1.31.2005

Who am I?

Something is missing from my life. That old cliche. It's back, but in a new context, because I am the one saying it. There is something missing. Maybe it was never there. Maybe I am the defect.

Let me simplify.

There is something I want. I do not know what it is.

Do you know what is wrong?


Magical...uh...windchimes from heaven.


I didn't notice the slight fisheye on this lense before - check it out, those icicles on the left should be straight.


Ditto.


The neighbors' houses always look better than ours.

1.30.2005

Nothing makes sense...

...when you turn your head sideways and scroll down.

whimper

can't...move legs...need new muscles...

I move so slowly!

1.29.2005

Culver

-Woke up at 2:49AM. Nice and warm in blanket. Cold outside of blanket.
-Stayed in blanket until 3:40AM. Dad turned on the lights. Brightness burns.
-Got on bus 4:00AM, about. Brought backpack. Am stupid.
-Bus sucks for ever and ever amen. I cannot sleep on bus, it's too uncomfortable and loud.
-Arrive at Culver after "for ever and ever." 7:00AM.
-"Warm up," i.e. doing nothing, until 9:30AM when fencing starts.
-For an unknown and perhaps unending amount of time, Varsity B Sabre team kicks everybody else's asses.
-Free to walk around at 12:00PM.
-Walks around for ever and ever amen.
-Plays basketball for a few hours until 6:00PM. Holy crap, that was the most exercise I've gotten in forever. And ever. Because fencing is not exercise. Amen.
-Oh yeah, ate a bunch of junk food and sugary crap.
-Went back on bus. It sucks forever and ever. Amen.
-Arrive at Westfield Shopping Mall at 7:08PM. Told to reconvene on bus at 7:45PM.
-Dan and I eat "maki of Japan." They labelled egg rolls as "Maki Rolls." The asian dude behind the counter was speaking Chinese. The food did not sit easily in our stomaches.
-We reconvene on the bus at 7:45PM. The coaches aren't there.
-Dan and I decide to get water at 7:52PM. I am never buying "asian food" at food courts ever again.
-Stupid fucking Frullati's has only one employee who takes millions upon millions of years to make the smoothies of the two girls in front of us. They required the utmost care in their customizations as well. We finally get our 2 cups of water and two water bottles and boogie. Dan leaves me behind because he's an ass and my shoes are untied.
-Get on bus. Time: unknown.
-Stuff happens on bus. Either I'm too tired to remember or my subconscious is blocking it. Most likely a bit of both.
-Get back to Stevenson. Time: Late as hell. And tired.
-Get back home. Ditto.
-Get online. Do stuff.
-Forget what I'm doing. Time: Constantly.
-Yawn. 11:38PM.
-Sleep. 12:00AM?

1.28.2005

quick update from the link labs

There is an asshole playing loud music nearby. I recognize him from my bus - thankfully he left my bus long ago. I feel an intense desire to tear his throat out and shove his head up his ass.

...I'm really happy I'm at school! And strangely enough, there's no sarcasm in that statement.

Hum a ditty, dance a jig...be happy....be happy...

1.27.2005

AH! MY OCULUS!

I have, for the first time in my life, called my hair a "sonuvabitch."

Just thought y'all'd like to know, y'know?

1.26.2005

The future

as I cannot be where I am not, and I am constantly, presently not where I am in the future, I truly dearly hope that I can be where I am now and then, because I'd rather that than where I cannot be. This vagueness worries my eyes and makes me write myself lies, so there is no more but the graded sand to worry what my heart belies itself writing in the white and tan boxes, outside of which I cannot think. I am to illustrate a character's thoughts, but this character has no thoughts except about character's thoughts spiralling into infinity and he grins at the void because it's more than he would have thought it would have him think. And where did he gain the pretense to change person, and possibly tense?
BUT
onto the future, where the ride becomes rocky and covered in mist like Myst but better illustrated, and where the pages flip themselves and never ask and never tell but only laugh as you try see yourself seeing your past self seeing yourself. Granted, it's not the prettiest picture, but adrenaline high riding the bend on your mind is worth it, is it not? and if you do it enough, you'll have a four star, maybe five star ride like caramel thrown whole-sale into the freezing Alaskan air OH MY GOD who would do such a thing?

