Lemme tell you something, faceless Internet: I've been there. I've had my ups and downs like y'all. And, lemme tell ya something else: you think that it never gets better. Really. You sit there, morose and brooding, like a tiny sliver of insanity and truth (because they're the same; who can deny it?) and you see through all these lies people feed themselves about love and life and happiness. And you know for a fact that it doesn't exist. And it's not some suicidal, Hell-but-no-Heaven thing. It's just matter of fact.
But buck up, bitches. Because this shit does get better. You'll meet someone who pulls you out of that rut and makes you feel like a fucking human again. And once you do, don't let them go. Be honest. Excruciatingly so. Take chances. Don't make the same mistakes you made before. Talk about your feelings, even if it's terrifying-- if I can do it successfully, so can you. Shower together. Try things you've never done before, and not just sexual things. Anything at all. Even if you two don't make it forever (and let's fucking face it: who does?) you'll have checked a lot off of your bucket list, and gotten laid a lot. Heartbreak's worth this.
Maybe you'll be one of the lucky ones who pulls themselves out of a rut, in which case I congratulate you. You're admirable indeed; a force to be reckoned with. Kudos to you, and your new found motivation in life. I don't have much to say to you, because if you're in this category you're better than me, to be sure.
In any case, don't merely exist; live. Don't settle for less than what you've dreamed of; there's plenty of time for that when we're old and decrepit. Don't let happiness slip away because you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself. Yeah, life's shit sometimes but you deserve better than this. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to have your great days outweigh your not-so-great ones. You deserve to understand what all those damn songs are about. You deserve love.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
Want
I guess the thing is that I want someone like you to love me. I want you to love me. I want to be the girl you come home for and stay up at night thinking about and are reminded of at every turn. I want you to want to take me out and fuck me and make me dinner and kiss me good night and tell me you love me.
I want and want and want and want and want and want.
I want to see you in love as a bystander. I want to know what you look like when that special someone texts you. I want to know the furrow of your brow as you say "I love you."
I have no real words for the things I want where you're involved.
I want and want and want and want and want and want.
I want to see you in love as a bystander. I want to know what you look like when that special someone texts you. I want to know the furrow of your brow as you say "I love you."
I have no real words for the things I want where you're involved.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
StillAlive
We make so many excuses for ourselves. I can't write anymore, and who do I blame it on? Maybe he intimidates me, in that aspect too-- So it's your fault. I hope you're happy.
Thanksgiving is coming and it's gonna be big.
Thanksgiving is coming and it's gonna be big.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Rant
You'd think with all the time spent phrasing and rephrasing these thoughts in my head that I'd be able to say it when it mattered, right? But your heart skips a beat, maybe, and so did mine-- my palms start to sweat and gods, you're not even here. This makes too much sense to be real.
We kid ourselves, so much. Not just you and I, dear, but everyone. Like with movies, and music. There are stages in this. When we're kids we believe in love and magic and cooties, things that don't need proof, things with which words are enough. We grow up a little, we become tadpoles with legs, and we realize that these things don't really exist, except for love-- for some reason love is the hardest one to let go of. Santa Claus can fly away with nary a tear, the Tooth Fairy's dead on our floor and we don't raise a hand to clap her back, Disney's not the wizard we thought he was. Then our sex drive kicks in and we have a very different view of cooties.
Love is what we hold on to, and for what? I don't mean to be the Negative Nancy in the room but honestly, for what? Love is the most selfish thing that we've ever given ourselves, the human race. Love is the perfect excuse. Deceit, and lies and murder-- love absolves us of our sin. For God so loved the world, that He gave His one and only Son, so that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16 or whatever.
We figure everyone else out but ourselves. We can look at someone once and judge them, rake our eyes up and down and think we know everything about them-- and for the most part, we do. Don't give me this bullshit about getting to know people. If we're being honest, and I am, it's the sickest part of life. We bitch and whine and complain about how much people don't make sense but we do. We make so much sense it can't even be real.
Stop looking at things in context. Stop thinking about the back story, and the complications, and the tangents. Look at what is going on and see it for what it is. The only reason we make things more complicated than they are is because they're all we have. Complicated situations make us feel important, they make us feel like we have some purpose on this planet. We don't-- of course we don't. As a rule we don't matter. None of those things you worry about matter, as a rule. It's about exceptions.
I don't think people realize how much of their life is in their own hands. I don't think people realize how much different their life could be if they took responsibility and stopped pussy-footing around. I'm not perfect, neither are you. But I can go to sleep at night because at the end of the day I don't take life as seriously as you do. There will always be another day. And if there isn't, it doesn't matter. You'll either be in a better place or thrust into the realms of nonexistence.
/rant
We kid ourselves, so much. Not just you and I, dear, but everyone. Like with movies, and music. There are stages in this. When we're kids we believe in love and magic and cooties, things that don't need proof, things with which words are enough. We grow up a little, we become tadpoles with legs, and we realize that these things don't really exist, except for love-- for some reason love is the hardest one to let go of. Santa Claus can fly away with nary a tear, the Tooth Fairy's dead on our floor and we don't raise a hand to clap her back, Disney's not the wizard we thought he was. Then our sex drive kicks in and we have a very different view of cooties.
Love is what we hold on to, and for what? I don't mean to be the Negative Nancy in the room but honestly, for what? Love is the most selfish thing that we've ever given ourselves, the human race. Love is the perfect excuse. Deceit, and lies and murder-- love absolves us of our sin. For God so loved the world, that He gave His one and only Son, so that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16 or whatever.
We figure everyone else out but ourselves. We can look at someone once and judge them, rake our eyes up and down and think we know everything about them-- and for the most part, we do. Don't give me this bullshit about getting to know people. If we're being honest, and I am, it's the sickest part of life. We bitch and whine and complain about how much people don't make sense but we do. We make so much sense it can't even be real.
Stop looking at things in context. Stop thinking about the back story, and the complications, and the tangents. Look at what is going on and see it for what it is. The only reason we make things more complicated than they are is because they're all we have. Complicated situations make us feel important, they make us feel like we have some purpose on this planet. We don't-- of course we don't. As a rule we don't matter. None of those things you worry about matter, as a rule. It's about exceptions.
I don't think people realize how much of their life is in their own hands. I don't think people realize how much different their life could be if they took responsibility and stopped pussy-footing around. I'm not perfect, neither are you. But I can go to sleep at night because at the end of the day I don't take life as seriously as you do. There will always be another day. And if there isn't, it doesn't matter. You'll either be in a better place or thrust into the realms of nonexistence.
/rant
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
हेलगा
Helga is pleased. The Butcher has contacted her and wishes her to do a spread sheet with the elite of all sausage, the German Braunschweiger. She will shine her cleaver and spread her legs like the best of her country's damsels.
Monday, September 13, 2010
The Mind of an Artist
The mind of an artist is a curious thing to me. To think in pictures, to dream in tableau-- It is practically unthinkable. It's always words with me. No matter the image, no matter the emotion, no matter the fleeting thought sparking upon the fabric of my mind and bouncing back away through space, tiny yellow footprint left behind; they're always accompanied by words.
I understand the concept, surely. What kind of writer could I ever hope to consider myself if I couldn't understand things from a different point of view? I understand most things from a different point of view. In fact, there are very few things of this nature that I don't understand, or that don't make a sick sort of sense to me. Sometimes I think I'm too analytical for my own good.
But back to the artist's mind. I come across these pictures, and someone must have drawn them. Someone must have brought a pencil to paper, drawn ink from an inkwell, slashed paint across a page. But before all that it's just a thought, and as easily as I can see the likeness (because really, in theory I think the same way, my fingers just write instead of draw) I don't think it's possible for me to think solely in images, even for a short while.
Letters, sentences, words in the mind of a writer, and pictures, paintings, moments in the mind of an artist.
I understand the concept, surely. What kind of writer could I ever hope to consider myself if I couldn't understand things from a different point of view? I understand most things from a different point of view. In fact, there are very few things of this nature that I don't understand, or that don't make a sick sort of sense to me. Sometimes I think I'm too analytical for my own good.
But back to the artist's mind. I come across these pictures, and someone must have drawn them. Someone must have brought a pencil to paper, drawn ink from an inkwell, slashed paint across a page. But before all that it's just a thought, and as easily as I can see the likeness (because really, in theory I think the same way, my fingers just write instead of draw) I don't think it's possible for me to think solely in images, even for a short while.
Letters, sentences, words in the mind of a writer, and pictures, paintings, moments in the mind of an artist.
Monday, August 23, 2010
त्रोल्ल्फूत
Sometimes I feel like I give too much of myself on here, and not enough anywhere else.
People are just so content to leave me behind, and I'm so content to let them. And it's not that I'm lonely, I just miss them. Or maybe it's the other way around. Alright, maybe it's both. Or none.
