Raskalnikov

moving on

2008-07-06T18:49:00.000-07:00

As strange as it seems, I've outgrown this blog. I need to move into a space that doesn't scream HIGH SCHOOL to me anymore. I'm a teenager yes, but I don't feel I can claim that label now. I'm moving on, and this blog is going to cease.

I'm moving over to:

Absolutely Normal

Update your link accordingly, and I'll see you over there.

gay films.

2008-06-28T16:54:00.000-07:00

I can't really say why I like "gay" themed films. I mean, besides the fact that I am so painfully transgendered, I really shouldn't be able to identify with many of the themes in these films. First off, I'm not biologically male. So, the whole "jack off your best friend and then be awkward" scenario can't happen. I came out to my parents, but there was no maudlin music, just a slight silence and then, to paraphrase, "we don't really give a fuck."

I guess I feel robbed of that stereotypical gay experience. Which sounds stupid, because some of it is horrible. I mean, the whole "get kicked out" thing, and the faggy best friends... I didn't have that, and I won't ever have that. And I guess that's why I want it, because I can't identify with so many gay kids.

But at the same time, I have such a unique experience, all of my own. And I guess it's weird to say this, but someday I want to share that so that other trans kids out there can know that it's not all stereotypical tears and drama, and that there are other ways of doing it out there.

Anyhow, if they ever made a movie about my life it'd probably be pretty uncontroversial, hah.

something new.

2008-06-28T02:27:00.000-07:00

I guess I should finally mention my boyfriend. I don't know what to call him, but I need an alias for him... I guess I'll call him Phoneboy, because we met through our work, which is a calling centre for non profit organisations. Anyhow, so we'd been flirting ever since we first met, and how we've just really hit it off. And got it on, I guess.

I mean, we haven't got that far yet, but we will, and I'm a little... nervous is the only way to describe it. I guess I just don't want to come across too strong. I went over to his house this evening and we watched The Usual Suspects and then made out and ... got undressed. We didn't really get farther than me straddling him shirtless and making out. And he bites... and I really like it.

Anyhow, probably TMI. But I like him a lot, and I'd probably let him do anything at this point. Bad, but still.

He makes me happy, oddly enough.

Plata Quemada

2008-06-24T20:57:00.001-07:00

There are some films that have left an indelible mark on me. I guess I'd have to say that I am a person easily influenced by media, not in a particularly bad way, but when I am moved by a film or a photograph, I am moved in a way that most people are not. I am utterly captivated, smitten, moved to tears. I suppose there aren't only a few films, but some that stick out in my mind now are The Wind That Shakes the Barley, My Own Private Idaho, The Dreamers, and Plata Quemada.

This post is about Plata Quemada. I've watched it twice now, and I still can't get over it. I guess it's just so beautiful it moves me more than anything ever has.

It's about two criminals lovers known as the Twins, who are forced to flee their country after a heist goes wrong and one of them is injured. Angel is described as "superstitious" and hears voices. "Le Nene" is his paler counterpart, who is the "brains" behind the duo.

I think the best part of this story, besides the involving and amazing plot, is the chemistry between Nene and Angel. They just look at each other and it's like there are fireworks going off. Watching them makes me believe in true love. They look at each other and you can feel the passion just rising off their skin. There are plenty of heterosexual love scenes in the film, some of them even explicit, but Nene and Angel never fully physically consummate their love on screen. I don't feel that this was out of any prudishness on the director's part, so much as a way of showing that Nene and Angel's love transcends their bodies.

I can't really say much more on the film, I just want you to go watch it.

Love on the bus.

2008-06-18T23:01:00.000-07:00

I fall in love with people all the time. The clerk at Borders, the guy on the bicyle, the girl in the BMW next to me on the freeway. All the time, anywhere, whomever, I fall in love. And sometimes it's just looks, like a curve of a neck, or the arch of an eyebrow. And sometimes it's many things, combined into one. These are never long love affairs, mostly because I'll never see them again, but it's in those glimpses, those snatches of time that life is most real to me.

Today on the bus home from work I ran into this beautiful boy, wearing a Dodgers hat backwards. His face was like one of Boticelli's angels, so beautiful. He had a star tattoo on his elbow, and his hair curled just slightly. I wanted to lick his skin all over. It wasn't strange at all, and I guess he caught me looking, because he smiled. I just had to draw him, so I did. It was just one of those moments where I was glad to be human and to revel in human beauty and body.

Losing you.

2008-06-16T22:57:00.000-07:00

I guess I'm finally losing you.
Little by little, part by part.
Soul by Soul, finger by finger.
You've fallen away and really, it's my fault,
how many times do I have to say it
before I'm forgiven? I know, I know, I've fucked up
so badly and I know he can't forgive me.
But can you?
Your heart is Big. I know you will. At least on the surface.
But deep down, under the skin of things,
will you, really? No.
I've really fucked up this time. Because I can't excuse this away
with "I've been busy" and how many times can my relatives die,
and you won't believe me. Even though it's the godawful Truth.
Love me, love me, I love you, can't you see.
It's true, I've messed up.
But I thought we had unconditional things. I'll love you forever sort
of things. I forgive you everything things.
Is this so unforgivable?

I'm pushing you away, in my own way, I suppose.
I'm shoving you away so you don't get hurt when I screw up again.
Can't hear you cry again, so I'll put you away from me. Protect my heart
from hurting by hurting myself by pushing you away.
Get away, get away. Make him happy, make me miserable, if only to save yourself.
And I guess I'm finally losing you,
and I've never been so miserable, so Bonecrushingly miserable.
But at the same time,
I'm so glad I'm finally doing the right thing for you.
By letting you Go.

a little bit of nothing.

2008-06-16T14:36:00.000-07:00

Today has been just that. I have work tonight, so I've been sitting at my computer all day, doing nothing pretty much. I finally signed up for a Last.fm account for my solo musical project, and I'm starting to work on my music/art website. I've been really looking forward to setting up my online stuff in a more concrete way other than the sort of quasi-page that I have hosted on a friend's website. I need to work on that more, right now actually. I really want something professional looking, but not too overproduced. Something minimalist to the extreme. It's important that the work is not overshadowed by the frame/outline.

Anyhow, first day of summer. I'm looking forward to doing nothing! I have two jobs this summer, but other than that... really, there's nothing going on.

Paco Y Manolo

2008-06-15T18:18:00.000-07:00

Paco Y Manolo is a Spanish photography duo that takes some of the frankest images I've seen in a long time. They basically take pictures of nude men, but in a sort of vulnerable, non-pornographi way. Really, it's very interesting art. Or at least to me it is. Anyhow, I thought I'd share a few images, just to spread the love. Thanks to Slava Mogutin's blog for introducing me.

2008-06-13T21:39:00.000-07:00

Well, I've finally graduated. I'm not sure how I feel about it. Mostly, I'm tired. We stayed at Disneyland for Grad Nite until five in the morning, so pretty much my brain feels like a sponge. I missed work because my family neglected to get me up in time to make it, so really... it's been an odd day. I got home around eight. Went to sleep forty-five minutes later, and then woke up at five in the afternoon. I felt like I'd been in some sort of bizarre time warp. And I've spent the last couple hours (three or so) tapping away on my new computer that I got for graduation (thank you Mum and Dad).

Graduation was a pain in the ass. I got a burn on one side of my face, and I had to sit through four hundred and ninety nine of my peers receiving their diplomas. And of course, I lost my voice halfway through, which was pleasant for Disneyland. I got a sunflower from the school, which was sweet, if a bit late. Even now, I'm still sort of regretting have done two years of IB when I could have done middle college or something. High school was miserable, and not just because I was in the process of coming out and what not. It's just been a disaster.

I guess I've met some amazing people though, and I wouldn't have been so lucky if I hadn't finished all four years of high school and I'd gotten my GED last year or something.

On another note, there is this girl that I've had a big crush on for a long time. And really, I don't consider myself realistically bi because I rarely get crushes on girls, and they are rarely, if ever, physical crushes. I can emotionally connect with masculine women, and fall in love with them, but the physical stuff comes later. Anyhow, this girl, we'll call her Wonderella, is pretty much the pretty asian babe I've always wanted. She's not girly in the slightest, she's not too butch, she dresses well, she likes piercings (which I have more of now, I got an industrial for my birthday) she's sporty... the list goes on and on. Anyhow, I feel weird about liking her so much, especially since I primarily identify as a gay male. And she knows all about the trans stuff, and even knows I like her, but it's just an issue of getting the balls to ask her out.