Grin and laugh and flip your pages.
Moi.

Bam! And then there was keyboard!

I felt the need to write, so if you'll please excuse me:

I think it is the lot of Men
and woMen for that matter
to fall and try and fail again
and again and again and again
but we're all better for it in the end
which makes the gain more than the loss
so really, all that's failure's really success
and

...what I mean by that, is that people should not stay down. When you fall, it is poor sportsmanship to stay down and whine. You make us all look bad! So get up and try again. Rise to the occasion, and if you can't, just roll and knead again, 'til all the hot air's gone, and maybe that'll do the trick. But what I'm really saying is that

The tool comes quickly
to the able handed one.
The rest find their own.

Make decisions in the space of sixteen breaths, and if you made it too quickly, you can breathe a sigh of relief over ending something important. Roll with it, flow with, move on and take the hits.

And sometimes only song
can take away the pain
make right all the wrong
and wipe away the stains

because words aren't the end
the one way to truth.
sometimes, God forfend,
forsooth!
I run out of rhymes

He crouched in a dark alleyway, hoping his eyes would reflect in the dim lamplight, so that someone somewhere would find him and feed him, hold him and house him, but that wasn't to be, so he pounced off of the trashcan and fled into the night. The passersbys, puzzled, wondered why he didn't want their love. He, in turn, wondered why they wanted to trap him. They wondered where he lived. He wondered that too. He wondered where he could find a home to become the home for - the shield, the sword, the armor against the world. He wondered and wandered and wound down to the old boulevard, where broken glass lay cold and sharp against his feet, and slept there, to return the next day, to find the next city, to wonder and wander somewhere else. That is where he is now.

Grinning.

Hair

Hmm...I seem to have accumulated quite a bit of hair on the top of my head. What ever shall shall I do with it?

Alright, so...

...maybe it was a mistake to go to school today.

1.25.2005

to cry

I finally cried this morning. First time in ages. And to think I was poetically horrified by my inability to cry - to think that I was so lucky. It's a degrading process, crying is. It strips you of your exterior and tells you exactly what you fear, what hurts you, what is deep and core to you.

I thought I was going to die. I'll leave the exact sordid details out of it, but let's just say it had to do with my being sick. And now I'm left disappointed with myself. Fear of death? What a poor reason to cry. I tell myself to live every day like a dream that could end at any moment, but now I realize that I've been lying to myself. I haven't lived a dream at all.

My tears proved that.


Wow. You really can find everything on eBay.

1.24.2005

Hey look, it's me!


...and me, and me, and me, and me...

Yar!

this is an audio post - click to play
This shoulda been posted at 11:00...

They lie...

this is an audio post - click to play
I mumbled this at 6:30AM or somewhat around there...

A little about my family...

Let me tell you a little bit about my father...
When he was born in Rangoon, Burma, his grandmother dedicated him to the thunder god. I don't think he's paid his respects since then, and I'm not sure he remembers how to. Either way, he's always been a little "touched." Last year, for example, he was on the 20th floor of the Merchandise Mart, where he still works. Going down the stairs, he landed badly and twisted an ankle. From the groundfloor to the twentieth level there are a lot of stairs, and, with an injured ankle, the cement flights become a dangerous gauntlet. To make things worse, he was in a service section of the Mart, where almost nobody went through. By chance, though, a stranger happened to be passing through, and helped my father down to where he could be treated. The last words he told my father were, "You're lucky. There must an angel watching over you."

But that's not where his stories begin. His stories begin in the country of Burma, or Myanmar as it's called today. A mystical land, it seems to me, where you could reach up into the trees and pluck ripe mangos from the branches, fly kites in the sun until you're a deep mocha brown, and make monkeys fall, inebriated, from the canopy above you as you lead elephants through the forest.