It's none of that for some of you, and all of that for none of you. It's definitely some of that for some of you.
And ain't that a kick in the head.
People are just so content to leave me behind, and I'm so content to let them. And it's not that I'm lonely, I just miss them. Or maybe it's the other way around. Alright, maybe it's both. Or none.
It's none of that for some of you, and all of that for none of you. It's definitely some of that for some of you.
And ain't that a kick in the head.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
Speechless
I'm so fucking angry. On one hand I want to rail and yell and scream and fight with him, because maybe after all that's done we can be us again.
But I don't think that's going to happen. And that makes me even more pissed. What the fuck.
The worst part is that I don't feel like I can write anymore. I'm rarely proud of my words now. Nothing makes sense in the same way. It's not some huge shift in my universe. It's just a subtle twist and slide that makes everything shine strangely. It's like the world's in color when it was in black and white. Not better, not worse. Just different. And unfamiliar.
I hate feeling like the inferior one, like the one who has to beg to get back into good graces. Like I'm the one who has to force us to be the way we were. It shouldn't have to be like that.
It's strange how I feel like I know exactly how she feels now. Or felt, I suppose. He reminds me of myself so much. I can't believe I ever acted like that, but I really can. I'm appalled. But the fact that I've realized it now is good. A step in the right direction.
I'm going to change.
But I don't think that's going to happen. And that makes me even more pissed. What the fuck.
The worst part is that I don't feel like I can write anymore. I'm rarely proud of my words now. Nothing makes sense in the same way. It's not some huge shift in my universe. It's just a subtle twist and slide that makes everything shine strangely. It's like the world's in color when it was in black and white. Not better, not worse. Just different. And unfamiliar.
I hate feeling like the inferior one, like the one who has to beg to get back into good graces. Like I'm the one who has to force us to be the way we were. It shouldn't have to be like that.
It's strange how I feel like I know exactly how she feels now. Or felt, I suppose. He reminds me of myself so much. I can't believe I ever acted like that, but I really can. I'm appalled. But the fact that I've realized it now is good. A step in the right direction.
I'm going to change.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Completion is nothing
Love, happiness; it's all anyone not self-admittedly shallow and materialistic wants. Once you've lassoed them, then what?
I guess there are the type that are okay with that. Monotonous happiness. Those are grandparent-types. You know. Million years old, still together, wrinkled as all get-out, holding hands, chaste kisses, dusty smiles. I know you know who I mean.
They are a small percentage of the population, though. Less then 25%. Much less. Maybe 10%. Maybe 5%. Or somewhere in between. I've never been good with numbers.
But hey. If you fall into the grandparent category, and you're in love with another grandparent type, you're set for life. Congratulations. A bliss of varying volumes is yours for eternity.
But you and me-- we're the other type. We're the quiet guys and the abrasive guys. We're the shy girls and the whores. Doesn't matter what you categorize yourself as. We've all got that spark of self-loathing inside. We've all got that self-destruct button we like to pummel once in a while. Usually the times when we really, really shouldn't.
But we do anyway. Just because.
We explode. We fly up and break apart, shards of our hopes and wants and dreams and wishes flying like confetti; ashes to ashes, and all that; and when the mangled bits of ourselves, smoking softly, we put ourselves back together.
We start over.
Because the journey is the best part.
I guess there are the type that are okay with that. Monotonous happiness. Those are grandparent-types. You know. Million years old, still together, wrinkled as all get-out, holding hands, chaste kisses, dusty smiles. I know you know who I mean.
They are a small percentage of the population, though. Less then 25%. Much less. Maybe 10%. Maybe 5%. Or somewhere in between. I've never been good with numbers.
But hey. If you fall into the grandparent category, and you're in love with another grandparent type, you're set for life. Congratulations. A bliss of varying volumes is yours for eternity.
But you and me-- we're the other type. We're the quiet guys and the abrasive guys. We're the shy girls and the whores. Doesn't matter what you categorize yourself as. We've all got that spark of self-loathing inside. We've all got that self-destruct button we like to pummel once in a while. Usually the times when we really, really shouldn't.
But we do anyway. Just because.
We explode. We fly up and break apart, shards of our hopes and wants and dreams and wishes flying like confetti; ashes to ashes, and all that; and when the mangled bits of ourselves, smoking softly, we put ourselves back together.
We start over.
Because the journey is the best part.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Disconnected
I've come to realize that I actually have a really high standard for personal responsibility. I also think it's something that I unconsciously hold others to than more than I hold myself. But I think the realization of that fact is enough to change it. A lot of things are like that. Reminds me of this three piece comic I came across once, where at the end the guy realizes that he's been just as much of an asshole as every other asshole he's ever met. Very eye-opening.
So, to make a long story short, there's a new level of responsibility I'm holding myself to these days. It'll be great.
I've been writing lyrics a lot lately. (Lulz, alliteration.) It's like I wake up with lyrics in my fingertips and on my lips and on the cusp of my ears, just waiting for me to do something with them. I guess it's not enough to just write them down and sort of flop them into some sort of semblance of a song. I've got to actually try. Hard work and all that. Again, personal responsibility comes into play here.
Speaking of revising (maybe I've just been thinking it though, and not speaking it at all-- I tend to do that) I've never believed in it, really. I know it's a terrible habit, to not believe in revision, but I've never had anyone to convince me otherwise until I did it myself one day. It's like I'm my own devil's advocate. (I would be.) But I considered it from a reader's perspective. If this bastard writer hasn't given it her utmost, hasn't poured her sweat and blood and tears into this piece; if she hasn't given one thousand percent of her effort and revised and changed it and gone back and erased and pulled out her hair over it-- if this writer isn't proud of what she's written, why should I waste my time reading it? There's so much more I could be reading. A vast, limitless abyss of words just waiting for me. Mind-boggling, really.
So, let's see what else on the mental agenda: oh, right. This thing. Friends. Love. Sex. What of it?
You know, I really wish I could say I don't believe in love. I wish I could actually pretend to not believe in love. I wish I didn't believe in love. But when all that love is is a mental (as in daft) affliction that exists only in our hearts and minds (mostly our minds, if we're going to be Frank. Or Alice, she's a doll too) how can I deny its existence? It's something we bring upon ourselves-- completely insane and entirely bad for our health for the most part; proud and selfish and foolish and beautiful and life-changing. I guess I'm just a very firm believer in the power of thoughts.
If you think you're in love, you must be. Love is just a state of mind, a thought that lasts as long as you let it.
I'm going to stop apologizing for things that aren't my fault. An apology should mean something. It should be like a declaration of love or a prayer. And I know these things have lost their revered power, they've lost their sparkling might with overuse but it's not too late to change things for myself. Individual versus social realities. Suck on that.
I'll skip right over the fact that I want to go to Kentucky for a week or two and come right out with the one that deals with how who I've been hates who I am. I'm not the same person I was two years ago, and while I could go on about how and why I've changed it'd really only be for my benefit, and I've gone over it enough in my head in the past week. No need to reiterate. I know I'll keep going over it anyway. It's just shocking to think of how I've changed. What I let myself become, and what I've lowered my standards to. I've accepted much less than I ever thought I would, and the sad part is that I didn't even bat an eyelash during. I went right ahead and let the situation take advantage of me. I guess it's a comfort that I've hurt only myself in this respect.
My COD assessments are tomorrow. Feels like a step in the right direction. So does all this change in my life. It's small but it feels like the world. I finally have one home. It's startling how much that simple fact has done for me. I have four walls I can theoretically rely on seeing every day. I can put all my decorations up in one room. I only have one half of a dresser for my entire wardrobe but I don't even care. I've a feeling this room will feel more like home than any other has in my life. It's already on its way.
"If you're not going to forget, why forgive?"
Forgiving makes you a better person. Forgetting makes you a foolish one.
So, to make a long story short, there's a new level of responsibility I'm holding myself to these days. It'll be great.
I've been writing lyrics a lot lately. (Lulz, alliteration.) It's like I wake up with lyrics in my fingertips and on my lips and on the cusp of my ears, just waiting for me to do something with them. I guess it's not enough to just write them down and sort of flop them into some sort of semblance of a song. I've got to actually try. Hard work and all that. Again, personal responsibility comes into play here.
Speaking of revising (maybe I've just been thinking it though, and not speaking it at all-- I tend to do that) I've never believed in it, really. I know it's a terrible habit, to not believe in revision, but I've never had anyone to convince me otherwise until I did it myself one day. It's like I'm my own devil's advocate. (I would be.) But I considered it from a reader's perspective. If this bastard writer hasn't given it her utmost, hasn't poured her sweat and blood and tears into this piece; if she hasn't given one thousand percent of her effort and revised and changed it and gone back and erased and pulled out her hair over it-- if this writer isn't proud of what she's written, why should I waste my time reading it? There's so much more I could be reading. A vast, limitless abyss of words just waiting for me. Mind-boggling, really.