She was on the bus with us down to Disneyland, and I basically stared at her the entire time. Which, I fully acknowledge, is a little creepy. Anyhow... it was weird. I just really like her and I don't know what to do about it.

So, I'm an adult. I'm graduated. I'm single. I'm desperately in need of some more masculine glasses and shoes so I can start actually passing as a male. Ridiculous!

thoughts.

2008-06-11T00:59:00.000-07:00

The best time in my life right now happens almost every day when I'm walking home from the bus stop after work around ten o'clock at night. I turn up the volume on my ipod so loud that it feels like the music is coming from the sky, or from G-d or something. And I can't hear anything but the music. And I put one foot in front of the other and don't really think, just walk. And sometimes I look up and see stars twinkling in the sky, and I'm just blown away by how beautiful life is. I walk in the middle of the street, and when I round the corner and see our house sitting on the edge of the pavement, I just have to smile and sometimes I just stop, and stand there. In the middle of the road. Just staring at this little glowing house, and I get all thoughtful, and deep. And I know I'm not even giving this the proper description it deserves, but it's something that's so indescribably beautiful.

And usually on these walks home I think about how much I've changed over the last year. I'm eighteen years old, and I'd like to think that I'm a little wiser. Or at least older. I'm me. I'm me, and that's something that is just so beautiful. It's odd, but I'm finally being me by changing things about myself that I always hated, and always disliked, and I'm not "becoming" myself, because I was always myself, but now I'm stripping away the parts that society and time have added on. I feel like an old junker, with extra parts that nobody wants or needs, and I need to be laid bare to the bone, completely gutted of all those things that the world has put in my arms and forced me to be.

This year has been… a growing experience. Now that I'm graduating from high school on Friday, I can't say that I'm especially sure exactly how I've grown. I'm more generous, I'd like to think. I've lost some friends, gained some new ones. I'm still a virgin, hah. I'm still too scared to admit some things to people.

But I'm getting there. And that's what matters, I think.

musings.

2008-05-29T15:17:00.000-07:00

I find it hard to write about some things. Love, death, happiness. I can talk about sex as a sort of abstract oncept that is unattainable in its purest form. Of course it is easier to write about concerete things: people, places. But feelings, especially those noble, lofty ones we all aspire to are not nearly as tangible or translatable. Baser intincts like lust are identifiable and can be readily diagnosed. But love is almost obscenely difficult to pin to a board to be examined under scrutinous microscope. Love is elusive and often mistaken, misdiagnosed and manipulated. Romantic love is even more endangered, disappearing from its native habitat at an alarming rate. Of course, love can be mistaken for truth, as in "true love" and then spirituality is ascribed to the most human of emotions. True love is always accompanied by celestial imagery and singing cherubim. But I think it is wrong to give love, a human emotion, a quality of heaven. Life on earth is flawed and love itself knows no perfection. The people we love are dark, monsters at time, and love fades and dies. Love is not truth, and yet one can find truth through another person. One can find transcendence through love, and that is a form of spirituality.

But the clarity of religious experience seems to be more akin to sexual ecstasy. The spiritual nature of love seems to be closely tied to physical acts, and as a societ that both embraces and rejects physicality and hedonism, it is difficult to reconcile the two with words or images. Any depiction of love and sex risks being voyeuristic; depictions of love and sex are stick figure paintings of the real thing. Any film, book, etc. that shows love loses any sanctity through distance and corporeal limitations. I hate watching romances, especially those marketed to single women as "chick flicks." Directors seem to mistake chemistry and compatability for genuine emotional attachment, and sometimes even love. Fairy tale endings do not happen, and it is cruel and at times disgusting to pretend otherwise. Romantic movies set up the average couple for failure, by promising a beautiful ending with happy grandchildren, when reality is
in fact a bitter, dark ending in death, divorce, or apathy. Life is what it is, and love is not truth or god, just the ecstasy and pain of being profoundly human. It is not the grandchildren, or the ending that makes love beautiful: it is the pain and the ecstasy of being human.

I feel it is easier to achieve that beauty through writing. Prose allows for at least the attempt to delve into emotion, whilst visual experiences seem to only skim the surface of emotion. I dislike the omniscient perspective in writing because only deity can claim to know everything, but the limited third person seems to most directly translate the human experience into "reality."

2008-05-12T20:28:00.001-07:00

Billy's Dad is a Fudge Packer!

2008-04-15T15:35:00.000-07:00

This is the best little short film I've seen in a long time. It has one of my favourite actors in it, Robert (Bobby) Gant playing the father. It's just hilarious. The sexual innuendos are awesome. Anyhow, if you have five minutes, it's totally worth it.

we live in a beautiful world...

2008-03-11T21:09:00.000-07:00

"we live in a beautiful world, yeah we do, yeah we do…" — Coldplay, "Don't Panic"

Sometimes I forget that the world is a truly unimaginably beautiful, until a day like today. Today felt like my eyes had been opened for the first time since I was very young, and I saw beauty in the small things. The crack in the pavement like lightening. The scrawl of graffiti across a bathroom door. The way that boy who has the Mohawk shrugged his shoulders, as if water were running down his back. Sometimes I get so lost in the every day murmur that I forget about what's really important. The trees, the sky, the people. I get lost in myself, and I forget the landscape outside my own mind. I think that it is not odd for that to happen to people, especially in a suburban or an urban environment. To escape the dreariness of cookie-cutter houses and boxy skyscrapers we retreat inside, and we create a terrain where we can survive. I think the human ability to adapt to monotony is one of the most amazing things in the world: we survive by noticing the details, or drawing within and finding a garden in ourselves. I think that garden is what we use to protect ourselves from pain, from feeling too much. Because living in little cookie-cutter lives is numbing and at the same time excruciating. So we create a coping mechanism.

And I think that for some of us that coping mechanism doesn't work as well, so we end up sort of paralysed on drugs and what not. Sometimes I'm hate my meds so much I want to scream and scream and fucking scream my throat raw, and then I have to remind myself that they're keeping me alive (ironically enough) and there would be nothing worse than losing myself in that strange fluctuating mess between happy and sad all the time. Anyhow, I need to find my garden outside my mind, and today I was able to reach out and touch something I haven't touched in a long time. You know how when you've been holding your breath for what seems like forever, your lungs burn? That's what it felt like, and it was like I suddenly resurfaced and found sanity just above the water.

My college results shall be arriving from Cal on the fifteenth. And I was freaking out about it at dinner, but now that I've had a little time to think and distance myself, I realise that my self-worth and my journey is not dependent on where I go to school. Agreed, my sexual journey would probably be much more fulfilling and meaningful if I was living in the Bay Area and had all the resources I could ever imagine, but I could just stay here. I would feel stifled at first, but then I'd find the beauty in the ordinary things, and then I'd cope just fine.

hot damn.

2008-03-10T16:59:00.001-07:00

Sorry for the neurotic posting, but I just figured something out.

I am a bisexual man trapped in a girl's body.

That's it. For the first time in my life I've been able to pinpoint exactly what is up with me. And it kind of sucks, because I really really really would prefer to be a guy

Slava Mogutin

2008-03-10T15:20:00.000-07:00

I wanted to blog for a moment about one of my favourite photographers/artists, Slava Mogutin. Mogutin is famed for being exiled from Russia for his queer writing, and specifically for "malicious hooliganism with exceptional cynicism and extreme insolence." Anyhow, I'm going to post a few of my favourite photos of his, and then I'm going to give you a link to his site, but I do have to warn you that many of the photos are particularly sexually explicit, and I'm sure that to some degree I am a voyeur for enjoying his work, but I like to convince myself that it's the artistic sensibilites that draw me to his work, and that's true definitely, but there is something insanely beautiful about all of it: the grunge, the BDSM.

Slava Mogutin

Proust Questionnaire.

2008-03-09T21:47:00.000-07:00

Ah, Proust, you lovely boy, you. I dedicate this to you!
To see his actual answers, in French, follow this link →

Confessions.
An Album to Record Thoughts, Feelings, &c.

Your favourite virtue. – Kindness and patience.

Your favourite qualities in a man. – Intelligence.

Your favourite qualities in a woman. – Intelligence, wit.

Your favourite occupation. – Thinking, writing, dreaming.

Your chief characteristic. – Liberality.

Your idea of happiness. – A life spent in artistic pursuit.

Your idea of misery. – A life without love or purpose.

Your favourite colour and flower. – I love red and calla lilies.

