Get up
If you wanna survive
Get oh so alive
In your life everything
Falling out the sky on top of you
Now what you do
It takes too much work to formulate words into sentences. I have handfuls of individual beads and no string. I have more than I can hold, even, and they just kind of roll around all over the place inside my mouth. Very few actually coming out.
Things I want to try:
- Sex with some really good music in the background.
- Building something.
- Ridiculously awkward date with someone I'm ridiculously attracted to.
- Picnic.
- Conversation in Japanese.
Now I've got this picture of someone vomitting beads lodged in my head. What is it with all the references to vomitting lately?
Give up
If you wanna survive
Pick the sun back up
You got to get on the song lowly
What's the point
It's funny till you're left to kill yourself
In this town
So what's the matter with me?
8.27.2006
8.26.2006
One last thing before I shuffle off the planet
I will be the one to make you crawl
So I came down to wish you an unhappy birthday
Someone call the ambulance
There's gonna be an accident
I think it would be better for both of us if I just left you.
You can have something to be angry at, something to blame it all on. Someone to shake your head at, point out all the flaws of to others as you explain why you've ben so carelessly wronged, and it would be easier for you. You would have something to get over, to move past, and you can be happy with someone who appreciates you for who you are. They will genuinely like you, and not be so confused about who they are. I'm sure someone closer to your own age, with their own experiences already set into place, would suit you better.
I'm coming up on infrared
There is no running that can hide you
Cause I can see in the dark
I don't want anything tying me down. I don't want a weakness, a love. It's easier to mourn something you've already destroyed than constantly worry about whether something you have is going to get damaged. And it's not JUST because this would be easier, you should know better than to even think this by now (yet another of my qualms with you), but it pops into your head so easily to object on that one phrase said, "it's easier." Ridiculous.
I hate what you are. So preposterously inhuman, so impossible to figure out. I find humans disgusting, but at least they have a beautiful side at times. You're made of nothing but hideous logic, ugly rational thinking, linear trains of thought on one-way rails to predisposed destinations. Full of objections, retorts, responses. Whatever you are is WORSE than human, lower than human, by-product waste of a species, the one that went wrong somehow.
(I'm not even sorry I'm saying this.)
That's the anger talking. I would remove that, but you want to know the truth, you want honesty, you want to squeeze and coax and suck every single last bit of me right out of my skull. Why don't you drill a hole and help yourself already instead of dragging it all out through my mouth with such suction that I have constant headaches?
One more thing before we start the final face-off
I will be the one to watch you fall
So I came down to crash and burn your beggar's banquet
Someone call the ambulance
There's gonna be an accident
I am frightened at how little I am feeling right now. Pleasantly free of emotion. Some scattered clouds of rage, but on the whole, I feel nothing for you. The closer I look at you, watching your actions, scrutinizing everything that you do, I care less and less. I no longer see what was so great about you. My ties to you were largely self-created and maintained, and now that I no longer have the urge to maintain them, well. This is just an emotionally-driven waste of time, and neither of us should be spending any time on it. I think there is something so wrong with you to make you enjoy this at all.
None of this makes sense and for the first time in so long, I don't even care to think it through. I don't think it through. When I've told you I need time to think, I've been trying to dredge up something to think about, and I come up empty-handed. I just don't give a single fucking care to any of this.
All or nothing this is love, right? I'm choosing nothing. I die alone.
I'm coming up on infrared
Forget your running
I will find you
10/09/06 Edit: Don't put much stock in these words, it was just an outpouring of pain and uncertainty.
I will be the one to make you crawl
So I came down to wish you an unhappy birthday
Someone call the ambulance
There's gonna be an accident
I think it would be better for both of us if I just left you.
You can have something to be angry at, something to blame it all on. Someone to shake your head at, point out all the flaws of to others as you explain why you've ben so carelessly wronged, and it would be easier for you. You would have something to get over, to move past, and you can be happy with someone who appreciates you for who you are. They will genuinely like you, and not be so confused about who they are. I'm sure someone closer to your own age, with their own experiences already set into place, would suit you better.
I'm coming up on infrared
There is no running that can hide you
Cause I can see in the dark
I don't want anything tying me down. I don't want a weakness, a love. It's easier to mourn something you've already destroyed than constantly worry about whether something you have is going to get damaged. And it's not JUST because this would be easier, you should know better than to even think this by now (yet another of my qualms with you), but it pops into your head so easily to object on that one phrase said, "it's easier." Ridiculous.
I hate what you are. So preposterously inhuman, so impossible to figure out. I find humans disgusting, but at least they have a beautiful side at times. You're made of nothing but hideous logic, ugly rational thinking, linear trains of thought on one-way rails to predisposed destinations. Full of objections, retorts, responses. Whatever you are is WORSE than human, lower than human, by-product waste of a species, the one that went wrong somehow.
(I'm not even sorry I'm saying this.)
That's the anger talking. I would remove that, but you want to know the truth, you want honesty, you want to squeeze and coax and suck every single last bit of me right out of my skull. Why don't you drill a hole and help yourself already instead of dragging it all out through my mouth with such suction that I have constant headaches?
One more thing before we start the final face-off
I will be the one to watch you fall
So I came down to crash and burn your beggar's banquet
Someone call the ambulance
There's gonna be an accident
I am frightened at how little I am feeling right now. Pleasantly free of emotion. Some scattered clouds of rage, but on the whole, I feel nothing for you. The closer I look at you, watching your actions, scrutinizing everything that you do, I care less and less. I no longer see what was so great about you. My ties to you were largely self-created and maintained, and now that I no longer have the urge to maintain them, well. This is just an emotionally-driven waste of time, and neither of us should be spending any time on it. I think there is something so wrong with you to make you enjoy this at all.
None of this makes sense and for the first time in so long, I don't even care to think it through. I don't think it through. When I've told you I need time to think, I've been trying to dredge up something to think about, and I come up empty-handed. I just don't give a single fucking care to any of this.
All or nothing this is love, right? I'm choosing nothing. I die alone.
I'm coming up on infrared
Forget your running
I will find you
10/09/06 Edit: Don't put much stock in these words, it was just an outpouring of pain and uncertainty.