So, let's see what else on the mental agenda: oh, right. This thing. Friends. Love. Sex. What of it?
You know, I really wish I could say I don't believe in love. I wish I could actually pretend to not believe in love. I wish I didn't believe in love. But when all that love is is a mental (as in daft) affliction that exists only in our hearts and minds (mostly our minds, if we're going to be Frank. Or Alice, she's a doll too) how can I deny its existence? It's something we bring upon ourselves-- completely insane and entirely bad for our health for the most part; proud and selfish and foolish and beautiful and life-changing. I guess I'm just a very firm believer in the power of thoughts.
If you think you're in love, you must be. Love is just a state of mind, a thought that lasts as long as you let it.
I'm going to stop apologizing for things that aren't my fault. An apology should mean something. It should be like a declaration of love or a prayer. And I know these things have lost their revered power, they've lost their sparkling might with overuse but it's not too late to change things for myself. Individual versus social realities. Suck on that.
I'll skip right over the fact that I want to go to Kentucky for a week or two and come right out with the one that deals with how who I've been hates who I am. I'm not the same person I was two years ago, and while I could go on about how and why I've changed it'd really only be for my benefit, and I've gone over it enough in my head in the past week. No need to reiterate. I know I'll keep going over it anyway. It's just shocking to think of how I've changed. What I let myself become, and what I've lowered my standards to. I've accepted much less than I ever thought I would, and the sad part is that I didn't even bat an eyelash during. I went right ahead and let the situation take advantage of me. I guess it's a comfort that I've hurt only myself in this respect.
My COD assessments are tomorrow. Feels like a step in the right direction. So does all this change in my life. It's small but it feels like the world. I finally have one home. It's startling how much that simple fact has done for me. I have four walls I can theoretically rely on seeing every day. I can put all my decorations up in one room. I only have one half of a dresser for my entire wardrobe but I don't even care. I've a feeling this room will feel more like home than any other has in my life. It's already on its way.
"If you're not going to forget, why forgive?"
Forgiving makes you a better person. Forgetting makes you a foolish one.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Tattoo?
It reminds me of love, and the way that two people can create a bond of such familiarity that transcends all previous ties. It's reminiscent of the struggles to improve ourselves so that the worth of what we have to give away is greater, because we know that the other deserves better than what we have to offer right now. It reminds me of how honesty was never important until love was achieved, and now honesty is the goal not even because you feel like it should be but because you actually want it to be. You want to give everything you have and more. It's about the ability to be utterly candid and the strength of frankness and stark truth that you've never before been able to accomplish; and it blows you away every time you reflect upon it and how far you've come. This is love, and more, and honesty and sincerity and truth.
"We've never been into honesty, but promise me you'll let me know when you're lying."
"We've never been into honesty, but promise me you'll let me know when you're lying."
Dear Pablo,
I dreamt these words once, exactly how they appear:
Beloved, I am the city, and so I cover you
Segue
The dream snaps shut, ends
And you see everything and nothing:
Everything of that world
and nothing of ours.
I owe them to you.
Poetically yours,
Viktorria
Beloved, I am the city, and so I cover you
Segue
The dream snaps shut, ends
And you see everything and nothing:
Everything of that world
and nothing of ours.
I owe them to you.
Poetically yours,
Viktorria
Monday, May 31, 2010
Letter time
Letter time, I think. Just for fun, because then I feel like I've actually done something, pressing this "Post" button.
Actually, you know what? Fuck it.
I am so sickened by all of this. By just every fucking travesty of a relationship that I was so misguided as to call a friendship, or something more. Funny how the two people who I put the most stock in as potential whatevers were the two who fucked my shit up the most.
Hahaaaa. It's also funny because if we had gotten together, and sex were to occur, I'd be fucked then too. I'm fucked regardless.
Hurrr durrr.
Actually, you know what? Fuck it.
I am so sickened by all of this. By just every fucking travesty of a relationship that I was so misguided as to call a friendship, or something more. Funny how the two people who I put the most stock in as potential whatevers were the two who fucked my shit up the most.
Hahaaaa. It's also funny because if we had gotten together, and sex were to occur, I'd be fucked then too. I'm fucked regardless.
Hurrr durrr.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
क्नोव
There are few states of mind more irresistible to an outsider than that of a person completely and happily in love, no matter the circumstance of anyone involved.
People in such affected conditions glow.
People in such affected conditions glow.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Fucking lulz.
So I made this for Anahi, for the second, just-for-lulz part of her present (the first one was just Senor Clooney and his troupe of Clooney Clones.) But this... this just turned out so perfectly. Ron's supremely blank expression, and how he and Harry are dancing next to each other most of the time, and Draco had the tattoo I wanted him to have, and his face! Clooney, of course, and Snape with his stripping, and Harry with his smirk, and lulz! xD
IT'S JUST TOO PERFECT. And should be good for a laugh later on in life.
IT'S JUST TOO PERFECT. And should be good for a laugh later on in life.
Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!
Monday, May 17, 2010
Let's talk about some real shit.
It's funny how much better this stupid outlet makes me feel. As if anyone reads this. As if anyone cares about how I'm feeling or why I'm posting here. It's just some spark of conformity I've allowed myself, thrown into a pit alongside all the other sparks-- soon I'll realize that all I've got is this roaring fire. What happened to all your sparks, Viktorria?
I think true emptiness is a goal worth having, if you're willing to undertake it. It's the polar opposite of true happiness. Or true satisfaction. It's a peace in and of itself. There is no inner turmoil, figuring out how you feel-- there is no grace period for losses and defeats and negations by Nature and needy fucks. It just is.
That's not to say you don't achieve pleasure. Emptiness is not always bad. You've got to have nothing to appreciate having something. That's just the way this works.
This Emptiness is like the serenity of Death without dying.
I think true emptiness is a goal worth having, if you're willing to undertake it. It's the polar opposite of true happiness. Or true satisfaction. It's a peace in and of itself. There is no inner turmoil, figuring out how you feel-- there is no grace period for losses and defeats and negations by Nature and needy fucks. It just is.
That's not to say you don't achieve pleasure. Emptiness is not always bad. You've got to have nothing to appreciate having something. That's just the way this works.
This Emptiness is like the serenity of Death without dying.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed
"By the light of the LED display of a VCR recorder
You kiss my neck, I whisper in your ear, "This is my downfall"
As you squint and you grimace, we both know your heart's not in it
By the glow of a thousand fireflies in a travelodge en-suite:
They think the future's bright as halogen, we know it's pretty bleak
And I'm trying to be sexy, biting at the air that falls in front of me.
Your telegrams are more and more less detailed by the day
And all the characters are strangers and the pubs have different names
I tell a joke that I'd like to meet them but they loathe me and I hate them back
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
Fondness makes the absence longer
Length loses my interest, I'm a realist, I'm insatiable
Swapped counting days until I fly, with hours before your reply
You said he got his teeth fixed
I'm gonna break them
I've got a heart on fire
He said he's got his sights set
On getting to you
I've got a fist on fire
You feel terrified at the thought of being left behind
Of losing everybody, the necessity of dying
Oh, WE KID OURSELVES THERE'S FUTURE IN THE FUCKING,
BUT THERE IS NO FUCKING FUTURE
I'm just practising my accents, picking at old sutures
I taught myself the only way to vaguely get along in love
Is to like the other slightly less than you get in return
I keep feeling like I'm being undercut
Charlotte says, "It's more constructive than the one in Canada,
When you got drunk,
Ate loads of crisps
And threw up by a football pitch"
I know it is,
And really that's what worries me,
I feel like I should
Hurt.
You said he got his teeth fixed
I'm gonna break them
I've got a heart on fire
He said he's got his sights set
On getting to you
I've got a fist on fire
I cannot emphasise enough that my body
Is a badly designed, poorly put together vessel,
Harbouring these diminishing, so-called 'vital organs'
Hope my heart goes first,
I HOPE MY HEART GOES FIRST!
And
We are beautiful,
We are doomed."
You kiss my neck, I whisper in your ear, "This is my downfall"
As you squint and you grimace, we both know your heart's not in it
By the glow of a thousand fireflies in a travelodge en-suite:
They think the future's bright as halogen, we know it's pretty bleak
And I'm trying to be sexy, biting at the air that falls in front of me.
Your telegrams are more and more less detailed by the day
And all the characters are strangers and the pubs have different names
I tell a joke that I'd like to meet them but they loathe me and I hate them back
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
Fondness makes the absence longer
Length loses my interest, I'm a realist, I'm insatiable
Swapped counting days until I fly, with hours before your reply
You said he got his teeth fixed
I'm gonna break them
I've got a heart on fire
He said he's got his sights set
On getting to you
I've got a fist on fire
You feel terrified at the thought of being left behind
Of losing everybody, the necessity of dying
Oh, WE KID OURSELVES THERE'S FUTURE IN THE FUCKING,
BUT THERE IS NO FUCKING FUTURE
I'm just practising my accents, picking at old sutures
I taught myself the only way to vaguely get along in love
Is to like the other slightly less than you get in return
I keep feeling like I'm being undercut
Charlotte says, "It's more constructive than the one in Canada,
When you got drunk,
Ate loads of crisps
And threw up by a football pitch"
I know it is,
And really that's what worries me,
I feel like I should
Hurt.