If not yourself, who would you be? – I would be… Rufus Wainwright.

Where would you like to live? – Canada! Or Ireland.

Your favourite prose authors. – Jon McGregor, Alan Hollingshurst, Michael Cunningham.

Your favourite poets. – Seamus Heaney, Sylvia Plath, Yevegeny Yevtushenko, Anna Ahkmatova, Alan Ginsberg

Your favourite painters and composers. – Rachmaninoff, Mahler, John Singer-Sargent, Rufus Wainwright, Snow Patrol, Bob Dylan, the Doors.

Your favourite heroes in real life. – My friend Eli, Rufus Wainwright.

Your favourite heroines in real life. – Sylvia Plath.

Your favourite heroes in fiction. – John Grady from All the Pretty Horses.

Your favourite heroines in fiction. – Antigone.

Your favourite food and drink. – Food: pan friend noodle; drink: Irish breakfast tea.

Your favourite names. – Eli, Rian, Rafe, Inara, Mikael, Ecke.

Your pet aversion. – Chewing with ones's mouth open.

What characters in history do you most dislike. – Hitler, for his avarice, his racism, and his nationalism.

The natural talent you'd like to be gifted with – Beauty and charisma.

How you wish to die – A painless drug overdoes. Euphoria and then silence.

What is your present state of mind. – Rather bored, kind of musing.

For what fault have you most toleration? – Sarcasm.

Your favourite motto. – "It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end." – Ursula LeGuin

hey jack kerouac...

2008-03-07T15:23:00.000-08:00

Who is Your Alter Poet?

Way to go, your alter poet is Jack Kerouac, who is by FAR the coolest!
Take this quiz!

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This amused me to no end. I'll be honest and admit that I am a rather large Kerouac fan, although I fucking hate the word beat and I will beat (haha) anyone over the head who happens to use the words "cats," "jive," "groovy," and or "hip," in my general vincinity. After I read On the Road I started smoking, so I can generally blame Kerouac for the descent of my health and my current addiction to Camel #9s. Or maybe it's just the pink and black box that's addicting. Well, anyway. Kerouac and I are apparently quite alike, and he's my "alter poet" ego or whatever.

I'm posting entirely too much today, but I really can't help but write a little. I guess it's just that I haven't written in a long time, and this is my one outlet of pretension. I haven't written poetry in like two months, and anything prose I've written has been bordering on psychotic, and I don't mean that in a "haha, I'm soooo crazy" kind of way, but more like it doesn't make any sense. I wrote short story around midnight about a month ago, and when I woke up the next morning and read it was pure gibberish. There were a few gems of sentences in there, so I extracted those and set them around in a sort of semblance of a story, but I'd be lying if I said it made any sense after that.

Anyhow, I just need to get some stuff off my chest.

And a question, what does everyone have against lesbians? All my gay guy friends disdain lesbians, and everyone seems to think there's something wrong with it. Why is that gay guys are more accepted? Well, relatively accepted by society. This has been giving me a bit of a pause lately. Not because of any recent revelations about my sexuality, I've known for a while that I'm at least bisexual, but I've been trying to get more involved in GLBTQ rights, and I've noticed that there's a lot of like prejudice within the movement itself. Like, for some reason everyone hates bisexuals. And a lot of gay guys have nothing but scorn for lesbians (and bisexuals). It's just making me pause and think about some stuff. I'd thought about coming out soon (and I did come out a couple close friends earlier this week) but now I'm not so sure. I don't want to be accused of being "a fake" or a "transitioner," although I'm sure that's always a possibility. I just want to be taken at face value, not like I’m trying to cheat someone just because I like boys and girls. It's very frustrating to lose faith in a group that I thought I could identify with, and a group I thought that would accept me. It's hard enough coming to terms with sexuality, and I thought that it'd be easier because there are more resources for GLBTQ kids now, then ever before. But I feel like I’m running up against a brick wall again and again, slamming my head in. I'm not straight, and I'm not entirely gay, so I have nowhere to go. Not to mention I'm half Asian and half white, so I have no ethnic identity either. I'm stuck in the middle of everything, and I just hate it.

Rufus! Rufus!

2008-03-07T14:25:00.000-08:00

I got to see Rufus Wainwright last night, and pretty much all I have to say is that he is a GENIUS. As soon as he opened his mouth and started singing I started sobbing like a baby, just absolutely emotionally wasted because his voice just moves me to a place that I can't even begin to describe. He's like the most influential musician in my life… ever. I mean, seriously. He has amazing style, amazing lyrics, and his music is so lush and orchestral. He was performing solo, so it was even more amazing to see him play some stuff that I didn't think could be adapted for the piano or guitar. He makes me want to be a gay guy so I can have an excuse to wear tailored suits like he does. His boyfriend was there, and he made a really cute dedication to him. Of course, he made the obligatory jokes about California (which is fine, really) and I laughed a lot. The show was just… phoar. And of course, he was kind enough to do an enchore and he played my favourite song, Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk which was (is) my anthem. I'm serious, that song is so relatable to me. I just get it. It makes me life make so much more sense. I went out and bought chocolate milk this afternoon and sat around smoking and I felt like so cool, (which is incredibly lame) but I totally get what he means. Anyhow, he's amazing. See him live if you can. I just can't gush enough about how fucking brilliant his new album is, and of course Poses is his other best album.

Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk

a long time

2008-03-05T20:15:00.000-08:00

I guess it's been a long time since I've posted. Well, I got a boyfriend (we'll call him Guitarboy) and I lost him. Well, more like I got rid of him because it wasn't working and it was long distance and we never saw each other... long story short it was a disaster and I'm not sorry I ended it. Even if it did end up hurting his feelings. Yeah, I'll start writing again soon.

goodbye casanova

2008-01-24T16:37:00.000-08:00

When I heard about Heath I went outside and chain smoked for about an hour.

Thanks for sharing your talent with the world, Mr. Ledger.

here, now

2008-01-21T10:04:00.000-08:00

I got into the college of my choice. Yes. Oh my god.
I got 18,000$ scholarship (which isn't enough, but hopefully I'll get the full tuition scholarship too).

I better be going come Fall.

je te déteste

2008-01-14T22:04:00.001-08:00

My friends are driving me crazy.

Literally.

I had a massive panic attack in class today because Jules is just… treating me like shit. And it's beginning to affect my mental health. I do not know what to do. Because fuck, I love her, but dammit.

I cannot handle anymore of this shit.

I know I need to see my therapist, who I haven't seen in like three weeks, and I need to up my meds, and I need to do about a thousand different things to help my cope, but I can't right now. I just want to curl up in a ball.

It's like last summer, except a thousand times worse because I can't escape to my room and hide for days. I have to go to school every day and see people.

I've been writing stuff on my arm, just as a way to remind myself of what I love. Quotes from my favourite books, etc. But sometimes, it's just not enough.

"Want what you can have," my elbow says. Yeah.

"Life chooses us; we do not choose it," my forearm warns.

And finally, the best; "je te déteste." That is my life in a fucking nutshell.

meh

2008-01-06T14:15:00.000-08:00

These past few days have been hell. Returning to school is always bad, but returning to school after such a lacklustre holiday has made it especially painful. Anyhow, my life has been particularly weird lately.

But today was good; mostly because of PostSecret. There were quite a few good ones up today.

one year gone

2007-12-31T18:32:00.000-08:00

This has got to be a better year. I can't survive another 2007.

2008 planned in advance:

I will smoke as much as I can.
I will get a boyfriend.
I will get a piercing or a tattoo.
I will grow up.
I will leave home.
I will ditch my friends that already hate me.
I will appreciate the true friends that I do have.
I will grow a backbone.
I will stop getting acne.
I will stop teasing my brother.
I will get over all the men of 2007.
I will meet many men in 2008.
I will get a best friend who doesn't use me.
I will get a best friend who isn't on the internet.
I will ditch said best friend on the internet because he is a self-pitying moron.
I will not ditch said best friend on the internet because I love him.
I will love my parents.
I will spend as much time as I can with my family.
I will write more.
I will read more.
I will drink less.
I will drink more.
I will not not not kiss random strangers.
I will not ask out random strangers.
I will stop lusting after the gay, not single boy who works at the occult store.
I will stop drinking so much damn coffee.
I will lose weight by exercise, not starvation.
I will listen to more music.
I will play more music.
I will listen to my therapist more.
I will not do (many) drugs.
I will try to be a better person.

love at first sight...