8.23.2006
I can't hold this day anymore
Understand me anymore
To tread this fantasy openly
What have I done
The need to write is welling up inside me. The back of my brain is in overdrive, spilling over into other parts, leaking spinal fluid. Cerebral cortex. Prefrontal cortex. Cerebellum. Wires crossed. Everything's stimulated. Walk when I should speak, press when I should listen, watch when I should grasp. It'll come up soon, burst soon, all over this blog and my spiral and I will not be able to stop writing. My fingers will move of their own volition, creeping over paper, taking pen in hand, wield it against the blankness of unsoiled paper. Moving along while the other hand struggles to grasp at concepts that I refuse to believe are true.
Truths:
- I will be leaving this state and moving to another.
- I want things I can't have.
- I have things I can't want.
Pouring through my fingers.
I can't mould this stage anymore
Recognize me anymore
To tread this fantasy openly
What have I done
I can't imagine not having you two here. I can't imagine, will not know until it's upon me. The feeling of an empty bed, of empty hands and empty eyes, empty ears. Hollowed out spaces all around me where limbs and words and lips should be. Where everything was in its place. I choke on the thought of loss. Such a foreign concept to someone who is nothing but has everything.
(I guess it's already pouring out.)
Low and high. Satisfied and furiously unsated. I can feel the fluid movements in my limbs trying to come out, want to spread out like a jellyfish and absorb the thoughts of everyone around me. I want to seize, conquer. Relish in victory over self.
I am afraid I will find myself in your room waiting, trap waiting to spring, seize, tear into. I want to wind myself up and hide myself someplace I can snap shut on you.
You should have taken me in that bed, in that hotel room, in that car. Should have should have. Regrets. All mine.
My self control isn't used to such violent opposition. It's been a while.
Is taking me over
Understand me anymore
To tread this fantasy openly
What have I done
The need to write is welling up inside me. The back of my brain is in overdrive, spilling over into other parts, leaking spinal fluid. Cerebral cortex. Prefrontal cortex. Cerebellum. Wires crossed. Everything's stimulated. Walk when I should speak, press when I should listen, watch when I should grasp. It'll come up soon, burst soon, all over this blog and my spiral and I will not be able to stop writing. My fingers will move of their own volition, creeping over paper, taking pen in hand, wield it against the blankness of unsoiled paper. Moving along while the other hand struggles to grasp at concepts that I refuse to believe are true.
Truths:
- I will be leaving this state and moving to another.
- I want things I can't have.
- I have things I can't want.
Pouring through my fingers.
I can't mould this stage anymore
Recognize me anymore
To tread this fantasy openly
What have I done
I can't imagine not having you two here. I can't imagine, will not know until it's upon me. The feeling of an empty bed, of empty hands and empty eyes, empty ears. Hollowed out spaces all around me where limbs and words and lips should be. Where everything was in its place. I choke on the thought of loss. Such a foreign concept to someone who is nothing but has everything.
(I guess it's already pouring out.)
Low and high. Satisfied and furiously unsated. I can feel the fluid movements in my limbs trying to come out, want to spread out like a jellyfish and absorb the thoughts of everyone around me. I want to seize, conquer. Relish in victory over self.
I am afraid I will find myself in your room waiting, trap waiting to spring, seize, tear into. I want to wind myself up and hide myself someplace I can snap shut on you.
You should have taken me in that bed, in that hotel room, in that car. Should have should have. Regrets. All mine.
My self control isn't used to such violent opposition. It's been a while.
Is taking me over
8.19.2006
From something I sent to Myles, only more detailed for this space:
The euphoria wore off a long time ago. I'm aware it dies, and it dies with a whisper. Your making love is a foreign concept to me. All I've known is devouring, and distinctly remember the last time I was drunk on love. It was about three years ago.
I know what would be best for me. I know I can't bring myself to let go as much as I want to, but the more I look, the more I see that we are better off separated for now. Maybe we can reconvene when we've both grown, when more has been figured out. I don't know. That's not important, the far-flung future's just not important right now.
However, the euphoria was not the relationship. There was something here besides that, I felt it living inside us. However, as is the case with the most passionate and violent of encounters, two stars gravitating into each other (oh, come on, you all were expecting the astronomical analogies some day, what better time to use them?) until the separation between them becomes blurred, and then disappears, and you have a brighter star working as hard as it can to burn itself out faster, faster. And then it has, and it explodes over thousands of years, showering everything around it in slow motion. Its remnants, its ruin, everywhere.
We would flourish apart. Together we wither. The self-destruction and entropy of all-consuming love is like bleeding to death: slow, inevitable. You can watch the star die right before your eyes, in one final exhale.
What's happening right now can only be explained as a relationship's death throes. If there's any disagreement here, please, someone prove me wrong.
The euphoria wore off a long time ago. I'm aware it dies, and it dies with a whisper. Your making love is a foreign concept to me. All I've known is devouring, and distinctly remember the last time I was drunk on love. It was about three years ago.
I know what would be best for me. I know I can't bring myself to let go as much as I want to, but the more I look, the more I see that we are better off separated for now. Maybe we can reconvene when we've both grown, when more has been figured out. I don't know. That's not important, the far-flung future's just not important right now.
However, the euphoria was not the relationship. There was something here besides that, I felt it living inside us. However, as is the case with the most passionate and violent of encounters, two stars gravitating into each other (oh, come on, you all were expecting the astronomical analogies some day, what better time to use them?) until the separation between them becomes blurred, and then disappears, and you have a brighter star working as hard as it can to burn itself out faster, faster. And then it has, and it explodes over thousands of years, showering everything around it in slow motion. Its remnants, its ruin, everywhere.
We would flourish apart. Together we wither. The self-destruction and entropy of all-consuming love is like bleeding to death: slow, inevitable. You can watch the star die right before your eyes, in one final exhale.
What's happening right now can only be explained as a relationship's death throes. If there's any disagreement here, please, someone prove me wrong.
8.18.2006
Cataloguing myself, that the future might know and understand who I am through my arranged collection of thoughts placed here.