You said he got his teeth fixed
I'm gonna break them
I've got a heart on fire
He said he's got his sights set
On getting to you
I've got a fist on fire
I cannot emphasise enough that my body
Is a badly designed, poorly put together vessel,
Harbouring these diminishing, so-called 'vital organs'
Hope my heart goes first,
I HOPE MY HEART GOES FIRST!
And
We are beautiful,
We are doomed."
Sunday, May 2, 2010
RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!
I'M ON THE LOOSE! AHHHHHH!
So strange, I feel bouncy. I feel good, alive, the blood's pumping; I feel happy. It's weird being happy. All I had to do was cry and everything feels so good now, so fucking good, life's worth living, and everything is good. Crying was hard and nerve-wracking but this is good. So worth it.
Have I said good enough? I don't care, it's just so good! I don't even care that I have no money for prom, and my IB Assessments are coming up, and that I have grades and school and graduation to worry about. I don't even care! IT'S THAT GOOD.
I'm going to change. And change good. Heh. I'm sick of being so lonely. Absolutely sick of it. I'm sick of letting people leave me, and I never really realized that's what I was doing until it was pointed out to me. Why was I surprised that people left me? I made it so goddamn easy!
BRING IT ON, LIFE. I WILL WIN.
So strange, I feel bouncy. I feel good, alive, the blood's pumping; I feel happy. It's weird being happy. All I had to do was cry and everything feels so good now, so fucking good, life's worth living, and everything is good. Crying was hard and nerve-wracking but this is good. So worth it.
Have I said good enough? I don't care, it's just so good! I don't even care that I have no money for prom, and my IB Assessments are coming up, and that I have grades and school and graduation to worry about. I don't even care! IT'S THAT GOOD.
I'm going to change. And change good. Heh. I'm sick of being so lonely. Absolutely sick of it. I'm sick of letting people leave me, and I never really realized that's what I was doing until it was pointed out to me. Why was I surprised that people left me? I made it so goddamn easy!
BRING IT ON, LIFE. I WILL WIN.
Monday, April 26, 2010
It's days like these
that make me question my decision to hoard my psychological and emotional flaws like a sleek, greedy dragon curled around islands of flat, round gold.
I guess I don't understand myself as well as I thought I did. Although that very notion is absurd and incredibly foreign, because really, how can someone not understand oneself? I am the person I know best, it does not follow that I cannot know myself. I don't know anyone, with that logic.
Life is frustrating. And I have so many plans but I lack lasting motivation. The future is murky and I really cannot function without a fucking checklist. How am I supposed to make a list if people keep changing their minds around me? How can I build a foundation for myself if my building blocks keep trying to slink away?
My dad called me a senior screw-up today. Nice. Right? It's alliteration, so it must be true.
I guess I don't understand myself as well as I thought I did. Although that very notion is absurd and incredibly foreign, because really, how can someone not understand oneself? I am the person I know best, it does not follow that I cannot know myself. I don't know anyone, with that logic.
Life is frustrating. And I have so many plans but I lack lasting motivation. The future is murky and I really cannot function without a fucking checklist. How am I supposed to make a list if people keep changing their minds around me? How can I build a foundation for myself if my building blocks keep trying to slink away?
My dad called me a senior screw-up today. Nice. Right? It's alliteration, so it must be true.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Eyelash
I wish that anger was something you could bottle and put on a shelf. I'd wrench this poisonous bulb out of the pit of my stomach and stuff it in that bottle and just let it simmer. It'd be like wine, or cheese; just getting better as it gets older. While he's out cavorting with Love I'd gather the tiny red thorns of rage and fashion myself a crown to gather dust on the shelf next to the bottle until a later date. I'd sharpen my claws and teeth and wits on rocks split in half from the fury of my gaze, and I'd weave the hot, unbearably satisfying sensation of blood boiling into a heavy, dark cloak of velvet and pockets to hold my barbed temper. I'd shine my armor and polish my helmet and cut the air with vicious strokes, and when ready I'd lie in wait, flash-frozen until the time comes to seek revenge.
It just upsets me to know that, when it matters, I won't be angry anymore.
It just upsets me to know that, when it matters, I won't be angry anymore.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Straight from the mouths of babes
Stupid: -adjective
1. Lacking ordinary quickness and keenness of mind; dull.
2. Characterized by or proceeding from mental dullness; foolish; senseless.
3. Tediously dull, esp. due to lack of meaning or sense; inane; pointless.
4. Annoying or irritating; troublesome.
5. In a state of stupor; stupefied.
6. Slow to learn or understand; obtuse.
7. Tending to make poor decisions or careless mistakes.
8. Marked by a lack of intelligence or care; foolish or careless.
9. Pointless, worthless.
-noun
6. Informal. a stupid person.
-Related forms
stupidly, adverb
stupidness, noun
unstupid, adjective
unstupidly, adverb
unstupidness, noun
Synonyms: brainless, dazed, deficient, dense, dim, doltish, dopey, dull, dumb, dummy, foolish, futile, gullible, half-baked, half-witted, idiotic, ill-advised, imbecilic, inane, indiscreet, insensate, irrelevant, laughable, loser, ludicrous, meaningless, mindless, moronic, naive, nonsensical, obtuse, out to lunch, pointless, puerile, rash, senseless, shortsighted, simple, simpleminded, slow, sluggish, stolid, stupefied, thick, thick-headed, trivial, unintelligent, unthinking, witless.
I am all of these things. Take your pick.
1. Lacking ordinary quickness and keenness of mind; dull.
2. Characterized by or proceeding from mental dullness; foolish; senseless.
3. Tediously dull, esp. due to lack of meaning or sense; inane; pointless.
4. Annoying or irritating; troublesome.
5. In a state of stupor; stupefied.
6. Slow to learn or understand; obtuse.
7. Tending to make poor decisions or careless mistakes.
8. Marked by a lack of intelligence or care; foolish or careless.
9. Pointless, worthless.
-noun
6. Informal. a stupid person.
-Related forms
stupidly, adverb
stupidness, noun
unstupid, adjective
unstupidly, adverb
unstupidness, noun
Synonyms: brainless, dazed, deficient, dense, dim, doltish, dopey, dull, dumb, dummy, foolish, futile, gullible, half-baked, half-witted, idiotic, ill-advised, imbecilic, inane, indiscreet, insensate, irrelevant, laughable, loser, ludicrous, meaningless, mindless, moronic, naive, nonsensical, obtuse, out to lunch, pointless, puerile, rash, senseless, shortsighted, simple, simpleminded, slow, sluggish, stolid, stupefied, thick, thick-headed, trivial, unintelligent, unthinking, witless.
I am all of these things. Take your pick.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
You know that feeling.
I know you do. That feeling when you want something too much, when your stomach twists and your blood runs hot and thick through your veins, and your palms sweat and you just can't think straight. You're restless, always fidgeting, pushing the hair back from your forehead, rubbing your arms, fingernails scraping along your flesh, digits flexing, wrists turning--
You can see it. It's so fucking close to your trembling fingers, and your ears are ringing with want, and you can taste it on your tongue, along your teeth, wicked stripes of bitter flavor coating the inside of your mouth and it just won't go away.
Your eyes are glazed and the ceiling of your mind is papered-- plastered-- with the overwhelming, all-consuming, fiery, passionate fucking need; and it's all you can do to put one foot in front of the other, and just keep going, a robotic sheen in your electric eyes and monotonous movements.
I know it's out there. That want, that need is snuffling wetly around my doorstep, blowing my scent through its lungs like a Hound, snorting and rolling its eyes and waiting. It's just fucking waiting for me to open my door and cautiously stick my head out, and the proboscis will slide forth from her sheath, smooth and shining, and end me.
You can see it. It's so fucking close to your trembling fingers, and your ears are ringing with want, and you can taste it on your tongue, along your teeth, wicked stripes of bitter flavor coating the inside of your mouth and it just won't go away.
Your eyes are glazed and the ceiling of your mind is papered-- plastered-- with the overwhelming, all-consuming, fiery, passionate fucking need; and it's all you can do to put one foot in front of the other, and just keep going, a robotic sheen in your electric eyes and monotonous movements.
I know it's out there. That want, that need is snuffling wetly around my doorstep, blowing my scent through its lungs like a Hound, snorting and rolling its eyes and waiting. It's just fucking waiting for me to open my door and cautiously stick my head out, and the proboscis will slide forth from her sheath, smooth and shining, and end me.