2007-12-22T08:27:00.000-08:00

If you are the Occult shop boy who processed my purchase of an Art Noveau Tarot Deck and a hell of a lot of incense yesterday, here are the main reasons why I should be your main squeeze/soul mate:

1. You have a hell of a lot of piercings. I find this attractive.

2. You are pretty damn gorgeous. You look like James McAvoy. With piercings.

3. You work in an occult store. What more do I have to say?

4. I fucking love your fedora.

5. You are hot. I already said this, but it needed to be said again.

6. You flirted with me.

7. I flirted with you.

8. Did you feel the mutual attraction in the air? That's called love at first sight.

9. You have a good sense of style.

10. You work near the library, next to a used book store, near a comic store, and a block away from the best coffee place in the entire town. Need I say more?

11. I would make you one hell of a cute girlfriend. Never mind that I'm not legal yet and you are probably graduating from college soon.

12. I would read the cards for you with my limited skill. xD

13. The cards already said that it's meant to be. Sort of.

14. The cards never lie.

15. I'm going to ask you if you're seeing anyone next time I'm in the store.

meh.

2007-12-17T14:34:00.000-08:00

I was supposed to go see the Sex God today, the first time after his accident two weeks ago. I was really looking forward to giving him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. I even dreamed about it last night, and I guess part of me is so scared to see him. I'm just worried because I've never seen him fragile, he's the kind of guy that is always really well held together, always glued at the seams. And knowing that he's broken up, inside and outside, is just the worst feeling in the world. And part of me wants to just walk away from this (god I'm selfish) and part of me wants to be there for him. And I can't decide which it's going to be, and what I'm going to do. The fact that I even want to see him makes me think that I'm just going to be there for him, but I don't know. He's just… been a major part of my life, platonically, and now I'm just afraid that the accident may have killed off the part of him that I loved best: his spontaneity and his music. The boy has this innate gift, and if he's lost it, I don't know how I can relate to him anymore. I feel guilty, because obviously none of this is to do with me, and I can't understand why I keep relating this back to me, because I'm not a selfish person usually, but he just makes me introspective.

It's just hard. I don't know. I'm going to talk to my therapist about it. She'll know what to do. I…

I think I've lost him for good.

and when things couldn't get any worse

2007-12-09T13:43:00.000-08:00

The boy I have had a crush on since fourth grade drove his car off a cliff on Wednesday night. He fell 250 feet. And blacked out. When they got him out of there, at four in the morning, he was carried by helicopter to our local hospital. He broke his neck. And his collarbone. And is currently in ICU. He's seventeen years old. There were no drugs and alcohol involved.

And I miss him so much. It's so weird because he's not dead, not yet, but there is a blank spot in class where he's supposed to be. And when the substitute calls role, and calls his name, I always want him to murmur here in that low voice of his and just end this charade. But it's real. And it's so fucking scary.

I hate losing people.

I need a new drug

2007-11-19T22:19:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I’m starting on Prozac.

…

That is all there is to say, really.

a little regret

2007-11-13T15:05:00.000-08:00

After that last embarrassing post, I suppose I should try and post something uplifting and beautiful. But really, I'm having a hard time thinking of anything that is either uplifting or moving. My life is monotonous these days, and I have no motivation to make something cheerful up in order to put a salve on my ego. This last weekend was good, I suppose, but it was still marred by little moments of insanity that were, frankly, humiliating. Saturday night I went off the wall, and my parents almost drove down to LA to pick me up. I'm glad they didn't, but at the same time, I was so glad that they were finally listening. But after I finally revealed what was wrong, my mother is still saying things like "you have to pretend like you're perfectly even if you're a little blue…" A little blue? A little blue? I cannot even begin to describe how much of an understatement that is. She's suffered with depression herself, a little blue doesn't even encompass a fraction of the myriad of hellholes I've dug myself into.

So on Saturday, after crying for an hour straight, I ended up going out with some friends, and ended up macking it with some guy I didn't know, and felt so incredibly disgusting afterwards. I'm not a slut, and most of the time, I don't feel like a slut when I do things with boys I don't know. I don't think that's "sluttish," mostly because I'm discrete and don't go beyond the boundaries of propriety. But this time something just felt so weird about it, that afterwards, I sort of just closed my eyes and pretended I hadn't kissed him because the idea was just so insanely repulsive to me. It wasn't that he was ugly. It wasn’t that he wasn't a nice kid. It was just wrong all of a sudden. I don't get it, I really don’t.

even just for the day

2007-11-06T22:17:00.000-08:00

I've reached the end of my rope. I am wiped. Emotionally, physically, I am drained of all I can give. I'm to the point where I can no longer be unselfish. I cannot hold up any longer. I am just not myself anymore. And if one more person pushes my buttons I will scream and scream until I can no longer hold onto sanity. There is only so far I can push myself, and I have reached the wall. My dreams are plagued with things I can't see; and my life is plagued by my growing sense of disillusionment and paranoia.

I cannot see how I will possibly make it to the end of the week without just dropping out, completely, or just hitting the wall. And if I do both, I wouldn't be surprised. I'm just OVER IT. Over everything.

And I just needed to rant for a few seconds to get it all off my chest and onto paper, because honestly, if I keep everything bottled up like I have a tendency to do, I will end up hitting my head against the wall repeatedly until my forehead is bloody.

I've done that before. And it was weird. And I don't want to do it again.

uncle johnny did cocaine

2007-11-04T19:53:00.000-08:00

My appetite aint got no heart
I said my appetite aint got no heart
Shocking people when you feel that pull
Shock 'em, drop 'em when you know its full

I've been listening to the Killers a lot lately, and I really hate how some of their songs just hit a little too close to home. I won't stop listening to them on that basis, but that one song... Uncle Johnny is about my uncle. And I hate it hate hate it. And to admit that I hate it is to admit that he's dead... and goddammit I hate admitting that. It's been years, but I'm so mad still.

whatever.

2007-10-29T22:54:00.000-07:00

So my parents said that they would get me therapy.
LIES!

Lies. I'm so mad.

in skin

2007-10-28T23:30:00.000-07:00

College applications are the bane of my existence. Not even kidding. I feel like a prostitute, having to sell myself to every public university on the coast. It's not a fun feeling. I want them to just take me for I am, not how I seem on paper. It's suddenly as if all the things I've been doing over the last four years haven't been enough. On one hand I say to myself: how could I have done more? But on the other hand I know I could have applied for Teen of the Year, or done more activities. But did I want to do that? No. But it scares me that doing what I wanted to do might have screwed me over.

And when I get into that oh-so prestigous school that I really am dying to get into I will celebrate by getting a piercing or a tattoo, or doing something that will make me stand out from all those numbers, because I'll know that they saw more than my mediocre grades, and my obsession with my guitar.

And when I don't get into that oh-so prestigous school that I really am dying to get into I will still get a piercing or a tattoo, because I'll know that I will stand out and be my own person wherever I go, no matter what I will do.

I just have to find a way to show them how unique I am.

And it's getting harder each day.

lacking

2007-10-23T23:02:00.000-07:00

My life has become increasingly boyless since I last posted. Citrus Boy is sort of out of my life. The Sex God is just a good friend.

The "love of my life" (fuck that) returned to visit from University on Monday, made me cry, and then left again. I suppose he was aptly named the Obscure Object. He's not just Obscure, he's fucking Opaque.

Pretty much the only guy in my life now is strictly platonic. I think. I hate it when it gets confusing about those sorts of things.

I'm seeing a therapist on Thursday.
I'm very sick, have a nasty cold.

Homecoming sucked, but I told eveyone I had a good time because I didn't want to ruin the mood.

And I hate high school.
Oh, and I'm beginning to think that I'm never going to get into college.
Otherwise, I'm fantastic.

I read a fucking amazing book. It was called "the Line of Beauty," and it's about a gay boy living in the mid 80s conservative upper class England and all its idiosyncracies... Amazing book. Won the Booker Prize.

still breathing.

2007-10-09T16:20:00.000-07:00

He's still breathing— miracles of miracles.

And I can't believe that I'm so lucky to have him escape yet again. Does luck even play into it? I don't know.

dust to dust

2007-09-26T22:38:00.001-07:00

One of my best friends is dying right now.

I can't be there with him, or his boyfriend. Because we live on opposite sides of the earth.

I want him to email me and tell me it's all a joke.

Because it's not funny. It never has been funny.

God, I used to just say things like "I don't care if people use drugs, it's only them they're hurting". And as selfish as it is to say, it hurts me more now than it hurts him.