Dear me, years from now. You better have done great things with yourself.
1. Your scars, how did you get them?
A lot of them I gave to myself. We had fleas from the dogs, and I was a rough and tumble girl growing up. Notable scars: top of my left foot from a burn, cleft of my lip from falling off a metal stool.
2. What is on the walls of your room?
Two Lain wallscrolls.
3. Do you snore, grind your teeth, talk in your sleep?
I snore a little, I have a sinus/ear canal problem (thanks mom).
4. What music do you listen to?
Placebo, Gorillaz, Supreme Beings of Leisure, Muse, other stuff. Trip-hop and/or inventive, please.
5. Do you know what time you were born?
8:56 pm.
6. What do you want more than anything right now?
To be free.
7. What do you miss?
Sitting on my window sill, singing and writing and watching the world.
8. Most prized possessions?
My boxes of writing. My books, my visual diary, my blog, my secret journal. Myself.
9. How tall are you?
5' 2"
10. Do you get claustrophobic?
No, but I also don't like being constricted by a lot of things.
11. Do you get scared in the dark?
Not likely. Maybe by myself in the middle of the woods.
12. The last person to make you cry?
Myself.
13. What is your favorite cologne on a guy?
I hate cologne. Parfum is better; something crisp.
14. What kind of hair/eye color do you like on the opposite sex?
Dark brown, or certain shades of red for hair. I don't have a preference for eyes anymore, lighter colors no longer bother me much.
15. Where can you see yourself proposing?
With a gun to my head.
16. Coffee or energy drink?
Coffee plz.
17. What is your favorite pizza topping?
Meat.
18. If you could anything to eat right now, what would it be?
Oog. Nothing, I've got what I need. (Energy drink. o_O)
20. Have you ever eaten a goldfish?
Uh. :( No. How sad.
21. What was the first gift someone ever gave you?
Hmm. I'll just go by non-relatives I suppose. I distinctly remember this awesome dolphin shirt I got from my best friend in 5th grade.
22. Do you like anybody?
Plenty of people. Enough to keep me on my toes wherever I go.
23. Are you double jointed?
Noop.
24. Favorite clothing brand?
Ohhhh I don't know. Rubbish, how about.
25. Do you like the city you live in?
Seattle yes. Bellevue no.
26. Do you have a pet right now?
Yep.
27. What kind?
Cats. Three cats.
28. Would you fall in love knowing that the person is leaving?
Oh, definitely.
29. What is the best way to tell someone how much they mean to you?
Hmm. Create a work of art for them.
30. Say a number from 1 to 100:
56
31. Blondes or brunettes?
Brunettes.
32. What is the one number you call often?
Zite.
33. What annoys you the most?
Oh God, my creative process being interrupted.
34. Have you been out of the USA?
Canada and Mexico. As far as North Vancouver, and Ensenada, respectively.
35. Your weaknesses?
My own innate humanness.
36. Met anyone famous?
Eh. I don't take famousness into consideration like, ever. I'm sure I have, I just don't care whether they are or not.
37. First job?
Hot Topic.
38. Ever done a prank call?
Yeah. Go go suburban boredom.
39. What were you doing before you filled this out?
The last final little bit of my homework.
40. Have you ever had surgery?
Oral surgery once. See below. Otherwise, no.
41. Have you had your wisdom teeth removed?
Yes, all four of them. I remember it sucking.
42. What do you get compliments about most?
Ah... Being really smart.
43. Have you ever had braces?
Yes. 2.5 years. I still have a piece of metal in my mouf.
44. What do you want for your birthday?
A roadtrip next summer.
45. How many kids do you want?
Two or none.
46. Were you named after anyone?
My mom got the name idea from Adrienne Barbeau, but I'm not really named after her.
47. Do you wish on stars?
I wished on a shooting star within the last few weeks.
48. What did you do today?
Went to work, got a lot done, showed Skylar my writing sample (he liked it), fucked up and forgot about my ROM for way longer than I should have (lack of sleep last night boo), waved at Myles, had some bleh yakisoba. Doing my homework. Filling this out. Chilling. Listening to some Placebo. Having a good day.
49. What kind of shampoo do you use?
Garnier Fructis. Smells like fruit salad. <3
50. Do you like your handwriting?
Yes! I shaped it to my own preferences.
51. What is your favorite lunch meat?
Roast boeuf.
52. Any bad habits?
Eh. Restlessness.
53. What is your most embarrassing CD on the shelf?
None of my music embarrasses me.
54. If you were another person, would you be friends with yourself?
In some vague sense, where we'd drink coffee together, fuck, and talk about something relating to the universe and its connections while we have a smoke and delve deeper into the conversation. Catching each other unaware, looking pensive and irresistably sexy. That would be just awesome right now, to have someone to do that with.
55. Favorite time of the day?
Evening, dusk, night. Definitely.
56. Do looks matter?
Most of the time, no, but once I catch the curiosity bug, and then the mental attraction ensues, it's nigh impossible to not find them physically attractive for some reason.
57. How do you release anger?
Writing.
58. Where is your second home?
Writing.
59. Who is your famous crush?
Christian Bale. His dedication to his art gets me hot.
60. What was your favorite toy as a child?
A pen and some paper. My imagination.
61. How many numbers are in your cell phone?
62. I counted. HAH.
62. Were you a fan of Barney as a kid?
I was at three. Kinda? And then I moved on to better pasteurs, like motherfuckin' Rugrats, yeah.
63. Do you use sarcasm?
Mmyes.
64. Have you ever been in a mosh pit?
Eh, no.
65. What do you look for in a guy/girl?
Guys: A brain, some sort of similar interests, perpetual thirst for discussion and knowledge, dangerous curiosity about the world, interesting things to say, reminds me of myself, somewhat artistic. (I settle for less here for whatever reason.)
Girls: Knows when to shut up, artistic edge, reads a lot, likes sharing her ideas, adventurous, rational.
66. What are your nicknames?
Sawa, S4W4, Sphyx, Omni, Omnipresence, Hunter, Fox, Cheshire Cat.
67. What's your favorite band/singer?
Uh. I have no specific preferences beyond good to listen to, meaningful, good composition.