I know it's late, but
I just COULD NOT fucking resist this picture of Rupert Grint. Honestly.
I am SO amused.
I am SO amused.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Just
started reading The Catcher in the Rye. Holden's a pretty interesting guy. His use of expletives gets old. But he makes me laugh nonetheless. Also, his habit of spelling crummy "crumby" is distracting, and I find myself adding the 'b' in in my head.
Sleeping alone in the secluded bedroom tonight. I can see the darkness creeping in, but for some reason I'm not afraid. I've the feeling I normally would be. Maybe it's the magical quality of being on vacation. You assume all the wonderful things will happen, just like the movies; you are untouchable by the wicked hand of Tragedy.
Tragedy will get you if She wishes. The crashing waves and salty sea air do not keep Her at bay. New walls surrounding the same old pillow where you lay your head is not Her Wolf's bane. Dreams will lured Her in, and you will fall prey just as soon as you'd've at home.
Holden used a really good double contraction. Couldn't've. I liked it. I commended him silently.
Interesting weekend. Interesting kiss. Spectacular, even.
Looking forward to a lazy and productive week, contradictory as that may be. Hope no one expected to talk to me much these next few days. I finished Fahrenheit 451 today, and I expect to finish the Catcher in the Rye tonight. I've 5 other novels, a book of essays, and a collection of Neruda's poetry (with original Spanish versions) to work through. So excited for it.
Sleeping alone in the secluded bedroom tonight. I can see the darkness creeping in, but for some reason I'm not afraid. I've the feeling I normally would be. Maybe it's the magical quality of being on vacation. You assume all the wonderful things will happen, just like the movies; you are untouchable by the wicked hand of Tragedy.
Tragedy will get you if She wishes. The crashing waves and salty sea air do not keep Her at bay. New walls surrounding the same old pillow where you lay your head is not Her Wolf's bane. Dreams will lured Her in, and you will fall prey just as soon as you'd've at home.
Holden used a really good double contraction. Couldn't've. I liked it. I commended him silently.
Interesting weekend. Interesting kiss. Spectacular, even.
Looking forward to a lazy and productive week, contradictory as that may be. Hope no one expected to talk to me much these next few days. I finished Fahrenheit 451 today, and I expect to finish the Catcher in the Rye tonight. I've 5 other novels, a book of essays, and a collection of Neruda's poetry (with original Spanish versions) to work through. So excited for it.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
BOOK QUIZ
So, alright, I really don't expect anyone to actually read this. I'm just doing it for lulz. And to have something tangible to reflect upon my literary preferences whenever I decide to... reflect.
Top 3 authors:
1. Ken Kesey
2. Ray Bradbury
3. William Faulkner
Top 3 male characters:
1. Quentin Compson, from the Sound and the Fury (Faulkner)
2. Harding, from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (Kesey)
3. Chief Bromden Jr., from One Flew Over
Top 3 female characters:
1. Lyra, from Philip Pullman's Dark Materials
2. Nadia, from the City of the Beasts trilogy, by Isabel Allende
3. Lalla, from Michael Ondaatje's Running in the Family
Top 30 fiction books in no particular order:
1. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
2. Something Wicked This Way Comes
3. The Illustrated Man
4. The Martian Chronicles
5. Summerland
6. Farenheit 451
7. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
8. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
9. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
10. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
11. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
12. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
13. The Hobbit
14. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
15. To Kill a Mockingbird
16. Wicked
17. Son of a Witch
18. A Lion Among Men
19. Mirror, Mirror
20. The Golden Compass
21. The Amber Spyglass
22. The Subtle Knife
23. the Artemis Fowl series
24. The Chronicles of Narnia
25. Sabriel
26. Lirael
27. Abhorsen
28. Shade's Children
29. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
30. Through the Looking Glass
Top 3 books most recently read:
1. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
2. The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
3. To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Worst 3 books ever read:
1. Hatchet, by Gary Paulsen
2. The Ragwitch by Garth Nix
3. Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O'Dell
Top 5 scenes from any book:
1. When Ella breaks the curse in Ella Enchanted
2. When Lyra and Will say their last goodbyes in the Amber Spyglass
3. When Liesel kisses Rudy as he lies dead on the street
4. When the Chesire Cat tells Alice that "we're all mad here"
5. When Candle saves Liir's life by having sex with him while he's unconscious, or in a coma... I forget which.
The book(s) that made me cry the most:
1. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, when Fred dies
2. the same, when Hermione is tortured and Ron's pounding on the door, half-sobbing
3. The Amber Spyglass (pretty much the entire last half of that book)
4. Basically all of Lois Lowry's books
5. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, when Sirius died. J.K. Rowling, you heartless bitch, I respect you for your gall and for being courageous enough to do what bitches like Stephenie Meyer could never bring themselves to do.
The book(s) that made me laugh the most:
1. the entire Harry Potter series
2. the Artemis Fowl series
3. the Twilight saga, because if I didn't laugh I'd cry from RAGE
4. Douglas Adam's Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
5. Dear Dumb Diary, for sheer immaturity and honesty
The 5 book(s) that made me feel the best at the end:
1. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
2. Philip Pullman's Dark Materials
3. Michael Chabon's Summerland
4. Shade's Children by Garth Nix
5. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle
Contemporary or Historical?
1. Eh, a mixture. It really depends, because fantasy really transcends both. You find contemporary alternate universes and ancient Old Magic. It's all over the place.
Science Fiction, Fantasy, or Horror?
1. Fantasy, by far. But sci-fi is also spectacular. Don't really have much horror under my belt, but I still have half an anthology to finish of horror stories. Maybe I'll change my tune then.
Hardback or Trade Paperback or Mass Market Paperback?
1. Paperback, if it's a bigger book (either by thickness or length by width.) If it's smaller, say, roughly the size of my hand length-by-width-wise, I'd rather it be hardback. Easier to hold, and snaps shut so spectacularly.
Barnes & Noble or Amazon?
Barnes & Noble, by far. I hate looking at books online; it just reminds me of all the knowledge I'll never retain... All the books I've never be able to get my hands on... *sigh*
Bookmark or Dog-ear?
I can't stand when people dog-ear the pages. It's cool if they've been that way before and they're smoothed out now, but if I see someone doing it I cringe, and a part of me dies. Bookmarks are nice, but I like little scraps of paper or cards rather than an actual bookmark.
Alphabetize by author, alphabetize by title, or organize not at all?
It goes by personal preference. The less amazing series/authors go in the back, and the best ones are displayed right in front by author, and kept together in chronological order within the author category.
Star Wars or Star Trek?
Star Wars, only because of the one and only graphic novel I own. It fucking kicks ass, I wish I had the rest of the series. But alas.
Keep, Throw Away, or Sell?
YOU DO NOT THROW A BOOK AWAY UNLESS IT IS UNREADABLE. That is all. I like to exchange books rather than sell. But more than anything, I keeeeep.
Keep dust-jacket or toss it?
Keep it in a box somewhere. Those are important!
Read with dustjacket or remove it?
Remove and keep it safe. It won't get dusty what with all the reading I'm doing.
Little Women or Anne of Green Gables?
Anne of Green Gables. The characters in Little Women are so dreary, and Anne is like the original Ginny Weasley.
Short story or novel?
Mmm, novels. I like plays better than short stories, but I'd rather write a short story than a novel.
Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks?
It depends. Usually I'll stop when I can't keep my eyes open anymore, but sometimes if I have to do something else, or if I know that I'm too distracted and I'm not absorbing the story properly, I'll just stop where I stop.
“It was a dark and stormy night” or “Once upon a time”?
Once upon a time. Faerie tales are the mother of all literature.
Tear Jerker or Belly Laugh?
Belly laugh, by far. It happens far more often; it's hard for me to cry because of a book. Movies do it better, but only because in a book I can refuse to believe what's happened (like when Fred died) but in the movie I'll see his dead broken body lying there... I really do appreciate anything that can make me cry, though. Eternal respect and all that.
Charlotte, Emily, or Anne Brontë?
Judging by the fact that I don't know any of these characters, I will go ahead and say Elizabeth Bennett.
Buy or Borrow?
...Alright, I know it's horrible, but I love to steal books. It usually happens that we're reading at school and I just get this connection with a particular book; if a book touches me particularly I must have that exact copy. So, uh, I just... Just, y'know, sneak it.
Buying choice: Book Reviews, Recommendation, or Browse?
Y'know, it's very rare that I actually buy a book. I usually get them from others. So I guess that falls under recommendation.
Collection (short stories by the same author) or Anthology (short stories by different authors)?
It depends. Anthologies, I suppose; I have more of them and they're good for having a variety of styles/genres.
Crane or Conrad?
Calvin (and Hobbes.)