Ah, but I err. One of those is my mother's story, and another is my mother's grandfather's story. Only one ofthe previous paragraph is of my father.

So, let me tell you a little bit about my family...

1.23.2005

(My Father)^n

I could write entire books about my father, and my father's father, and my father's father's father...

...actually, about all my family.

I should think to start here


No more pristine snow.


To the left, Sean. To the right, Kevin. Behind him, someone else. (Michael?)


I just shovelled/snowblowered this last night.


When the snow melts, we're gonna be in big trouble.


An unsuspecting Michael looks anxiously at Kevin

1.22.2005

The True Veneer

my flesh tells me that my hand
is meant to hold a blade
and my shoulders to carry the weight
of mankind's many years of smithing
my legs to grip and guide
the passage of my steed
my feet encased to meet and beat
the dusty sun strewn earth

yet the something within
holds this warrior body still
commands the grasp of a pen
in the stead of a sword

these instincts vie
almost equally
until in my mind's eye
I can't tell which, if any,
is the true veneer


For my cousin-

1.21.2005

"I'm just..sad. There was a girl who was like a dream to me. It was at the Sol Duc hot springs, as I remember. Perfect. Amazingly so. Like a goddess. The world brightened when she looked my way. Or I thought she looked my way. She was a goddess to me then, she must have heard all my thoughts. But I was no dream to match her, or so I spoke to myself. And my dream became a vision, then a hope, and then faded away. I wish I knew what to dream when these moments come to me. But I don't. And I'm not sure if I ever will dream the perfect dream."

Internal Dialogue

-You're being retarded.
-Yeah, I know.
-Why?
-That, I don't know.
-You're tired.
-Obviously.
-The only thing you seem to be able to do consistently is become confused. And more tired.
-Astute observation, Sherlock.
-Hey, I'm pretty damned tired too.
-Well, duh.
-You know what I miss? I miss not caring about all this crap. It was so much easier in Freshman year...
-...and 8th grade, and sixth grade...
-...but not Fourth.
-Naw, that was hell.
-Agreed. Anyway, what I'm getting at is that you really need to look at what you hold close to yourself. The things you carry that weigh you down, and you need to let go.
-Isn't that what I'm supposed to be getting at?
-Like there's a difference.
-What if what weighs me down is my friends? As great as they are, they worry me sometimes.
-And why is that?
-I worry about what they think.
-Of yourself?
-Somewhat. But more about when they start to carry things.
-Like you.
-Yeah.
-I don't know what to say. You could try to take these burdens on, but it might not help them at all. A burden shared is not necessarily lighter.
-I could try to make them put them down, but it would be controlling and manipulative. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.
-Well...maybe you could do neither.
-Just...be there?
-Just be there. Exist.
-Listen to the birds flap their wings in the trees...
-...and smile.
-Smile for all of them. I don't do it enough, I know...
-...and neither do I.

Love of the wind (attempt no.2 - prose)

All I can think of doing is jumping.
No. Not jumping. Flight.
My final flight.
Once more...

There is a cliff before me. I know this, and yet it has nothing at all to do with the joy I experience. I am simultaneously chilled and heated, waning desert sun breaking through the clouds and trees and solid walls of wind to warm my face in a million different ways, like a million sunrises, all passing in a fraction of a second.

There is a call as I slide toward the edge, one of panic, but it is so far away...

My body instinctively tenses and tries to pull back at the last nanosecond but it is far too late, and I smile as I subconsciously cede the battle to gravity. And suddenly, I am facing the way I always should have been facing, an immense wall growing larger and larger on the far side of the plane I am suddenly accelerating forth on.

And the wind...

Everything is streamlined in those few moments, my hair whipping back from my face like a teardrop, my clothes pressing against my body as they strive to deny me. I am plunging through an ocean towards its dark bottom, and I am the waters' only inhabitant.