68. What's your favorite TV show?
Lost. I don't watch anything else.
69. What was your ACT/SAT score?
1350
70. What's your favorite ice cream flavor?
Cake batter.
71. Do you have all your fingers and toes?
Yep.
72. When was the last time you worked out?
The last time I played tennis, possibly a few days ago.
73. Who/what do you miss most right now?
My freedom.
74. What's the fastest you have gone in a car?
110 mph
75. Do you want everyone to answer these questions?
If they want to. I'd like to know why/why not the people I know would be friends with themselves.
76. What are you listening to?
Gorillaz - 5/4
77. Last thing you drank?
Elements energy drink, fire flavor. (Dragonfruit.)
78. Last person you talked to on the phone?
Josiah.
79. The first thing you notice in the opposite sex?
Any modicum of intellect.
80. Favorite thought-provoking song?
Nothing specific, mostly Muse and Gorillaz right now.
81. Favorite thing(s) to hate?
Human nature, restriction.
82. Favorite month of the year?
June.
83. Favorite zodiac sign?
Mine. Libra. Balanced and balancing.
84. Favorite sport?
Tennis, right now.
85. What is your hair color?
Blueblack.
86. Eye color?
Gray, forever.
87. Shoe size?
7
88. Siblings?
1 brother.
89. Favorite fastfood restaurant?
None, really, but if I'd have to pick, Wendy's.
90. You like sushi?
Hells yeah. Unagi and tako.
91. Last thing you watched?
Motherfuckin' snakes on a motherfuckin' plane!
92. Favorite day of the year?
Those very few days where it's somewhat windy, and sunny, and there are some huge white clouds in the sky, and everything just feels right and in its place.
93. Play any musical instruments?
Nah. Not yet. Haven't the time.
94. Republican or democrat.
Indelibertarian. If that makes any sense.
95. Kisses or hugs?
Neither. A long, deep, drawn out conversation. With thoughtful staring off into nothing.
96. Relationships or one night stands?
Neither. I pretty much described what I want right now in the "be your own friend" question.
97. What was the last thing you bought?
Food-wise: Sammich and pasta salad.
Thing-wise: A book on American History.
98. What kind of car do you drive?
I don't. You're welcome, environment.
99. What book are you reading?
Invitation to a Beheading by Nabokov. I'm waiting for the person who destroyed the first copy to replace it with a new one so I can finish it.
100. Are you in love?
In love, no. Loving, yes. Able to love, yes. I'm not interested in love right now, I'm interested in human connections that defy definition and make a lasting impression on me.
101. Mashed potatoes or macaroni and cheese?
Both pretty much equally.
Dear me, years from now. You better have done great things with yourself.
1. Your scars, how did you get them?
A lot of them I gave to myself. We had fleas from the dogs, and I was a rough and tumble girl growing up. Notable scars: top of my left foot from a burn, cleft of my lip from falling off a metal stool.
2. What is on the walls of your room?
Two Lain wallscrolls.
3. Do you snore, grind your teeth, talk in your sleep?
I snore a little, I have a sinus/ear canal problem (thanks mom).
4. What music do you listen to?
Placebo, Gorillaz, Supreme Beings of Leisure, Muse, other stuff. Trip-hop and/or inventive, please.
5. Do you know what time you were born?
8:56 pm.
6. What do you want more than anything right now?
To be free.
7. What do you miss?
Sitting on my window sill, singing and writing and watching the world.
8. Most prized possessions?
My boxes of writing. My books, my visual diary, my blog, my secret journal. Myself.
9. How tall are you?
5' 2"
10. Do you get claustrophobic?
No, but I also don't like being constricted by a lot of things.
11. Do you get scared in the dark?
Not likely. Maybe by myself in the middle of the woods.
12. The last person to make you cry?
Myself.
13. What is your favorite cologne on a guy?
I hate cologne. Parfum is better; something crisp.
14. What kind of hair/eye color do you like on the opposite sex?
Dark brown, or certain shades of red for hair. I don't have a preference for eyes anymore, lighter colors no longer bother me much.
15. Where can you see yourself proposing?
With a gun to my head.
16. Coffee or energy drink?
Coffee plz.
17. What is your favorite pizza topping?
Meat.
18. If you could anything to eat right now, what would it be?
Oog. Nothing, I've got what I need. (Energy drink. o_O)
20. Have you ever eaten a goldfish?
Uh. :( No. How sad.
21. What was the first gift someone ever gave you?
Hmm. I'll just go by non-relatives I suppose. I distinctly remember this awesome dolphin shirt I got from my best friend in 5th grade.
22. Do you like anybody?
Plenty of people. Enough to keep me on my toes wherever I go.
23. Are you double jointed?
Noop.
24. Favorite clothing brand?
Ohhhh I don't know. Rubbish, how about.
25. Do you like the city you live in?
Seattle yes. Bellevue no.
26. Do you have a pet right now?
Yep.
27. What kind?
Cats. Three cats.
28. Would you fall in love knowing that the person is leaving?
Oh, definitely.
29. What is the best way to tell someone how much they mean to you?
Hmm. Create a work of art for them.
30. Say a number from 1 to 100:
56
31. Blondes or brunettes?
Brunettes.
32. What is the one number you call often?
Zite.
33. What annoys you the most?
Oh God, my creative process being interrupted.
34. Have you been out of the USA?
Canada and Mexico. As far as North Vancouver, and Ensenada, respectively.
35. Your weaknesses?
My own innate humanness.
36. Met anyone famous?
Eh. I don't take famousness into consideration like, ever. I'm sure I have, I just don't care whether they are or not.
37. First job?
Hot Topic.
38. Ever done a prank call?
Yeah. Go go suburban boredom.
39. What were you doing before you filled this out?
The last final little bit of my homework.
40. Have you ever had surgery?
Oral surgery once. See below. Otherwise, no.
41. Have you had your wisdom teeth removed?
Yes, all four of them. I remember it sucking.
42. What do you get compliments about most?
Ah... Being really smart.
43. Have you ever had braces?
Yes. 2.5 years. I still have a piece of metal in my mouf.
