good person. I thought that's what the point of life was. I try to start each day with a smile on my face, hoping that it will make a difference to someone. I like doing things for other people. I will always hold the door, help someone up if they fall, say excuse me even if it wasn’t my fault. As I grew up, I started to realize that other people don’t do this. It’s not their fault really; being good doesn’t have the same importance anymore. "Look out for yourself and no one else. It doesn’t matter who you trample on to get what you want. Your happiness is more important."
Maybe I place too much importance on fairness.
I always try to figure out the correct course of action and what is just for everyone. There must be a balance. You can’t just think of yourself in life. Everything that you do affects everyone else, even in the smallest of ways. It is this way of thinking that forces me to be so reserved.
But why? Why don’t other people feel the way I do? Why aren’t they plagued with this need to be a good person? If I do something wrong, I feel guilty about it for a long time. It gnaws at the pit of my stomach. It hurts my karma. For me, being a good person is not a choice. If I’m not, I hate myself for it.
Why doesn’t anyone else feel like this? Have we reached a point in our lives where we just don’t care?
Maybe I place too much importance on fairness.
I always try to figure out the correct course of action and what is just for everyone. There must be a balance. You can’t just think of yourself in life. Everything that you do affects everyone else, even in the smallest of ways. It is this way of thinking that forces me to be so reserved.
But why? Why don’t other people feel the way I do? Why aren’t they plagued with this need to be a good person? If I do something wrong, I feel guilty about it for a long time. It gnaws at the pit of my stomach. It hurts my karma. For me, being a good person is not a choice. If I’m not, I hate myself for it.
Why doesn’t anyone else feel like this? Have we reached a point in our lives where we just don’t care?
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
"Walking in my old footsteps, once again"
Considering the amount of different thoughts that flood my brain every minute of every day, I would never consider myself someone with a one track mind. The fabric of my daydreams is intricately woven with the thread of a thousand thoughts. One notion can spark the image of another, which leads to a completely different direction than where I started.
Connie and I visited the Met on Friday, and I headed straight for the Temple of Dendur. There is something about that place that is so calming. The sun shines lazily through the wall of windows, casting a golden glow over the room. The Temple stands solitary and proud, surrounded by glistening water. When you look closer, you realize the sparkle comes from the wishes strewn about the floor of the pool. I am a very superstitious person, and will take every opportunity to toss a coin over my shoulder. It is astonishing to think how many wishes were made in that very spot, gazing at the Temple. This incredible structure of stone, sweat, and tears… inscribed with a language I only dream of understanding.
I have wished for the same thing the past few times. I wished twice that day, as we sat on the oddly cool marble, drinking in the history with our eyes. I wished that this feeling I have is not for naught. I wished that the cloud of confusion would leave my poor brain alone. Above all, I wished for happiness. I asked for help in taking away this hollow feeling in my stomach. I pleaded with the universe to give me some direction, to send me down my destined path.
Could this be my path? I have always been restless, craving change and new experiences. I cannot settle on a career because I do not want to settle at all. Perhaps I am fated to wander aimlessly through life, grasping for the answers that are just out of reach.
Connie and I visited the Met on Friday, and I headed straight for the Temple of Dendur. There is something about that place that is so calming. The sun shines lazily through the wall of windows, casting a golden glow over the room. The Temple stands solitary and proud, surrounded by glistening water. When you look closer, you realize the sparkle comes from the wishes strewn about the floor of the pool. I am a very superstitious person, and will take every opportunity to toss a coin over my shoulder. It is astonishing to think how many wishes were made in that very spot, gazing at the Temple. This incredible structure of stone, sweat, and tears… inscribed with a language I only dream of understanding.
I have wished for the same thing the past few times. I wished twice that day, as we sat on the oddly cool marble, drinking in the history with our eyes. I wished that this feeling I have is not for naught. I wished that the cloud of confusion would leave my poor brain alone. Above all, I wished for happiness. I asked for help in taking away this hollow feeling in my stomach. I pleaded with the universe to give me some direction, to send me down my destined path.
Could this be my path? I have always been restless, craving change and new experiences. I cannot settle on a career because I do not want to settle at all. Perhaps I am fated to wander aimlessly through life, grasping for the answers that are just out of reach.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Monkey Heaven
"What is truth when we lie to ourselves about so much, and know so little?"
"You may run from tigers, but where can you hide from your own fear? Desire is unquenchable - you can only free yourself from it."