As I think this, I seem to slow, but the immense caress of the wind abates not







(********)(*)(*098)()&$#Q$^!346!@#^12457




Screw this, I'm too tired to write now

Love of the wind

I could stand here forever
and endure the ages like a mountain
crest the timeline like a glacier
I could greet the morning grandly
and let the shadow of the earth overtake me
I could carve the River Lethe like a boulder

I would do all that and more
if the wind did not kiss my cheek as I ran
tussle my hair as I grip the handlebars
tug my clothes as the sun and the stars and the moon
wheel above and wheel below me

She has wiped my tears
as I drew my blade across
the body-strewn battlefield
Her voice has called me to action
as I opened my wings to fly
Her touch has soothed my fears
as I took to flight with my metal wings
again and again

I would that you could see
that I would if I could be
anything you wanted
but for love of the wind

1.20.2005

In Other News

Mondays suck.

On language

Idea for my free essay that's been percolating in my head for a while. Bullet points because I'm not sure about all of my thoughts' connectivity yet.

-Language is, essentially, the confinement of pure, unadulterated (thought/creativity/self/personality?) into communicable forms.

-The (universality/communicability) in language is like dance - you are limited to the stage that others can see (as opposed to the insane or withheld) but the movements within that space...(unfinished thought)

-The confinement of such essential being is unfortunate, but essential in order to be talked about. It's like infinity or God - no one's seen it. It's because those who can talk about it can't see it. Or vice versa.

-The beauty in language is how much of that "essential self" the author is able to bring back to the reader with his/her words.

-The nature of the essential self...intuition...(?) (unfinished thought) (see philosophy on "intuition")

-Further analysis of works of language are useless unless effectively designed to bring more of the original intuition back to the readers of the analysis.

-Analyses, however, like parasites, will always pale in comparison to original works. Much like why fanfics suck ass.

-This is going to degenerate into name-calling and cussing at the English system soon.

We shadows

If we shadows have offended,
think but this, and all is mended
that you have but slumber'd here
while these visions did appear
and this weak and idle theme
no more yielding but a dream.
Gentles, do not reprehend
if you pardon, we will mend
and, as I am an honest Puck,
if we have unearned luck
now to scape the serpent's tongue
we will make amends ere long
else the Puck a liar call
so, good night unto you all
give me your hands, if we be friends
and Robin shall restore amends.

1.19.2005

OH SHIT

TODAY IS THE 19TH!

Audtioning on the 20th

I'm set to audition for a Midsummer Night's Dream on the twentieth.

*sigh* audioblogger posted this a little late.

this is an audio post - click to play

1.18.2005

Fortune Teller

this is an audio post - click to play

Random

this is an audio post - click to play

The Modern Way

this is an audio post - click to play

Renormalization

I want to be able to dress like a bum.
Eh, you got used to this. You might as well look good.
I want to be able to look her in the eyes and smile honestly.
It ain't gonna happen in a day, kid. Give it some time or forget about it.
I want to see the sun shine on a summer day.
It'll come.
I want to be normal again.
Hah, you just implied you were "normal" at one point.

I want freedom from my heart.
That...you'll never find.

1.17.2005

Locked Out

Ergh...screw script format.