44. What do you want for your birthday?
A roadtrip next summer.
45. How many kids do you want?
Two or none.
46. Were you named after anyone?
My mom got the name idea from Adrienne Barbeau, but I'm not really named after her.
47. Do you wish on stars?
I wished on a shooting star within the last few weeks.
48. What did you do today?
Went to work, got a lot done, showed Skylar my writing sample (he liked it), fucked up and forgot about my ROM for way longer than I should have (lack of sleep last night boo), waved at Myles, had some bleh yakisoba. Doing my homework. Filling this out. Chilling. Listening to some Placebo. Having a good day.
49. What kind of shampoo do you use?
Garnier Fructis. Smells like fruit salad. <3
50. Do you like your handwriting?
Yes! I shaped it to my own preferences.
51. What is your favorite lunch meat?
Roast boeuf.
52. Any bad habits?
Eh. Restlessness.
53. What is your most embarrassing CD on the shelf?
None of my music embarrasses me.
54. If you were another person, would you be friends with yourself?
In some vague sense, where we'd drink coffee together, fuck, and talk about something relating to the universe and its connections while we have a smoke and delve deeper into the conversation. Catching each other unaware, looking pensive and irresistably sexy. That would be just awesome right now, to have someone to do that with.
55. Favorite time of the day?
Evening, dusk, night. Definitely.
56. Do looks matter?
Most of the time, no, but once I catch the curiosity bug, and then the mental attraction ensues, it's nigh impossible to not find them physically attractive for some reason.
57. How do you release anger?
Writing.
58. Where is your second home?
Writing.
59. Who is your famous crush?
Christian Bale. His dedication to his art gets me hot.
60. What was your favorite toy as a child?
A pen and some paper. My imagination.
61. How many numbers are in your cell phone?
62. I counted. HAH.
62. Were you a fan of Barney as a kid?
I was at three. Kinda? And then I moved on to better pasteurs, like motherfuckin' Rugrats, yeah.
63. Do you use sarcasm?
Mmyes.
64. Have you ever been in a mosh pit?
Eh, no.
65. What do you look for in a guy/girl?
Guys: A brain, some sort of similar interests, perpetual thirst for discussion and knowledge, dangerous curiosity about the world, interesting things to say, reminds me of myself, somewhat artistic. (I settle for less here for whatever reason.)
Girls: Knows when to shut up, artistic edge, reads a lot, likes sharing her ideas, adventurous, rational.
66. What are your nicknames?
Sawa, S4W4, Sphyx, Omni, Omnipresence, Hunter, Fox, Cheshire Cat.
67. What's your favorite band/singer?
Uh. I have no specific preferences beyond good to listen to, meaningful, good composition.
68. What's your favorite TV show?
Lost. I don't watch anything else.
69. What was your ACT/SAT score?
1350
70. What's your favorite ice cream flavor?
Cake batter.
71. Do you have all your fingers and toes?
Yep.
72. When was the last time you worked out?
The last time I played tennis, possibly a few days ago.
73. Who/what do you miss most right now?
My freedom.
74. What's the fastest you have gone in a car?
110 mph
75. Do you want everyone to answer these questions?
If they want to. I'd like to know why/why not the people I know would be friends with themselves.
76. What are you listening to?
Gorillaz - 5/4
77. Last thing you drank?
Elements energy drink, fire flavor. (Dragonfruit.)
78. Last person you talked to on the phone?
Josiah.
79. The first thing you notice in the opposite sex?
Any modicum of intellect.
80. Favorite thought-provoking song?
Nothing specific, mostly Muse and Gorillaz right now.
81. Favorite thing(s) to hate?
Human nature, restriction.
82. Favorite month of the year?
June.
83. Favorite zodiac sign?
Mine. Libra. Balanced and balancing.
84. Favorite sport?
Tennis, right now.
85. What is your hair color?
Blueblack.
86. Eye color?
Gray, forever.
87. Shoe size?
7
88. Siblings?
1 brother.
89. Favorite fastfood restaurant?
None, really, but if I'd have to pick, Wendy's.
90. You like sushi?
Hells yeah. Unagi and tako.
91. Last thing you watched?
Motherfuckin' snakes on a motherfuckin' plane!
92. Favorite day of the year?
Those very few days where it's somewhat windy, and sunny, and there are some huge white clouds in the sky, and everything just feels right and in its place.
93. Play any musical instruments?
Nah. Not yet. Haven't the time.
94. Republican or democrat.
Indelibertarian. If that makes any sense.
95. Kisses or hugs?
Neither. A long, deep, drawn out conversation. With thoughtful staring off into nothing.
96. Relationships or one night stands?
Neither. I pretty much described what I want right now in the "be your own friend" question.
97. What was the last thing you bought?
Food-wise: Sammich and pasta salad.
Thing-wise: A book on American History.
98. What kind of car do you drive?
I don't. You're welcome, environment.
99. What book are you reading?
Invitation to a Beheading by Nabokov. I'm waiting for the person who destroyed the first copy to replace it with a new one so I can finish it.
100. Are you in love?
In love, no. Loving, yes. Able to love, yes. I'm not interested in love right now, I'm interested in human connections that defy definition and make a lasting impression on me.
101. Mashed potatoes or macaroni and cheese?
Both pretty much equally.
8.13.2006
The breath of the morning
I keep forgetting
The smell of the warm summer air
I live in a town
Where you can't smell a thing
You watch your feet
For cracks in the pavement
Mmmm. Nice chill day. Perfect for relaxing.
Up above
Aliens hover
Making home movies
For the folks back home
Of all these weird creatures
Who lock up their spirits
Drill holes in themselves
And live for their secrets
They're all uptight
Uptight
Even this homework isn't bothering me.
: )
I wish that they'd swoop down in a country lane
Late at night when I'm driving
Take me on board their beautiful ship
Show me the world as I'd love to see it
I'd tell all my friends
But they'd never believe
They'd think that I'd finally lost it completely
I'd show them the stars
And the meaning of life
They'd shut me away
But I'd be all right
All right
I keep forgetting
The smell of the warm summer air
I live in a town
Where you can't smell a thing
You watch your feet
For cracks in the pavement
Mmmm. Nice chill day. Perfect for relaxing.