If he dies, I don't know how I'll ever be able to talk again. I'll have to swallow everything I've ever said to him, all the "I love yous" all the "I hate yous" and all that shit in between that means everything in retrospect.

I'd never thought I'd live in retrospect.
We're too young to.

He's twenty one.
I'm seventeen.

And he's dying.
And I can't do anything about it.

I've been searching for my wings....

2007-09-19T17:28:00.000-07:00

I know I have so many crushes that flit in and out of my life: the Sex God continues to be a constant distraction in IB Music, the Obscure Objects occasionally leaves a kind message on my Facebook wall and stirs up old emotions best left dormant, my gay best friend say something cute and I instantly want to marry him… Needless to say, I’ve got the “cosmic horn”. If you don’t know the reference, please go read Angus, Thongs, and Full Frontal Snogging to find the definitive meaning of a teenager’s life, particularly mine. Although I don’t have very many hot men like the main character in Angus seems to.

Anyhow, long story short: another crush has developed. And it’s not just a “crush” per se; it’s a bona fide like. The hapless subject happens to be a year younger than me (alas) and one of the Sex God’s good friends.

So, basically, every time I see him, that song by Patrick Wolf goes through my head: “Oh! My Augustine, Augustine!/
Oh! Is this forever, ever? Oh, oh/ Sweet Augustine, Augustine/ Do we kill this one tonight?/ And now come the tears, heavy and hot/ It becomes clear, this is all we got”.

I’m not really sure why I get that in my head; I think it’s the anguished way Wolf sings it, so from the belly, from the deepest pit of his soul.

Anyhow, so the boy, who I think I will nickname Citrus Boy, after his band which I shan’t tell you what it’s called, is pretty much one of those perfect people. The kind of person you want to die next to.

Which is so funny, because I’m never this attached to anyone. Ever. Not true. But I haven’t been so lovelorn in a long time. And it’s a nice feeling, to settle back into that hopeless laughing and that perfect knowledge of unrequited love.

if I were alive right now—

2007-09-04T15:18:00.000-07:00

I'm sick. So, here's some McAvoy to make myeslf feel better. Twenty four hour flu is the bane of my existence.

more geek out...

2007-09-03T09:37:00.000-07:00

Guess who is so desperately obsessed with James McAvoy that she rented Children of Dune last night to watch and totally be in love with him? Yeah, okay, like that's hard to guess. I mean, I don't usually speak of myself in the third person, because that borders on a little psychotic, but it's okay, really. I've gotten in the bad habit of referring to myself as we—

I was talking about Children wasn't I? Okay, go see it. It's really good, extraneous of anything to do with James McAvoy, although his copious shirtless scenes are gratifying.

Anyhow, good movie. If you like the original Dune, and aren't a fan of the Dune movie by Lynch, you'll like this one. I swear. If not, you can send a worm after me.

geek out time...

2007-09-02T16:51:00.001-07:00

Is it permissible to scum to the worst of female generalities and stereotypes, and admit that I am obsessed with Jane Austen? I've never quite understood it; but I suppose my obsession and preoccupation with Austen began with the film Sense and Sensibility (you know, the one with Kate Winslet and Emma Thompson?) which led to a long and lengthy love affair with the novel; and thence to a much more fulfilling relationship with Pride and Prejudice.

I have to admit that Jane Austen is sort of the quintessential female vice; we succumb to her witty verse and her romantic endings. And of course, Mr Darcy is every intelligent girl's dream; slightly proud, very dashing, and quite willing to humble himself in the face of true love. That is still my male ideal, and as unfortunate as it is to admit it, Darcy is a fictional character and beast. There is no such type of man. I hate to admit, because it breaks my heart something dreadful, but Darcy is no more and no less than a figment of her imagination.

Which is perhaps why I found the new movie Becoming Jane such a beautiful idea— I saw it this afternoon. Not only did it combine my love of Austen with my love of James McAvoy, but it had pretty dresses and evidences of a ball in the adverts. Not to mention I cried when I saw the trailer. And that wasn't just because Mister McAvoy was as beautiful as Apollo.

I loved the idea that she had loved— and maybe lost. Because as any true disciple of Jane Austen knows, she did not die happy. She died impoverished and alone. And that in itself is distressing, because I often pondered to myself, "how the fuck can she write about extreme happiness and perfect endings when she herself had far from it? She'd never even fucking experienced life, how can she write of it suchly?"

But to say this is to deny Austen's vivid imagination— we can all remember quite clearly that the Gothic novel Jane Eyre also stemmed from inexperience. To discredit her imagination would discredit the book itself— and we cannot deny that Austen and Brontë's work contained undeniable truths about human nature.

Anyhow, the movie is sweet and sentimental, and I cried far more than I should have. It was enjoyable in a quaint, whimsical way, and Ms Hathaway was charming as usual in her customary head strong character. There was nothing to recommend or to insult about it. I enjoyed it, and I also was disappointed.

But I'm very excited about James McAvoy's new movie, Atonement which bloody doesn't come out in the States until fucking December, and I'm also excited about this Hugh Dancy film coming out soon enough. It's called the Jane Austen Book Club. Tell me that doesn't sound wonderful.

more than words

2007-09-01T13:52:00.001-07:00

Second post of the day.

My parents are out of town, with my brother and sister. They've left me alone in the house.

True to character, I am going to do some things I shouldn't. I have a friend coming over some time in the next couple days and we're going to smoke in the backyard.

But I'm not going to throw a wild party; even though I kind of want to do something like that— I won't. I'm too honoured that they respect me enough to leave me alone in the house. Isn't that kind of funny? I'm really proud that they trust me enough at home alone.

And the funny thing is, I miss them so desperately. I know that I complain about them like an old woman. But they are really quite the best parents for me. I wouldn't have done well in any other household. I respect them, I love them, and I have enough independence to flount some of their rules but not break the big ones.

Funny, huh?

of lasts

2007-09-01T13:25:00.000-07:00

My Grand-Aunt died recently, and I will admit that I am very sad about it— not because I knew her very well, or that I was very attached, but because it means that my grandmother is getting old, and she is realising it.

I think there is nothing worse than death, except for the realisation of imminent death. We all die— it is natural, it is what happens to us. We cannot complain or whine about it, because it is just life. Life is life is life. And death is death is death. We all have to come to terms with our mortality.

This is all so easy to spout off now— if I actually sat and thought about it, I would probably get in a state of panic and freak out. This is understandable.

But it's hard to watch my grandmother mourn and come to terms with her own mortality at the same time. It all makes me feel so immature and worthless.

there is seriously something wrong with the world

2007-08-24T11:43:00.000-07:00

How the fuck is a show entitled "The Pickup Artist" optioned and shown?

What the fuck is wrong with our society?

of firsts

2007-08-23T14:43:00.000-07:00

I had my first cigarette last week.

It was majorly anti-climactic.

I didn't even cough.

something stupid.

2007-07-29T12:31:00.000-07:00

Some days you just want it all to go away. And on those days suicide is suddenly an option, suddenly a way out, some way to make it all stop abruptly. And whatever it was that was crushing you just disappears, and you can walk down a road without feeling as if you are suffocating. True despair is worse than any disease. It’s staring out of a window at nothing and wanting to off yourself with a big knife. It’s not about seeking help anymore. After a while, you don’t want the attention. You just want it to fucking all end.

Because life isn’t a box of chocolates. Life isn’t even a brown paper package, or a bloody rose. It’s a fucking mess. Life throws you curve balls at every turn, and burns your soul with a lighter. Life doesn’t give a fuck about how you feel, or what you want.

Some things make it better. Like sitting in a quiet, clean room without any sound, just the dripping of a faucet. Or sitting in the middle of a green field that doesn’t smell like dog shit. A few friends at a dinner party. A boy with green eyes who kisses you gently.

But sometimes, not even those things can make it better.

And I hate to think of this as wallowing in self pity. Because really, I know my life is wonderful. I have nothing to complain about: I have a wonderful family, plenty of money, an education, a dog. I have the ‘American dream’.

And that’s why I can’t complain to anyone. They wouldn’t understand. I’m not ungrateful; I’m not. I love my family so much, and my life is beautiful. And when things are good, and I’m not depressed, I can see so much beauty in the world. But when I’m depressed, it’s like everything is gone and I can’t see anything at all.

And when I do try to tell someone how I feel, I’m told “oh it’s just a teenage thing, you’ll be fine in a few days”. Try a few months. I’ll be fine in a few months. I spent most of July in a fucking hole. I couldn’t breath, couldn’t hear, and it affected my work. And people could tell.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

How on earth do you explain that you’re wanting to kill yourself for no other reason than that there is something strange haunting you. And how do you tell people that you feel as if your soul has been ripped out?