"I'm gonna go outside for a little bit, alright?"
He receives no answer, and expected none. He looked around the house, searching. Making his way into the frigid air was not a task he'd undertake lightly. If he'd be out there at all, he might as well make it worth his family's time, so he pocketed a derelict faucet handle that they had just replaced. The hefty weight secured, he made his way to the garbage outside, experiencing shocking chills as he passed through first the garage and opened the door to the outside world...
The air's frigidity awoke a primal response that crawled across his skin as he pushed past the door. Lost in his thoughts, he walked to the edge of their property and dropped to a crouch, putting a few fingers in the cold snow. He sighed, frosty breath escaping into the early morning air, rose, and continued past the border, into the forest.
Inside the house, a well-meaning father locked the door.
Outside, he is thinking and walking, a large circuit that will eventually take him back to his house. He is thinking of what the meaning of life is, and why the snow seems so bright today. And where he and his family will go in Michigan.
Inside, the family loads their luggage.
Outside, he remembers he has a faucet handle, and, withdrawing it from his pocket, drops the thing, its freezing metal surface burning his skin.
"Yar!"
Inside, mother asks, "Is everyone here?"
"Yes mother!" the children respond.
Outside, he attempts to dig through the snow with reddened hands. Forgetting the faucet handle on someone else's property constitutes littering.
The garage door opens, and the minivan rolls a few coughing, sputtering feet out, then zooms away.
He looks up as he finally grasps the handle, alerted by the familiar sound of the engine, and watches as his family escapes.
"Oh shit!"
Ice-cold faucet handle in hand, he runs for the car, but gets to the road just in time to see them round the corner. Thinking quickly, he fumbles through his pockets for his cellphone.
"Why the fuck do I have so many pockets?"
He comes to the sinking realization that his cellphone is not with him, no matter how many pockets he goes through, and runs for the door he left unlocked.
Trying the door, he discovers by the click of the handle, that he is locked out.
Trying the door again, he discovers that nothing has changed.
Trying the door one last time, he discovers that miracles do not happen just because you're locked out of your house while your family goes to Michigan.
Shoulders slumping, he walks a distance away. Then he turns, screaming, and charges the door, faucet handle raised and arcing towards the window.

Freeze.

How much did it cost when I broke that first window? Man, dad was so pissed. And that time I knocked a hole in the wall, and kicked the glass out of the door, and broke the chandelier with my yo-yo. Let's not do that again.

Unfreeze.

His scream dies and he spins about on a foot, leaning against the door. A chill shook him to his core.
"Until they return...I must survive."
He looks down at his hands, and the faucet handle therein.

Harsh breathing. Frost clouds rising into the air. The sun is setting on the horizon.
At the base of a snowbank, his faucet handles rises and falls again and again. The setting sun briefly illuminates the fruit of his labor, a cave bored into the very core of the icy snowbank. His reddened palms and cheeks crack with the cold.
He jams the cave with evergreen leaves, then huddles in for the night.
><><><><><><><><><><

Let's forget this little piece ever happened.

Things are Back to Normal!

And I'd like to keep them that way for a little bit! No more of that rollercoaster, cuz that shit be whacked, yo!

Tomorrow's Taxi

I'm gonna take the taxi
I'm gonna take it far
I'm gonna take to the garden
and to the home of my heart
and maybe then I can stop
and maybe I can breathe again
once I take the taxi

1.16.2005

Flickr

Flickr in and out
but never disappear
look once look twice
voila, I'm here!

*looks around, pats the dust off the furniture.*

I'm BACK!


I guess nobody's online this early in the morning...

1.14.2005



It is finished.


Behold, the Runes of Power.



Above all else, there is Heaven.


...below Heaven is Man.


...below Man is Earth.


I must remember my heritage.

I haven't...

I haven't written here in a while.
I haven't talked in a while.
I haven't walked in about the same time.
I haven't acted in so very long.

But when I do, expect style.

1.02.2005


Don't I look just so freaking happy?


See how my hair is kinda clumping together? Yeah, I'll get to that.


I was all like, "Whoa, my eyes reflect things!"


Today, I cleaned a mirror. Then I rubbed my hair against it. It left an oil smear. Some of my hair in this pic is uniformly bright with oils.


I also ran around proclaiming my lack of hygiene to everyone I can find. I enjoyed their disgust quite thoroughly.


Here's the thing - I didn't take a shower on New Year's because I was exhausted. So on Jan. 1, at night, I take a shower, but I forget to wash my hair.


Okay, so my logic is this -
1) I have oily hair.
2) I must take pictures of my eyes.

W3rd.