Standalone or Series?
Ah... I'm gonna have to go with series for most fantasy, and standalone for other genres. It's just that fantasy has so many places it can go, and if there has to be fifty books to explore all the options, so be it.
Tidy ending or Cliffhanger?
Tidy ending in that major things are explained, but enough of a cliffhanger where it's open for interpretation. This is why I choose to believe that Rowling's 7th book epilogue wasn't written by her. It was just something some young cheeky fangirl wrote and snuck into the manuscript by some convoluted and Godforsaken turn of events. I mean, Rose and Hugo? REALLY?!
Morning reading, afternoon reading, or nighttime reading?
Afternoon, if the weather's nice. Nighttime, all the time.
New or used?
UsedusedusedusedusedusedusedusedusedusedUSED.
Favorite book of which nobody else has heard?
Uhhh... Something Wicked This Way Comes. I know it's not that obscure, because ol' Ray's pretty fuckin' popular, but I've yet to come across-- OH WAIT, THE BOOK THIEF. Terribly wonderful book. Tear jerker. Oh, shit, that should have gone in the crying section. Pretend it was there. Markus Zusak. Read it.
Upon reflection, that book is terribly sad. I'm so glad I remembered it. It should be first on my tear jerker section. Maaayn.
Top 3 authors:
1. Ken Kesey
2. Ray Bradbury
3. William Faulkner
Top 3 male characters:
1. Quentin Compson, from the Sound and the Fury (Faulkner)
2. Harding, from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (Kesey)
3. Chief Bromden Jr., from One Flew Over
Top 3 female characters:
1. Lyra, from Philip Pullman's Dark Materials
2. Nadia, from the City of the Beasts trilogy, by Isabel Allende
3. Lalla, from Michael Ondaatje's Running in the Family
Top 30 fiction books in no particular order:
1. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
2. Something Wicked This Way Comes
3. The Illustrated Man
4. The Martian Chronicles
5. Summerland
6. Farenheit 451
7. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
8. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
9. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
10. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
11. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
12. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
13. The Hobbit
14. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
15. To Kill a Mockingbird
16. Wicked
17. Son of a Witch
18. A Lion Among Men
19. Mirror, Mirror
20. The Golden Compass
21. The Amber Spyglass
22. The Subtle Knife
23. the Artemis Fowl series
24. The Chronicles of Narnia
25. Sabriel
26. Lirael
27. Abhorsen
28. Shade's Children
29. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
30. Through the Looking Glass
Top 3 books most recently read:
1. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
2. The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
3. To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Worst 3 books ever read:
1. Hatchet, by Gary Paulsen
2. The Ragwitch by Garth Nix
3. Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O'Dell
Top 5 scenes from any book:
1. When Ella breaks the curse in Ella Enchanted
2. When Lyra and Will say their last goodbyes in the Amber Spyglass
3. When Liesel kisses Rudy as he lies dead on the street
4. When the Chesire Cat tells Alice that "we're all mad here"
5. When Candle saves Liir's life by having sex with him while he's unconscious, or in a coma... I forget which.
The book(s) that made me cry the most:
1. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, when Fred dies
2. the same, when Hermione is tortured and Ron's pounding on the door, half-sobbing
3. The Amber Spyglass (pretty much the entire last half of that book)
4. Basically all of Lois Lowry's books
5. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, when Sirius died. J.K. Rowling, you heartless bitch, I respect you for your gall and for being courageous enough to do what bitches like Stephenie Meyer could never bring themselves to do.
The book(s) that made me laugh the most:
1. the entire Harry Potter series
2. the Artemis Fowl series
3. the Twilight saga, because if I didn't laugh I'd cry from RAGE
4. Douglas Adam's Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
5. Dear Dumb Diary, for sheer immaturity and honesty
The 5 book(s) that made me feel the best at the end:
1. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
2. Philip Pullman's Dark Materials
3. Michael Chabon's Summerland
4. Shade's Children by Garth Nix
5. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle
Contemporary or Historical?
1. Eh, a mixture. It really depends, because fantasy really transcends both. You find contemporary alternate universes and ancient Old Magic. It's all over the place.
Science Fiction, Fantasy, or Horror?
1. Fantasy, by far. But sci-fi is also spectacular. Don't really have much horror under my belt, but I still have half an anthology to finish of horror stories. Maybe I'll change my tune then.
Hardback or Trade Paperback or Mass Market Paperback?
1. Paperback, if it's a bigger book (either by thickness or length by width.) If it's smaller, say, roughly the size of my hand length-by-width-wise, I'd rather it be hardback. Easier to hold, and snaps shut so spectacularly.
Barnes & Noble or Amazon?
Barnes & Noble, by far. I hate looking at books online; it just reminds me of all the knowledge I'll never retain... All the books I've never be able to get my hands on... *sigh*
Bookmark or Dog-ear?
I can't stand when people dog-ear the pages. It's cool if they've been that way before and they're smoothed out now, but if I see someone doing it I cringe, and a part of me dies. Bookmarks are nice, but I like little scraps of paper or cards rather than an actual bookmark.
Alphabetize by author, alphabetize by title, or organize not at all?
It goes by personal preference. The less amazing series/authors go in the back, and the best ones are displayed right in front by author, and kept together in chronological order within the author category.
Star Wars or Star Trek?
Star Wars, only because of the one and only graphic novel I own. It fucking kicks ass, I wish I had the rest of the series. But alas.
Keep, Throw Away, or Sell?
YOU DO NOT THROW A BOOK AWAY UNLESS IT IS UNREADABLE. That is all. I like to exchange books rather than sell. But more than anything, I keeeeep.
Keep dust-jacket or toss it?
Keep it in a box somewhere. Those are important!
Read with dustjacket or remove it?
Remove and keep it safe. It won't get dusty what with all the reading I'm doing.
Little Women or Anne of Green Gables?
Anne of Green Gables. The characters in Little Women are so dreary, and Anne is like the original Ginny Weasley.
Short story or novel?
Mmm, novels. I like plays better than short stories, but I'd rather write a short story than a novel.
Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks?
It depends. Usually I'll stop when I can't keep my eyes open anymore, but sometimes if I have to do something else, or if I know that I'm too distracted and I'm not absorbing the story properly, I'll just stop where I stop.
“It was a dark and stormy night” or “Once upon a time”?
Once upon a time. Faerie tales are the mother of all literature.
Tear Jerker or Belly Laugh?
Belly laugh, by far. It happens far more often; it's hard for me to cry because of a book. Movies do it better, but only because in a book I can refuse to believe what's happened (like when Fred died) but in the movie I'll see his dead broken body lying there... I really do appreciate anything that can make me cry, though. Eternal respect and all that.
Charlotte, Emily, or Anne Brontë?
Judging by the fact that I don't know any of these characters, I will go ahead and say Elizabeth Bennett.
Buy or Borrow?
...Alright, I know it's horrible, but I love to steal books. It usually happens that we're reading at school and I just get this connection with a particular book; if a book touches me particularly I must have that exact copy. So, uh, I just... Just, y'know, sneak it.
Buying choice: Book Reviews, Recommendation, or Browse?
Y'know, it's very rare that I actually buy a book. I usually get them from others. So I guess that falls under recommendation.
Collection (short stories by the same author) or Anthology (short stories by different authors)?
It depends. Anthologies, I suppose; I have more of them and they're good for having a variety of styles/genres.
Crane or Conrad?
Calvin (and Hobbes.)
Standalone or Series?
Ah... I'm gonna have to go with series for most fantasy, and standalone for other genres. It's just that fantasy has so many places it can go, and if there has to be fifty books to explore all the options, so be it.
Tidy ending or Cliffhanger?
Tidy ending in that major things are explained, but enough of a cliffhanger where it's open for interpretation. This is why I choose to believe that Rowling's 7th book epilogue wasn't written by her. It was just something some young cheeky fangirl wrote and snuck into the manuscript by some convoluted and Godforsaken turn of events. I mean, Rose and Hugo? REALLY?!
Morning reading, afternoon reading, or nighttime reading?
Afternoon, if the weather's nice. Nighttime, all the time.
New or used?
UsedusedusedusedusedusedusedusedusedusedUSED.
Favorite book of which nobody else has heard?
Uhhh... Something Wicked This Way Comes. I know it's not that obscure, because ol' Ray's pretty fuckin' popular, but I've yet to come across-- OH WAIT, THE BOOK THIEF. Terribly wonderful book. Tear jerker. Oh, shit, that should have gone in the crying section. Pretend it was there. Markus Zusak. Read it.
Upon reflection, that book is terribly sad. I'm so glad I remembered it. It should be first on my tear jerker section. Maaayn.
So I don't forget...
"This isn't about helping the poor little rich guy, or the sex, or pride or anything other than the glorious chance of two people finding each other and going through hell or high water to keep hold of that."
Came across this today, and it stuck to me.