I’m not a fucking emo. I don’t wear pitch-black eyeliner and die my hair black. I don’t listen to Panic! At the Fucking Disco, or the Used, and I fucking don’t pretend I’m hardcore.

I like my life, I really do.

But sometimes, death is the only thing I can think of to just end this mess inside my head. I want to scream obscenities at the top of my lungs just to be heard. But I can’t.

And I hate that I’ve come so close to actually doing the deed, and then I chicken out, oh because, how would my parents handle it?

Two years ago, I came so close. I was about to plunge a butcher knife into my gut when my sister walked in. I was scared more by the look on her face than the fact that there was a very sharp knife millimetres away from my belly button.

I’m sorry for being so fucking weak.

In a few days, if I don’t get really bad, I’ll be fine again, and it won’t get this bad for another few months and then I’ll be where I am now.

But I’ve managed to get through it before, and I fucking hope I’ll be fine. Because I really hate being weak. And I hate being at the mercy of something I can’t explain.

whatever it is in the world that hates me

2007-07-11T12:02:00.000-07:00

Please stop.

I'm going crazy.

damn it.

2007-06-22T15:02:00.000-07:00

My best friend just "stood me up". It wasn't a date, or anything, but that's the only phrase I could think of in this situation.

Needless to say, I'm infuriated. I put aside a perfectly decent Friday afternoon to spend with her, and she just BLEW it off. You're probably wondering why I put that in all caps... Well, it's because I strongly suspect she is off covorting avec le boyfriend; hence the reference. Which is incredibly bitchy of me, but I couldn't care less right now. Okay, yeah I do care, but I figure that she'll never read this, so what she can't read can't harm her.

I really really hope she's in a coma or something, or has an equally legitimate excuse.

ridiculous things.

2007-06-20T20:27:00.000-07:00

After watching about half of the second season of Project Runway, and watching my darling and dear love of my life, Daniel Vosovic, lose to Chloe Dao, I sat down and wrote a song. And was promptly ashamed to be wasting paper on fashion—because I can’t dress to save my life.

I have always been puzzled by my complete and utter fascination with fashion, partly because I dress like a drunken mixture of a ho-bag and a bag lady. I have never matched, and I’ve always been too poor to dress like I mean it. The extent of my fashionableness is Target. I own two pieces of clothing by “high fashion” designers: a pair of capri jeans by Michael Kors (which are the love of my life), and a green chain mail like shirt by BCBG Max Azria… which has a hole in the fucking sleeve.

Anyhow, I will admit that I try. I really do. But my parents can’t afford to dress me well all the time—so I have a handful of shirts and one pair of jeans that are nice, and I wear those as much as I can, and when they’re in the wash, I look like white trash. Which is fine, I’ve accepted that.

But it makes it that much harder to watch something like Project Runway, and think “what would I kill to get to design clothing, for a living?” And then I always start looking back into applying to places like Parsons, or FIDM, and I get so excited again. And then I look down and remember that there is no way I would ever fit in at a place like that. And I could never afford to go there. Which is even worse, because it means that that road is closed to me. That opportunity isn't even there, because I'd have to sell my soul to the devil in order to go to a private art school. And they say America is the "land of opportunity".

And I'm even one of the lucky ones. My parents can afford to send me to community college. And so many parents can't even afford to do that for their kids. Fucking land of opportunity, my ass.

And I have pride, which is the worst thing of all. How could I have pride when I have nothing? I don’t understand myself. But I have a hard time shopping in thrift stores. Although, I think I’m going to have to start doing it more often, if I ever want to dig myself out of my fashion rut.

And I wonder if I’m just being ridiculously shallow and horrible. Because there are children starving in Africa. And while I may not dress to impress, I eat every day. I have clothing on my back. I have running water and a television to remind me of what I don’t have. And I remember what I do have, and I’m grateful. And I wish to god that I didn’t live in a western country, where I have to look to find suffering. Hell would be nice compared to earth, I think.

Strange how watching a couple hours of television can bring me to tears and frustration at myself, and at the world.

I’m thinking too much.

hard to be heartbroken

2007-06-06T16:53:00.000-07:00

I hate myself.

I saw him today, that boy. The beautiful one with the pale white eyelashes that make me melt into a puddle, the one who I've thought was beautiful since I first met him in eighth grade, the one who I hooked up with on Saturday--

did not even recognise me today when I saw him in the hall.

And I feel stupid for allowing myself to be touched (literally and metaphorically) by him. and I feel so stupid for letting his icy blue eyes get to my heart, so much so that I haven't thought of anything other than him for a while now.

which is so stupid. He's a year younger than me, is a pot head, and probably isn't a nice guy. not only that, but he's only interested in me when he's stoned, and when I'm likely to put out.

MEN!

no pants dance

2007-06-03T20:49:00.000-07:00

So, I went to a No Pants Dance on Saturday night, and even though we didn't stay out all that late, it was awesome. It was in this guy in my art class's garage, and there were so many people there. He played mostly euro-trance and there was a strobe light going, which makes everyone look beautiful, and it was so trippy. It was so hot that the walls were sweating, and I soaked through my bra and underwear within five minutes. I danced with this one guy, and even made out with him for a second before realising that I knew him, and that he was my boss's half brother. Whoops.

Otherwise, good times... We plan on attending the next one. The only upsetting part was that the Obscure Object brought his girlfriend, who really wasn't all that cute, and he was showing her off like she was something to be envied. But I wouldn't tap that, personally. She was blonde and sort of stupid looking, and that's all I have to say on the matter.

I forgot to mention, I turned seventeen on Friday. Pretty exciting. I'm now able to go watch NC-17 movies and R rated films. That much closer to independence and age of consent.

Raphaël

2007-05-25T16:32:00.000-07:00

One of my favourite musicians, Raphaël, is coming to Los Angeles. And I can't go see him. Needless to say, I'm really really disappointed. But since I'm getting to see Snow Patrol later this summer, I really shouldn't complain copiously... But he is so amazing. And I really am disappointed about missing out on his concert...

But I got to see Mickey Avalon live last weekend, and I think Raphaël will live longer than Mickey, so I guess you have to pick and chose your battles. And Mickey was amazing... I almost died when I got to touch his arm.

In personal news, the Sex God fades in and out of my life with alarming speed. He was demanding the lyrics to my latest song last week, and completely forgot hours later. It was amusing. I think drugs were involved.

No need to worry

2007-05-17T18:34:00.000-07:00

I don't have to worry about pardoning him for further crimes.

He has a girlfriend. And he was just asking me for advice on how to spend time with other girls, emphatically not me, without hurting her feelings.

You know what he said? You know what he said?

"You waited too long, now you'll have to find someone else."

To which I replied, "Awh, fuck you." And promptly signed out of AIM without the intention of ever emailing, speaking, or acknowledging his presence ever again.

Obscure Object: did i offend you?

Angy: I don't know if I should answer you. You'll just get offended right back.

Obscure Object: i wouldn't. or at least i wouldn't hold it against you. ps. i'm sorry if talking about all of this was inappropriate

Angy: No, it was completely appropriate. It's sort of been festering since November, hasn't it? I just wrote a long whole rant about how I don't understand you, and how liking you has been a waste of time, etc. etc. But I just deleted it. Because you don't need to know. I'm done divulging anything-- I've already divulged enough.

Besides, I don't think you care.

Obscure Object: I'm really sorry. i honestly don't know what i was thinking. but you're a friend. a good one at that. and i really hope that we can maintain a good friendship. you're someone who i can talk to. i look forward to these conversations.

Angy: I look forward to them too. But for different reasons. And that's why I think I need to spend some time away from you.

I'm not some stupid lovelorn girl who is going to pine after you because I've been rejected. After I have successfully mended my feelings, I'll get ahold of you.

(a few minutes later)

Angy: Fuck it. You make me laugh, and you're an interesting conversation holder. I really really like our conversations, and I'd rather be unhappy for two minutes, than miss talking to you in a week. Truce?

After which, I got back on AIM and we mended bridges.

In a way, this is a very good thing for me. I won't be living some little sob story now, I won't be mislead by his every smile in my direction.

I told him so much today. About me. Things that I haven't even told my best friends. And he accepted it. I'm sure it changed his perception of me, perhaps to the worse, but he listened. And that means more to me than any kisses, or any words of endearment.