Up above
Aliens hover
Making home movies
For the folks back home
Of all these weird creatures
Who lock up their spirits
Drill holes in themselves
And live for their secrets
They're all uptight
Uptight
Even this homework isn't bothering me.
: )
I wish that they'd swoop down in a country lane
Late at night when I'm driving
Take me on board their beautiful ship
Show me the world as I'd love to see it
I'd tell all my friends
But they'd never believe
They'd think that I'd finally lost it completely
I'd show them the stars
And the meaning of life
They'd shut me away
But I'd be all right
All right
8.12.2006
"Atheism does not require you to believe that there is no god. Atheism is more or less the following position at its base:
'I do not know if there is a god or gods, however as I have no evidence to make me conclude that one or more exists I have no reason to believe in one or more gods.' This does not rely on absence of evidence = evidence of absence, it mere states that one requires evidence before belief.
Agnosticism is usually thought of as the 'middle ground' but it actually makes a claim (so does theism), while atheism does not. The agnostic position requires the belief that there is no way of proving or disproving god or gods existence. To demonstrate what I mean by this:
1. Evidence is found that god or gods exist/s.
In this situation theist claims are proved correct, while agnostic claims are proved incorrect.
2. Evidence is found that disproves god or gods
In this situation theist claims are proved incorrect and agnostic claims are proved incorrect.
In neither situation is an atheist proved wrong. We presently have no evidence worth the paper it is written on that there is or is not a god or gods.
A strong atheist actively believes there is no god on the basis of absence of evidence = evidence of absence. This would normally be something completely irrational to believe in, however the sheer amount of time humanity has spent looking for gods and the fact we have found no evidence whatsoever makes the position somewhat more reasonable."
'I do not know if there is a god or gods, however as I have no evidence to make me conclude that one or more exists I have no reason to believe in one or more gods.' This does not rely on absence of evidence = evidence of absence, it mere states that one requires evidence before belief.
Agnosticism is usually thought of as the 'middle ground' but it actually makes a claim (so does theism), while atheism does not. The agnostic position requires the belief that there is no way of proving or disproving god or gods existence. To demonstrate what I mean by this:
1. Evidence is found that god or gods exist/s.
In this situation theist claims are proved correct, while agnostic claims are proved incorrect.
2. Evidence is found that disproves god or gods
In this situation theist claims are proved incorrect and agnostic claims are proved incorrect.
In neither situation is an atheist proved wrong. We presently have no evidence worth the paper it is written on that there is or is not a god or gods.
A strong atheist actively believes there is no god on the basis of absence of evidence = evidence of absence. This would normally be something completely irrational to believe in, however the sheer amount of time humanity has spent looking for gods and the fact we have found no evidence whatsoever makes the position somewhat more reasonable."
8.08.2006
Magic on me
Really got me down
Invade the city
It make my heart beat no sound
Oh God, so busy. Erk. Homework every day, every waking moment, every break, every pause, full of homework.
Fuck this HIS 111 term paper so hard. So sick of that class. God, I hate American History almost as much as I hate that my gut instinct about Nancy was right.
Beat no sound
Beat no sound
Beat no sound
Beat no sound
Beat no sound
Really got me down
Invade the city
It make my heart beat no sound
Oh God, so busy. Erk. Homework every day, every waking moment, every break, every pause, full of homework.
Fuck this HIS 111 term paper so hard. So sick of that class. God, I hate American History almost as much as I hate that my gut instinct about Nancy was right.
Beat no sound
Beat no sound
Beat no sound
Beat no sound
Beat no sound
8.03.2006
I just go crazy like the good old days
I was going to read this to you. You're not here to hear it anymore, so I'll just leave it here so I don't forget.
---
I know something, yes...but even now, when it is all over anyway, even now -- I am afraid that I may corrupt someone? Or will nothing come of what I am trying to tell, its only vestiges being the corpses of strangled words, like hanged men...evening silhouettes of gammas and gerunds, gallow crows -- I think I should prefer the rope, since I know authoritatively and irrevocably that it shall be the ax; a little time gained, time, which is now so precious to me that I value every respite, every postponement... I mean time allotted to thinking; the furlough I allow my thoughts for a free journey from fact to fantasy and return... I mean much more besides, but lack of writing skill, haste, excitement, weakness... I know something. I know something. But expression of it comes so hard! No, I cannot... I would like to give up -- yet I have the feeling of boiling and rising, a tickling, which may drive you mad if you do not express it somehow. Oh no, I do not gloat over my own person, I do not get all hot wrestling with my soul in a darkened room; I have no desires, save the desire to express myself -- in defiance of all the world's muteness.
How frightened I am. How sick with fright. But no one shall take me away from myself. I am frightened -- and now I am losing some thread, which I held so palpably only a moment ago. Where is it? It has slipped out of my grasp! I am trembling over the paper, chewing the pencil through to the lead, hunching over to conceal myself from the door through which a piercing eye stings me in the nape, and it seems I am right on the verge of crumpling everything and tearing it up. I am here through an error -- not in this prison, specifically -- but in this whole terrible, striped world; a world which seems not a bad example of amateur craftsmanship, but is in reality calamity, horror, madness, error -- and look, the curio slays the tourist, the gigantic carved bear brings its wooden mallet down upon me.
And yet, ever since early childhood, I have had dreams... In my dreams the world was ennobled, spiritualized; people whom in the waking state I feared so much appeared there in a shimmering refraction, just as if they were imbued with and enveloped by that vibration of light which in sultry weather inspires the very outlines of objects with life; their voices, their step, the expressions of their eyes and even of their clothes -- acquired an exciting significance; to put it more simply, in my dreams the world would come alive, becoming so captivatingly majestic, free and ethereal, that afterwards it would be oppressive to breathe the dust of this painted life.