Came across this today, and it stuck to me.
Monday, March 15, 2010
काठेरिने
My writing fucking sucks lately. I can hardly even write a letter. I've got so many vague ideas but it's impossible to pull them together. Faulkner doesn't even help. Fuuuhhhh.
I've had the shittiest day. I'm glad Elisa's was perfect though.
Fuck me, man. Fuck me and my life.
I've had the shittiest day. I'm glad Elisa's was perfect though.
Fuck me, man. Fuck me and my life.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Listening to: Beast of Burden, by the Rolling Stones
More adventures completed. No photographic evidence as of yet, though. My disposable cameras have to yet to be used completely, and consequently there are no photos developed. It's interesting: having to wait; not knowing exactly how a picture came out; knowing that you only have this many pictures left until it's done; not being able to delete pictures. You've got to learn to pick and choose.
I bought two kites today. They're these little butterflies, about the size of my hand. Adorable. Elisa's is purple, and mine's orange and blue. Awweeesssooommmeee.
Uhhh, nothing much else. Oh, a Freudian slip. Woman versus women. Intentional or no? Meaningless or meaningful?
Also, what does the phrase "on yo nutzz" mean? Lulz. hahaha
I bought two kites today. They're these little butterflies, about the size of my hand. Adorable. Elisa's is purple, and mine's orange and blue. Awweeesssooommmeee.
Uhhh, nothing much else. Oh, a Freudian slip. Woman versus women. Intentional or no? Meaningless or meaningful?
Also, what does the phrase "on yo nutzz" mean? Lulz. hahaha
Sunday, March 7, 2010
12. Adventure in the Desert
There's this whole other world out there that I used to know nothing about. I'm so glad we decided to become acquainted.
Wild Horses
It's hard losing friends. All I have now is Elisa, and Catherine. Even my sister seems so far away.
I wonder, should I complain about not getting any attention? Or about not being able to like anyone? Or being so naive in my innocence, worn so proudly like a badge of white pinned to my sleeve?
I think life would be so much easier if I could carry music around in my pocket. Honestly. It'd be like having a soundtrack to my life, and I wouldn't feel so alone. I'd be like girl under a tree with a book alone, but the music in my ears would fill the space in my heart and I'd feel so okay.
"Wild horses couldn't drag me away..."
I wonder, should I complain about not getting any attention? Or about not being able to like anyone? Or being so naive in my innocence, worn so proudly like a badge of white pinned to my sleeve?
I think life would be so much easier if I could carry music around in my pocket. Honestly. It'd be like having a soundtrack to my life, and I wouldn't feel so alone. I'd be like girl under a tree with a book alone, but the music in my ears would fill the space in my heart and I'd feel so okay.
"Wild horses couldn't drag me away..."
Falling from grace, gracelessly
We adventured yesterday, did things we didn't normally do. Three hour escapade in the desert, meeting up with Dad Heather in a cave for a picnic, clambering onto the roof for music and staying for a nap underneath the clear, inquisitive, curious stars. They are what make me love this place. A midnight nap, and dragging things off the shelves to create something from what most consider nothing, flowers pressed in Bibles, music, music, and more, changed, music; sweaters and tucked in shirts and fathers calling to pick me up.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Bewks
1. Grimm's Faerie Tales
2. Wicked
3. Son of a Witch
4. A Lion Among Men
5. the Catcher in the Rye
6. Aesop's Fables
7. Love in the Time of Cholera
8. Middlesex
9. Fight Club
10.Rant
11. Summerland
12. The Magician's Nephew
13. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
14. A Streetcar Named Desire
15. Fahrenheit 451
16. The Illustrated Man
17. The Martian Chronicles
18. Something Wicked This Way Comes
19. Tortilla Flats
20. To Kill a Mockingbird
There. Now it's official, because I can't change any of it.
*eyes edit button* Oh, wait...
2. Wicked
3. Son of a Witch
4. A Lion Among Men
5. the Catcher in the Rye
6. Aesop's Fables
7. Love in the Time of Cholera
8. Middlesex
9. Fight Club
10.
11. Summerland
12. The Magician's Nephew
13. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
14. A Streetcar Named Desire
15. Fahrenheit 451
16. The Illustrated Man
17. The Martian Chronicles
18. Something Wicked This Way Comes
19. Tortilla Flats
20. To Kill a Mockingbird
There. Now it's official, because I can't change any of it.
*eyes edit button* Oh, wait...
♀♥♀
What's the difference between thinking you love someone and loving someone, right now? Love is intangible; you cannot prove or disprove its existence. It exists in hearts and minds and music and bones, and if you believe you love someone than you must actually love someone. Perception is reality, after all. Retrospect may shed a different light, but from embarrassment or pride or disgust or regret: they do not erase what has been. You cannot unlove what you have once loved.
Isn't it remarkable how ridiculously thin the line between love and hate is? One minute you're spitting and punching and kicking and the next you're kissing and biting and loving, and it's all the same, the fire still burns the same way, you get off on one just as well as the other.
You can never really forget the reasons why you loved someone. Even after so many days, after countless months, after so many years-- the reasons can be examined with a cold eye and a silent heart, if you're lucky. If you're not, your heart bursts into flames again, the smoldering coals escalating into a roaring beast, and what can you do but be hopelessly in love again? Could be the blink of an eye, a moment, a heartbeat, a day, a lifetime, from that point on.
Could be forever.
And Time Marches on. No matter what we thought we heard, we were never promised anything else.
Isn't it remarkable how ridiculously thin the line between love and hate is? One minute you're spitting and punching and kicking and the next you're kissing and biting and loving, and it's all the same, the fire still burns the same way, you get off on one just as well as the other.
You can never really forget the reasons why you loved someone. Even after so many days, after countless months, after so many years-- the reasons can be examined with a cold eye and a silent heart, if you're lucky. If you're not, your heart bursts into flames again, the smoldering coals escalating into a roaring beast, and what can you do but be hopelessly in love again? Could be the blink of an eye, a moment, a heartbeat, a day, a lifetime, from that point on.
Could be forever.
And Time Marches on. No matter what we thought we heard, we were never promised anything else.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Bucket List: Graduation Edition
An unoriginal idea, I'm aware, but hey. THIS IS MY LIST. SO THERE.
I'm not gonna post my list here, mainly because some of my goals are embarrassing and may lead to some trouble. *shifty eyes* But regardless. I've got 29 things on it as of now. I'm so excited.
Just wanted y'all to know I have one.
I'm not gonna post my list here, mainly because some of my goals are embarrassing and may lead to some trouble. *shifty eyes* But regardless. I've got 29 things on it as of now. I'm so excited.
Just wanted y'all to know I have one.
Friday, February 26, 2010
I love how
-Janis Joplin's laugh reminds me of Ms Kennedy's.
-there are rules for everything, ever.
-I'm a California girl.
-Formspring fails. Hard.
-I thought Andrue was the most clever motherfucker in the history of the couplings of clever and motherfucker.
-I'm so hungry all the time, and I gain weight, and I'm a whale, but I'm still cool with it. Something tells me I should care more than I do.
-I get to skip playing Star Wars Risk to stay home and sleep, and have embarrassingly symbolic dreams.
-when everyone else gets senioritis I'm just getting warmed up.
-there are rules for everything, ever.
-I'm a California girl.
-Formspring fails. Hard.
-I thought Andrue was the most clever motherfucker in the history of the couplings of clever and motherfucker.
-I'm so hungry all the time, and I gain weight, and I'm a whale, but I'm still cool with it. Something tells me I should care more than I do.
-I get to skip playing Star Wars Risk to stay home and sleep, and have embarrassingly symbolic dreams.
-when everyone else gets senioritis I'm just getting warmed up.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
I miss the days where I felt like this
It's disconcerting, now, to think of liking someone. That swooping of your stomach, the butterflies that reside low in your gut, the stupid smiles that creep unbidden and hang themselves on your face, the sheen of sweat that graces your palms; it all seems so Hollywood.
I've forgotten what it's like to like someone.
When he asked me what I thought he should do, I thought it so easy to tell him to let go. I had to forcibly remind myself that it's not the same for other people; this decision would actually matter in the morning, and the morning after that, and onwards onto who knows how long. When he told me of his plan, I found it so dreary. Not because it was unoriginal, or not romantic. It just seemed so put-on, even though I know he meant it all.
I wonder if he'll wake early this morning. I wonder if he'll rise from bed in a couple hours and stumble to the bathroom; I wonder if he'll get dressed and look himself in the eye in his mirror and rise up on the balls of his feet and tell himself that today is the day that he wins back his woman. He would say that, too. His woman.
I wonder if he'll actually do it. If I'll see some evidence of his quest. If I'll see them holding hands by Monday. I hope I do.
I've forgotten what it's like to like someone.