Endings are sad, but necessary, I think. I'll never stop loving him, in my own way, but now I can stop wishing for something I should have known would never happen, not in my wildest dreams. And I can go back to liking mediocre boys with little talent or brains, and settle for less than ideal. Going back to the staid old men of my life shall be boring, but it was nice to have him as a dream for a while.

Regardless, we've forged something more than friendship. Not romantic, that has been stressed so far. But to know so much about each others feelings, and our respect for each other?

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Can't you see?

2007-05-14T16:46:00.000-07:00

He said to me, "Can't you see?" when I asked him to read me something off the board. My eyesight is too poor to see that far, and I wanted to explain to him that I was practically blind... but suddenly it seemed like words were far too much to explain how I felt, what I wanted, and it was suddenly much more than a homework assignment on the whiteboard.

So, instead of giving him a coy, convoluted answer like I would any other day of the week, I just looked him in the eye and said "No."

And it was the truth; I can't see a lot of things. I can't see how madly obsessed I've been, how I've excused his behaviour.

This last weekend he did something again, something horrible. I can't even say it. Needless to say, he's broken my trust. It's not like I can even mention it to him now, because it's none of my business.

But in a way, it is my business. Only because I've defended him at every turn, and I can't any longer. I cannot stick up for him after this, not after this. And I wasn't directly involved, so I cannot approach him and tell him what he's done wrong. I want to send him an email saying "Look what you've done! Look!" and hope that he does. But I can't, and I won't.

Now, I am turning the phrase around.

"Can't you see me?"

I want to pose this question to him, pose this question to him. Can't you see me? I don't think he can. He says he respects me, and that he is flattered that I love him. But he cannot see me, no more than I can truly see beyond his beauty. I am blinded by my love for him, and I cannot see his true self.

And it is horrible to admit that I no longer trust him, respect him, or even wish to be his one and only, but I still love him more than any other person I have ever loved.

And I cannot go on much longer being willfully blind.

camping?

2007-05-07T17:44:00.000-07:00

So, I had plans this week to head with the Obscure Object and his gang up to Tunnel Road at some late hour on Friday, to hang out, party, you know the deal. I also had plans to go get plastered with another friend on Saturday, you know, the party before the plunge of IB testing.

No cigar. Guess who is going on a department camping trip this weekend? Me. Guess who has four testing dates next week? Me.

Agreed my plans to go out and get stoned off my ass weren't exactly conducive to a proper testing condition, but that is immaterial. I was fully prepared to spend all of Sunday studying very very hard. Yes, very very hard. And I spent this last weekend studying very hard so that I wouldn't have to cram next weekend anyway.

Camping? I don't mind camping, but not in the middle of the school year, and before two of the most important tests of my life!

I'll admit: I'm a hypocrite. A hypocrite of the worst sort. I'm more put out about having to put aside yet another opportunity to spend time with him.

Spiderman? No....

2007-05-04T17:31:00.000-07:00

So, Obscure Object invited me to go see Spiderman 3 tonight with a bunch of his friends. Shall I be going? No... because I'm grounded.

I forgot to sign up for the ACT-- and for this reason I am grounded. Can I say that the ridiculousness of this has become rather disproportionate? I cannot believe my mother. What a fucking stupid thing to ground someone for. If I'd come home smelling of pot, or cigarettes, I'd expect punishment.

But I am an ideal child. I get decent grades. I don't do anything rebellious. I curse a little bit, but always apologise. I am well behaved, polite, articulate. I do not embarrass her in front of guests.

It's like she's grasping for straws with which to punish me. I am not only indignant, but fucking offended that she has so little do in her life that she feels the need to get mad at me for something that easily remediable.

deus in flammas abiit

2007-04-29T21:41:00.000-07:00

”… sic deus in flammas abiit, sic pectore toto uritur et sterilem sperando nurit amorem”.

“and thus the god becomes totally inflamed, so he burns in his whole heart, and nourishes barren love by hoping”.

-- Ovid, Daphne and Apollo from the Metamorphoses

It seems that even ancient Romans knew what it was to be futilely in love.

being in love is like being crumpled up inside

2007-04-29T01:08:00.000-07:00

Being in love is like being crumpled up inside and feeling yourself cave into baser instincts.

And you feel yourself let go of any real sense of reality, or what is proper, and what is good for yourself.

I'd lost sense of time.

It's like waking up. I've wasted five months on this boy, and likely will waste at least a few more before he jetsets off to Berkeley or wherever the hell the world takes him. And I'll cry when he leaves, just as I'm crying now when he hasn't even left yet.

And I hate myself for being so damn weak.

"love you forever, but you're driving me insane..."

2007-04-26T16:41:00.000-07:00

Oh god, I do love Feist's cover of "Inside and Out".

Let me just say that I'm so tired of men. With the exception of those really sweet ones who love me and don't piss me off. Where are they right now? Nowhere. Actually, I amend that. They are in the arms of peroxide blondes with good teeth and cute button noses. I hate them. I really do. Obscure Object pisses me off-- I really can't stand him much longer. Being near him is intoxicating-- it's like being drunk and everything is rosy. And then I walk away and remember exactly how much of an asshole he is. The irony is painful.

"I'm the girl who loves you inside and out... "

Christ. Leslie Feist, you know exactly what it's like to be completely infatuated.

Here's today's playlist:
Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

... happiness is not under rated

2007-04-23T18:47:00.000-07:00

Well. This weekend did not end up with a hook up with the Obscure Object, as was previously hoped. Instead, it ended up with a hook up with a complete stranger. Albeit, a gorgeous Latino stranger who was my height and danced very well. And was named Ben.

Thank god for JSA dances.

We had danced earlier on in the dance for a few dances; he'd approached me from behind and just grabbed me, pretty much. And after a song or two he said he was "tired" and that he was sorry. I shrugged, figuring he was giving me a polite brush off.

Later in the night, I saw him dancing with Isobel, and I gave him a flirty smile and when I was heading off the floor to get a drink I waved goodbye in a particularly flirtatious way. When we got back, he just grabbed me and we pretty much danced until the end of the dance together.

And he kissed me-- no, not kissed me, made out with me. I've never made out with a guy before. I almost forgot to dance-- it was amazing. I mean, I've kissed guys before, but nothing with tongues. Pretty much it was amazing.

Anyhow, I totally didn't regret not hooking up with the Obscure Object, because I saw him locking lips and hips with some fake blonde tramp from Newport Harbour. No thanks, shant put my hands anywhere near anything that has touched that piece of slime.

Overall, the convention was pretty much amazing. Great debates, great fun. Good times all around. And my very first hookup. I think I'm pretty much on top of the world right now.

Updated:

I've put together a playlist to describe today and the weekend.

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

disaster at sea

2007-04-12T15:48:00.000-07:00

Not quite at sea. But in general, disaster.

This morning, Isobel said "Oh my god, you have to listen to this..." She then went off on an amazing spiel. She had talked to the Obscure Object the night before. He had said, in no uncertain terms, that the girl behind him in TOK should confess how she feels before Spring State, and that he had known that she'd liked him for some time.

The girl who sits behind him TOK? Me. Naturally, I guess that it meant that he was interested. It seemed like a logical conclusion. And being the honest girl that I am, I confessed to Isobel that I had had no idea that he was remotely interested, and that was why I had never had any intention of ever telling him my feelings.

During TOK, I tried to address him, but it turned out he'd taken the vow of silence. This note transcript sprung from our encounter:

Obscure Object: What?

Me: Did you talk to Isobel last night?

O. O. : I talk to her almost every night, but yes.

Me: Well, I might as well tell you then, since you already know. How do I put this so you won't think less of me?

O. O. : Why would I think less of you?

Me: When I'm nervous I tend to babble like an idiot. Here it goes: I've had a crush on you since November, and I never had any intention of telling you until Isobel pushed me.

O. O. : Well, I'm sorry you felt you couldn't tell me before. But ~~I guess that~~ I'm flattered. Sorry, I don't really know what to say, but I truly do thank you for telling me.

Me: Well. I shouldn't have, because I've always known you weren't interested. But thank you for being gracious enough not to mock me.

O. O. : You should have told me. And I'll be honest. I haven't been interested. But who knows? JSA is coming up. The whole weekend will be unpredictable.

He said he wasn't interested. And then he said "Who knows?"

Asshole. And yet I still am madly in love with him. You know what else what he told Isobel? He's not interested in a relationship right now, he's a senior. Just about to head off to college and a brighter future: he wants nothing tying him down. No one. And I accept that if he makes a move, I'll be a one night stand and nothing more.