But then I have long since grown accustomed to the promise of reality, a foreglimpse and a whiff of it; that is, they contain, in a very vague, diluted state, more genuine reality than our vaunted waking life which, in its turn, is semi-sleep, an evil drowsiness into which penetrate in grotesque disguise the sounds and sights of the real world, flowing beyond the periphery of the mind -- as when you hear during sleep a dreadful insidious tale because a branch is scraping on the pane, or see yourself sinking into snow because your blanket is sliding off. But how I fear awakening! How I fear that second, or rather split second, already cut short then, when, with a lumberjack's grunt -- But what is there to fear? Will it not be for me simply the shadow of an ax, and shall I not hear the downward vigorous grunt with the ear of a different world?
Still I am afraid! One cannot write it off so easily. Neither is it good that my thoughts keep getting sucked into the cavity of the future -- I want to think about something else, clarify other things... but I write obscurely and limply, like Pushkin's lyrical duelist. Soon, I think, I shall evolve a third eye on the back of my neck, between my brittle vertebrae: a mad eye, wide open, with a dilating pupil and pink venation on the glossy ball. Keep away! Even stronger, more hoarsely: hands off! I can foresee it all! And how often do my ears ring with the sob I am destined to emit and the terrible gurgling cough, uttered by the beheaded tyro. But all of this is not the point, and my discourse on dreams and waking are also not the point... Wait! There, I feel once again that I shall really express myself, shall bring the words to bay. Alas, no one taught me the kind of chase, and the ancient inborn art of writing is long since forgotten -- forgotten are those days when it needed no schooling, but ignited and blazed like a forest fire -- today it seems just as incredible as the music that once used to be extracted from a monstrous pianoforte, music that would nimbly ripple or suddenly hack the world into great, gleaming blocks -- I myself picture all this so clearly, but you are not I, and therein lies the irreparable calamity.
Not knowing how to write, but sensing with my criminal intuition how words are combined, what one must do for a commonplace word to come alive and to share its neighbor's sheen, heat, shadow, while reflecting itself in its neighbor and renewing the neighboring word in the process, so that the whole line is live iridescence; while I sense the nature of this kind of word propinquity, I am nevertheless unable to achieve it, yet that is what is indispensable to me for my task, a task of not now and not here. Not here! The horrible "here," the dark dungeon, in which a relentlessly howling heart is incarcerated, this "here" holds and constricts me. But what gleams shine through at night, and what--.
It exists, my dream world, it must exist, since, surely there must be an original of the clumsy copy. Dreamy, round, and blue, it turns slowly toward me. It is as if you are lying supine, with eyes closed, on an overcast day, and suddenly the gloom stirs under your eyelids, and slowly becomes a languorous smile, then a warm feeling of contentment, and you know that the sun has come out from behind the clouds. With just such a feeling my world begins: the misty air gradually clears, and it is suffused with such radiant, tremulous kindness, and my soul expanses so freely in its native realm. -- But then what, then what? Yes, that is the line beyond which I lose control... Brought up into the air, the word bursts, as burst those spherical fishes that breathe and blaze only in the compressed murk of the depths when brought up in the net. However I am making one last effort -- and I think I have caught my prey... but it is only a fleeting apparition of my prey!
There, tam, lá-bas, the gaze of men glows with inimitable understanding; there the freaks that are tortured here walk unmolested; there time takes shape according to one's pleasure, like a figured rug whose folds can be gathered in such a way that two designs will meet -- and the rug is once again smoothed out, and you live on, or else superimpose the next image on the last, endlessly, endlessly, with the leisurely concentration of a woman selecting a belt to go with her dress -- now she glides in my direction, rhythmically butting the velvet with her knees, comprehending everything and comprehensible to me... There, there are the originals of those gardens where we used to roam and hide in this world; there everything strikes one by its bewitching evidence, by the simplicity of perfect good; there everything pleases one's soul, everything is filled with the kind of fun that children know; there shines the mirror that now and then sends a chance reflection here...
And what I say is not it, not quite it, and I am getting mixed up, getting nowhere, talking nonsense, and the more I move about and search in the water where I grope on the sandy bottom for a glimmer I have glimpsed, the muddier the water grows, and the less likely it becomes that I shall grasp it. No, I have as yet said nothing, or, rather, said only bookish words... and in the end the logical thing would be to give up and I would give up if I were laboring for a reader existing today, but as there is in the world not a single human being who can speak my language; or, more simply, not a single human being who can speak; or, even more simply, not a single human; I must think only of myself, of that force which urges me to express myself. I am cold, weakened, afraid, the back of my head blinks and cringes, and once again gazes with insane intensity, but, in spite of everything, I am chained to this table like a cup to a drinking fountain, and will not rise till I have said what I want. I repeat, I repeat: There is something I know, there is something I know, there is something...
I was going to read this to you. You're not here to hear it anymore, so I'll just leave it here so I don't forget.
---
I know something, yes...but even now, when it is all over anyway, even now -- I am afraid that I may corrupt someone? Or will nothing come of what I am trying to tell, its only vestiges being the corpses of strangled words, like hanged men...evening silhouettes of gammas and gerunds, gallow crows -- I think I should prefer the rope, since I know authoritatively and irrevocably that it shall be the ax; a little time gained, time, which is now so precious to me that I value every respite, every postponement... I mean time allotted to thinking; the furlough I allow my thoughts for a free journey from fact to fantasy and return... I mean much more besides, but lack of writing skill, haste, excitement, weakness... I know something. I know something. But expression of it comes so hard! No, I cannot... I would like to give up -- yet I have the feeling of boiling and rising, a tickling, which may drive you mad if you do not express it somehow. Oh no, I do not gloat over my own person, I do not get all hot wrestling with my soul in a darkened room; I have no desires, save the desire to express myself -- in defiance of all the world's muteness.
How frightened I am. How sick with fright. But no one shall take me away from myself. I am frightened -- and now I am losing some thread, which I held so palpably only a moment ago. Where is it? It has slipped out of my grasp! I am trembling over the paper, chewing the pencil through to the lead, hunching over to conceal myself from the door through which a piercing eye stings me in the nape, and it seems I am right on the verge of crumpling everything and tearing it up. I am here through an error -- not in this prison, specifically -- but in this whole terrible, striped world; a world which seems not a bad example of amateur craftsmanship, but is in reality calamity, horror, madness, error -- and look, the curio slays the tourist, the gigantic carved bear brings its wooden mallet down upon me.