When he asked me what I thought he should do, I thought it so easy to tell him to let go. I had to forcibly remind myself that it's not the same for other people; this decision would actually matter in the morning, and the morning after that, and onwards onto who knows how long. When he told me of his plan, I found it so dreary. Not because it was unoriginal, or not romantic. It just seemed so put-on, even though I know he meant it all.
I wonder if he'll wake early this morning. I wonder if he'll rise from bed in a couple hours and stumble to the bathroom; I wonder if he'll get dressed and look himself in the eye in his mirror and rise up on the balls of his feet and tell himself that today is the day that he wins back his woman. He would say that, too. His woman.
I wonder if he'll actually do it. If I'll see some evidence of his quest. If I'll see them holding hands by Monday. I hope I do.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
I'd hate to be that girl,
that's always posting things she finds everywhere else, and never really thinks of anything on her own, but this was just too good to pass up.
My teabag just proclaimed something to me. It said, "Without realizing who you are, happiness cannot come to you."
It makes so much sense though. Honestly. I know a major theme in every person's life, most notably in their late teens to mid-twenties, is the search for self. A thousand cliches abound: "I don't know who I am," "I've got to find myself," "How can you know me if I don't even know myself?"
They're never happy with not knowing. Ignorance is bliss but once you're aware, you're off like a shot, upturning every leaf and stone to find yourself. We never really think of self and happiness going hand in hand; at least, I never did; but now it just seems silly to think of these journeys as separate entities.
I'm not so much looking for happiness as looking for self right now. But it's nice to know that when I find myself happiness will be there shortly after. It's like we're meeting up there. It's comforting.
My teabag just proclaimed something to me. It said, "Without realizing who you are, happiness cannot come to you."
It makes so much sense though. Honestly. I know a major theme in every person's life, most notably in their late teens to mid-twenties, is the search for self. A thousand cliches abound: "I don't know who I am," "I've got to find myself," "How can you know me if I don't even know myself?"
They're never happy with not knowing. Ignorance is bliss but once you're aware, you're off like a shot, upturning every leaf and stone to find yourself. We never really think of self and happiness going hand in hand; at least, I never did; but now it just seems silly to think of these journeys as separate entities.
I'm not so much looking for happiness as looking for self right now. But it's nice to know that when I find myself happiness will be there shortly after. It's like we're meeting up there. It's comforting.
Friday, February 19, 2010
In Econ
I saw a statue with a saying, and I just had to stop and stare.
"A writer must write what he has to say, not speak it," said, or perhaps wrote, Ernest Hemingway.
Truer words have never been written. I always thought there was something dreadfully wrong with me. I always thought I was dealing with karmic retribution for some cosmic sin in a previous life. Always thought my shortcomings and faults were so irredeemable.
But now I know. It's not all of that. I'm just a writer.
"A writer must write what he has to say, not speak it," said, or perhaps wrote, Ernest Hemingway.
Truer words have never been written. I always thought there was something dreadfully wrong with me. I always thought I was dealing with karmic retribution for some cosmic sin in a previous life. Always thought my shortcomings and faults were so irredeemable.
But now I know. It's not all of that. I'm just a writer.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Who'd Have Known?
I always feel like I have to watch what I say now. How cryptic.
Even though today was terrible, it was also amazing. Who'd have known? Commentary went wonderfully, even though I nearly died from teh sickness. One acts went superbly, even though I almost died from anxiety. My brother's basketball game went SPLENDIDLY, even though I almost died from suspense. They were down by one point with five seconds left on the clock- I screamed myself hoarse when we won. Swish, fuck you, good night.
I'd skip school tomorrow, but c'mon; I've absolutely got to finish Pride and Prejudice. The sexual tension is unbearable!
"Who'd have known, who'd have known? When you flash upon my phone, I no longer feel alone."
Even though today was terrible, it was also amazing. Who'd have known? Commentary went wonderfully, even though I nearly died from teh sickness. One acts went superbly, even though I almost died from anxiety. My brother's basketball game went SPLENDIDLY, even though I almost died from suspense. They were down by one point with five seconds left on the clock- I screamed myself hoarse when we won. Swish, fuck you, good night.
I'd skip school tomorrow, but c'mon; I've absolutely got to finish Pride and Prejudice. The sexual tension is unbearable!
"Who'd have known, who'd have known? When you flash upon my phone, I no longer feel alone."
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
The Ever Attractive Mr Darcy
We've decided that 2005 movieverse Pride and Prejudice Mr Darcy was, in fact, Jane Austen's Regulus Black. He has all the haughty mannerisms of Severus Snape, but all the obvious attraction of Sirius Black. Who better to personify such characteristics than his very own Death Eater brother? The characters are not unalike, in many ways. Soon upon introduction they are both painted as villains, but later they are revealed in all their misunderstood goodness.
I've been listening to Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin, the Rolling Stones, the Animals, Simon and Garfunkel (sparingly) and the Cure lately. A motley crew, perhaps, but I revel in them immensely. It's gotten to the point where when I hear or read the phrase "The End" I no longer think of The Beatles; rather I hear instrumentals of the Doors' "The End." Elisa may be dismayed, but hey. I cannot help it.
I give a fuck about Oxford commas.
Night before commentary: I feel somewhat prepared, despite not having any real practice in. But the couple times I actually tried I got to eleven minutes before stopping, and that was only due to Ms Bickford's untimely interruption. Oh, bless her heart. It was so surreal seeing her today. Felt like a time out of time.
I've been so overworked with the one acts. I'm looking forward to next week, just because all of this will finally be over.
I have a surprise for my parents, if all works out. But I won't say more; my mother tends to creep. Mom. Stop creeping. You... creep.
Grey's Anatomy has stolen my heart. I blame Elisa. Then again, I thank her. But wait... Denny died. Goddammit. It's a blessing and a curse, loving this show.
I miss you, too.
I've been listening to Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin, the Rolling Stones, the Animals, Simon and Garfunkel (sparingly) and the Cure lately. A motley crew, perhaps, but I revel in them immensely. It's gotten to the point where when I hear or read the phrase "The End" I no longer think of The Beatles; rather I hear instrumentals of the Doors' "The End." Elisa may be dismayed, but hey. I cannot help it.
I give a fuck about Oxford commas.
Night before commentary: I feel somewhat prepared, despite not having any real practice in. But the couple times I actually tried I got to eleven minutes before stopping, and that was only due to Ms Bickford's untimely interruption. Oh, bless her heart. It was so surreal seeing her today. Felt like a time out of time.
I've been so overworked with the one acts. I'm looking forward to next week, just because all of this will finally be over.
I have a surprise for my parents, if all works out. But I won't say more; my mother tends to creep. Mom. Stop creeping. You... creep.
Grey's Anatomy has stolen my heart. I blame Elisa. Then again, I thank her. But wait... Denny died. Goddammit. It's a blessing and a curse, loving this show.
I miss you, too.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Sirry.
Of course I mind that you hate me.
I also mind that you find me childish, weak, and schizophrenic.
It's easier just to say you're right.
I also mind that you find me childish, weak, and schizophrenic.
It's easier just to say you're right.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Pomegranate juice on my keyboard
I hate being the third wheel. As much as they protest any vestige of awkwardness, it remains, regardless. Sure, everyone's loved a tricycle at some point or another, but inevitably there comes a time where all you want is to get a real fucking bike.
I've made a list of my favorite words. They're so glorious. Wondrous. Beautiful. Intoxicating. Much like incense late at night.
I watched RENT again for the first time in a long time. As cliche as that movie is, and how shit just doesn't make sense sometimes, there are beautifully relatable moments that just resound with truth. It's like a half-glimpsed smile, or a wink from a smouldering stranger.
Rehearsal went well, aside from the absences of two fifths of my team. But Tres was right. No one will ever care more about this than I will. I'm glad we got Chinese food, though. We be real actors.
Because that's the only sign of a real actor. Chinese food.
I've made a list of my favorite words. They're so glorious. Wondrous. Beautiful. Intoxicating. Much like incense late at night.
I watched RENT again for the first time in a long time. As cliche as that movie is, and how shit just doesn't make sense sometimes, there are beautifully relatable moments that just resound with truth. It's like a half-glimpsed smile, or a wink from a smouldering stranger.
Rehearsal went well, aside from the absences of two fifths of my team. But Tres was right. No one will ever care more about this than I will. I'm glad we got Chinese food, though. We be real actors.
Because that's the only sign of a real actor. Chinese food.
Monday, January 11, 2010
"Love was in your eyes,"
My brother and my dad are so funny when they fight about my brother's hair.
They remind me of the hippie son and the military father.
I'm really looking forward to henna and tie-dye for the end of semester. Maybe even a haircut. Yeaaaaaah.
They remind me of the hippie son and the military father.
I'm really looking forward to henna and tie-dye for the end of semester. Maybe even a haircut. Yeaaaaaah.
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