"Perhaps all creatures are very much more than what they seem. The tree has its roots; the iceberg only shows its tip. Perhaps we are all much more even than we know. So, while the meanest peasant lives in misery here, he may be elsewhere in triumph, making the very stars."
http://www.monkeyheaven.com/
"You may run from tigers, but where can you hide from your own fear? Desire is unquenchable - you can only free yourself from it."
"Perhaps all creatures are very much more than what they seem. The tree has its roots; the iceberg only shows its tip. Perhaps we are all much more even than we know. So, while the meanest peasant lives in misery here, he may be elsewhere in triumph, making the very stars."
http://www.monkeyheaven.com/
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Inspiring
If you're going to dance the razor's edge, your song has to cut like a blade... says (1:44 AM):
Housemate just came in and said "Catch ya later, I'm off to rock out with my cock out"
Janna* says (1:44 AM):
hahahah
If you're going to dance the razor's edge, your song has to cut like a blade... says (1:44 AM):
dirty bastard...
If you're going to dance the razor's edge, your song has to cut like a blade... says (1:44 AM):
I taught him well
If you're going to dance the razor's edge, your song has to cut like a blade... says (1:45 AM):
*so proud*
Housemate just came in and said "Catch ya later, I'm off to rock out with my cock out"
Janna* says (1:44 AM):
hahahah
If you're going to dance the razor's edge, your song has to cut like a blade... says (1:44 AM):
dirty bastard...
If you're going to dance the razor's edge, your song has to cut like a blade... says (1:44 AM):
I taught him well
If you're going to dance the razor's edge, your song has to cut like a blade... says (1:45 AM):
*so proud*
Monday, February 11, 2008
"Darling, je vous aime beaucoup"
A few weeks ago at Purchase the always entertaining Rusty Mack played Django Reinhardt for me for the first time. I always appreciated jazz, but never enough to listen to it on my own. I can't even describe the emotions that went through me after hearing this man play. It is jubilant but melancholy, catchy and utterly unique. Django makes the world a little bit brighter.
Suggestions:
I'll see you in my dreams
Limehouse blues
Beyond the sea (La Mer)
Suggestions:
I'll see you in my dreams
Limehouse blues
Beyond the sea (La Mer)
Overheard?
Woman: I can't imagine sleeping with any of my male friends.
Man: You just need to ignore personality.
--Nacho's Kitchen, 112th & Broadway
Hipster girl to hipster guy: I'm really glad I ran into you! Maybe we could hump on this train too?
--Q train, Canal St
Man: You just need to ignore personality.
--Nacho's Kitchen, 112th & Broadway
Hipster girl to hipster guy: I'm really glad I ran into you! Maybe we could hump on this train too?
--Q train, Canal St
Sunday, February 10, 2008
"And so it goes, nobody knows, how to get to the sky"
When I drove through Pittsburgh on my way home from California I surfed with this awesome host named Jason. I had my brother in tow, and I thought for his first surfing experience we should stay with a city ambassador. Ironically enough, the two of them were chatting a mile a minute once they discovered a shared love of astronomy and magic. We had a pretty crazy night starting with a brewery inside a church, and ending with climbing an abandoned building to get the most beautiful view of Pittsburgh I have ever seen. The next day Jason wound up coming with us to New York. He bravely sat himself among the chaos in my backseat, and dumped 16 megabytes from his iPod onto my computer.
I have slowly been sifting through this massive amount of music. Some of it I know and love, some of it I can't stand. I had been listening to Tom Waits on and off since that time, but mostly his later stuff. I enjoyed it, but wasn't really that into it. A few days ago I had iTunes on shuffle, and some of his early stuff came on. I sat entranced until the end of the song (which happened to be So It Goes) and immediately listened to The Early Years Volumes 1&2.
captivated, enamored, enchanted, enraptured, fascinated, mesmerized, spellbound
I have slowly been sifting through this massive amount of music. Some of it I know and love, some of it I can't stand. I had been listening to Tom Waits on and off since that time, but mostly his later stuff. I enjoyed it, but wasn't really that into it. A few days ago I had iTunes on shuffle, and some of his early stuff came on. I sat entranced until the end of the song (which happened to be So It Goes) and immediately listened to The Early Years Volumes 1&2.
captivated, enamored, enchanted, enraptured, fascinated, mesmerized, spellbound
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)