And yet, ever since early childhood, I have had dreams... In my dreams the world was ennobled, spiritualized; people whom in the waking state I feared so much appeared there in a shimmering refraction, just as if they were imbued with and enveloped by that vibration of light which in sultry weather inspires the very outlines of objects with life; their voices, their step, the expressions of their eyes and even of their clothes -- acquired an exciting significance; to put it more simply, in my dreams the world would come alive, becoming so captivatingly majestic, free and ethereal, that afterwards it would be oppressive to breathe the dust of this painted life.
But then I have long since grown accustomed to the promise of reality, a foreglimpse and a whiff of it; that is, they contain, in a very vague, diluted state, more genuine reality than our vaunted waking life which, in its turn, is semi-sleep, an evil drowsiness into which penetrate in grotesque disguise the sounds and sights of the real world, flowing beyond the periphery of the mind -- as when you hear during sleep a dreadful insidious tale because a branch is scraping on the pane, or see yourself sinking into snow because your blanket is sliding off. But how I fear awakening! How I fear that second, or rather split second, already cut short then, when, with a lumberjack's grunt -- But what is there to fear? Will it not be for me simply the shadow of an ax, and shall I not hear the downward vigorous grunt with the ear of a different world?
Still I am afraid! One cannot write it off so easily. Neither is it good that my thoughts keep getting sucked into the cavity of the future -- I want to think about something else, clarify other things... but I write obscurely and limply, like Pushkin's lyrical duelist. Soon, I think, I shall evolve a third eye on the back of my neck, between my brittle vertebrae: a mad eye, wide open, with a dilating pupil and pink venation on the glossy ball. Keep away! Even stronger, more hoarsely: hands off! I can foresee it all! And how often do my ears ring with the sob I am destined to emit and the terrible gurgling cough, uttered by the beheaded tyro. But all of this is not the point, and my discourse on dreams and waking are also not the point... Wait! There, I feel once again that I shall really express myself, shall bring the words to bay. Alas, no one taught me the kind of chase, and the ancient inborn art of writing is long since forgotten -- forgotten are those days when it needed no schooling, but ignited and blazed like a forest fire -- today it seems just as incredible as the music that once used to be extracted from a monstrous pianoforte, music that would nimbly ripple or suddenly hack the world into great, gleaming blocks -- I myself picture all this so clearly, but you are not I, and therein lies the irreparable calamity.
Not knowing how to write, but sensing with my criminal intuition how words are combined, what one must do for a commonplace word to come alive and to share its neighbor's sheen, heat, shadow, while reflecting itself in its neighbor and renewing the neighboring word in the process, so that the whole line is live iridescence; while I sense the nature of this kind of word propinquity, I am nevertheless unable to achieve it, yet that is what is indispensable to me for my task, a task of not now and not here. Not here! The horrible "here," the dark dungeon, in which a relentlessly howling heart is incarcerated, this "here" holds and constricts me. But what gleams shine through at night, and what--.
It exists, my dream world, it must exist, since, surely there must be an original of the clumsy copy. Dreamy, round, and blue, it turns slowly toward me. It is as if you are lying supine, with eyes closed, on an overcast day, and suddenly the gloom stirs under your eyelids, and slowly becomes a languorous smile, then a warm feeling of contentment, and you know that the sun has come out from behind the clouds. With just such a feeling my world begins: the misty air gradually clears, and it is suffused with such radiant, tremulous kindness, and my soul expanses so freely in its native realm. -- But then what, then what? Yes, that is the line beyond which I lose control... Brought up into the air, the word bursts, as burst those spherical fishes that breathe and blaze only in the compressed murk of the depths when brought up in the net. However I am making one last effort -- and I think I have caught my prey... but it is only a fleeting apparition of my prey!
There, tam, lá-bas, the gaze of men glows with inimitable understanding; there the freaks that are tortured here walk unmolested; there time takes shape according to one's pleasure, like a figured rug whose folds can be gathered in such a way that two designs will meet -- and the rug is once again smoothed out, and you live on, or else superimpose the next image on the last, endlessly, endlessly, with the leisurely concentration of a woman selecting a belt to go with her dress -- now she glides in my direction, rhythmically butting the velvet with her knees, comprehending everything and comprehensible to me... There, there are the originals of those gardens where we used to roam and hide in this world; there everything strikes one by its bewitching evidence, by the simplicity of perfect good; there everything pleases one's soul, everything is filled with the kind of fun that children know; there shines the mirror that now and then sends a chance reflection here...
And what I say is not it, not quite it, and I am getting mixed up, getting nowhere, talking nonsense, and the more I move about and search in the water where I grope on the sandy bottom for a glimmer I have glimpsed, the muddier the water grows, and the less likely it becomes that I shall grasp it. No, I have as yet said nothing, or, rather, said only bookish words... and in the end the logical thing would be to give up and I would give up if I were laboring for a reader existing today, but as there is in the world not a single human being who can speak my language; or, more simply, not a single human being who can speak; or, even more simply, not a single human; I must think only of myself, of that force which urges me to express myself. I am cold, weakened, afraid, the back of my head blinks and cringes, and once again gazes with insane intensity, but, in spite of everything, I am chained to this table like a cup to a drinking fountain, and will not rise till I have said what I want. I repeat, I repeat: There is something I know, there is something I know, there is something...
8.02.2006
8.01.2006
No contact from him. Hahahaha. Oh God this is confusing.
"I'll call you tomorrow."
"You'll see me before I leave."
Bullshit~
Like I couldn't just see through all of that as it was happening. Whatever, guys, I have homework to turn in, a degree to finish, and a college to pick. I don't have time for this.
As much as I wish I did.
._.
"I'll call you tomorrow."
"You'll see me before I leave."
Bullshit~
Like I couldn't just see through all of that as it was happening. Whatever, guys, I have homework to turn in, a degree to finish, and a college to pick. I don't have time for this.
As much as I wish I did.
._.
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