Life isn't fair.

Fuck 'em.

2007-04-11T20:19:00.000-07:00

Open letter from John Fusciante (of the Red Hot Chili Peppers) in support of Mickey Avalon excerpt:

If people try to push you down, don't conform to their bullshit. Stand up to it, with courage. Make 'em threaten you with death before you even consider backing down. Be how you want to be. Fuck'em.

I think that's one of the most important quotes I've heard in a long time. It says so much about him, but more importantly it gives a great message. That's right John. FUCK 'EM.

idiotic

2007-04-10T22:22:00.001-07:00

So, in a fit of stupid inspiration, I posted the link to this blog on my Livejournal that all my friends read. Hours later I realised my folly, and rushed over to delete the erroneous link. Hopefully I have allayed drama... For now. Hah.

So... Here's today's playlist. Topped by Pretty Things, the best slow Wainwright song. He's a genius. And of course, some View, because the Don is like the cutest song ever.

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

life is a bucket of shite

2007-03-21T23:42:00.000-07:00

Basically, the title describes my life right now.

I'm dead on my feet, and I'm so close to just fucking jumping in front of a car.

Not really, because I still have yet to do all the things that teenagers are supposed to do... But I do have a date to smoke pot with a friend this weekend, I've dyed my hair red, and now I just need some extraneous piercings. Sound good?

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

2007-03-18T11:42:00.000-07:00

Happy belated Saint Patrick's day... I've compiled a list of my favourite Irish ballads... My favourite is There were roses. But anyhow, Irish pride, people. Couldn't find any of the really old good one's about the old IRA, but this will do...

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

wonderful world/quantum physics

2007-03-15T20:42:00.000-07:00

"And I know that it's a wonderful world/ But I can't feel it right now/ Well I thought that I was doing well/ But I just want to cry now/ Well I know that it's a wonderful world/ From the sky down to the sea/ But I can only see it when you're here, here with me."

Basically, I have very good news. The Sex God and the Obscure Object are going to Spring State.

This merits for my playlist of the day: James Morrison, Sexy Back, more Muse, some amazing Isobel Campbell with her fantastic Bang Bang, and some fucking awesome Comets on Fire.
Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

In other news, we watched What the *BEEP* do we know" in TOK today-- and the Obscure Object poked me to illustrate that I am only possibility when he closes his eyes, due to quantum physics. Let's just say that I feel remarkably intelligent because I am able to slightly, barely, maybe grasp the faintest idea of what quantum physics means. Actually, I don't really understand it, but I understand this: if it's true, when you close your eyes everything is possibility.

When I learn something new, or remarkable, I always feel reborn, rejuvenated. It's like the world is suddenly beautiful again, and I can marvel at the magic in the world and gasp and be in awe that our world is so amazing. One particle is in two places at the same time-- that is such an amazing, amazing idea.

oh my god

2007-03-14T17:20:00.000-07:00

First off, I got permission to go to Spring State in April. Secondly, the Obscure Object might also be going...

Thirdly-- the Obscure Object knows that I like him. This could be a terrible thing, or a very good thing. He certainly didn't act very differently today in class. But he knows. My good friend had a conversation with him last night. It went something like this --

Friend I know plenty of people who like you.
Obscure Object Like who?
Friend I can think of numerous people off the top of my head.
Obscure Object Like Angy?
Friend I don't know about her...

He so knows. But he was totally normal in class today, which makes me think he's

not interested in me
waiting for the opportune moment to pounce
doesn't give a shit

Well. I think it's the first one, but if I thought otherwise I'd be a conceited git. Anyhow... So, I think that some major "playing hard to get" is in order, to avoid embarrassment. He did pass me a note today in class-- about science, agreed-- but he touched my knee, and Muse was playing at very loud decibels again.

So, playlist for the day is rather varied. Pogues for the morning, Rainy Night in Soho due to the rather weird fog... Strokes for the rather hyper bit around second period, and Mika's Take it Easy for the after glow of the hyperness... and Muse of course for that "moment"--hah.

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

Dance party in my head

2007-03-13T20:40:00.000-07:00

There is totally a dance party in my head right now, with Elvis Costello playing at really loud and horrible decibels... Isn't it strange when you get random songs stuck in your head?

But Starlight (by Muse) was totally playing at full volume during TOK today, when the Obscure Object not only grabbed my arm, but detained me from cleaning up a load of tea that had spilled on my backpack in order to discuss Chaos theory with me... Either he is a selfish bastard, or he finds conversation with me very scintillating.

So, what was the soundtrack for my day? It included a lot of very strange things-- a fair deal of Rammstein, and some very lovely Lily Allen and other rather strange mixtures. OH, a great deal of Paolo Nutini as well. Very strange day-- very strange music. Small sampling of the magic. xD

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

Today was one of my friend's birthday-- his seventeenth. He seemed down, so I asked what the matter was. His good friend was hit by a motorcycle the day before-- he was absolutely devastated-- and his parents made him come to school. That's what the Vienna Teng and slow Shiny Toy Guns songs are for-- acknowledgement that even good days for me, suck for someone else.

football!

2007-03-13T20:34:00.000-07:00

Basically, after our tragic defeat against fucking Wanker Utd., I felt a need to be uplifted... so I skedaddled my little ass over to Seeqpod, and came up with an amazing Footie music list, with theme songs from the last few World Cups, as well as You'll Never Walk Alone -- my boys, my boys! Sigh... Man. I love Liverpool F.C. so much.

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

[...]

2007-03-12T20:35:00.000-07:00

The Sex God #2 greets me in the halls these days. I'm always rather dazed when he does-- and it seems like Jose Gonzalez's song "Lovestain" is playing in the back of my mind when he does... Strange?

I've decided that life isn't all that bad.

Although, I did sign up for IB Music today for next year. Stupid, stupid girl. I suppose I shall never ever learn.

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

just when I thought I was getting ahead...

2007-03-07T19:40:00.000-08:00

I realised that there is no way in hell the Obscure Object would ever like me. Agreed, he may pay very good attention to me, and check out my boobs, he is not interested in me in any other way than to bounce his theories off of, and to again, check out my boobs. Fuck. I hate life.

And the funniest part of all of this? I still like him. I still LOVE him. Yes, I know, I said the L-Word. No, not lesbian: fucking love. Now, my friends would all be rolling their eyes at this point going "fuck, here we go again", but god damn it, I'm in love with him. I love how immature he is, and how he's constantly an asshole. I love that he can't go a day without arguing-- I fucking adore his impish grin and the way his hair is always casually mussed. I'm a goner when he's scruffy, and hasn't shaved in like a week, and looks like the bad guy from an old western. I'm obsessed, and it's not pretty.

I hate hate hate how in the movies the boy always gets the girl, and it's really never the other way around, unless the crush/love is reciprocal and they're both secretly pining for one another. Because, I really don't think he's pining for me. And never will be.

So I'm just going to keep on loving him, because I don't know how not to, and hating myself for it.

Shades of Gray

2007-03-05T23:53:00.000-08:00

Everytime I need a boost because I am a sulky bitch, I go read back issues of Ethan Gray's blog, especially the one's about his past relationships, books, and his general attitude on life. This is one of my favourites, mostly because I'm looking for the same guy he is-- and I'm young, I have time to find that guy... But I would like to start looking early.

Here's an excerpt from an entry titled "the One".

Somewhere on the island of Manhattan, in a dimly lit room is a man in his mid to late thirties. In his hands a copy of The Hours by Michael Cunningham. Sections of that morning’s New York Times are scattered on the floor, on the couch, in the bathroom, a trail of paper that bears witness to his day. It’s a cozy apartment, wooden floors, warm brown leather chairs, entire walls made of books, and a window, which if looked at from the street, flickers blue.

He’s been living there for years. He’s thought of moving, but he likes it where he is, it’s home.

Most of his accent is gone, dulled by a life lived in New York, like a kitchen knife after years of heavy use. But even today, hints of another place still come out as alcohol seeps in.

Handsome, quiet, he’s had a few serious relationships and at least one major heartbreak. It’s been a while since anyone’s managed to surprise him.

[...]

He’s a romantic. He’s the one who remembers birthdays and anniversaries, the one who spends hours finding the right present. He likes to see the surprised look on their face as they open it, a gift that says, “See? I’ve been listening.”

He likes to think the right guy’s out there, he’s just not sure.

Somewhere in Manhattan lives a man. He’s a bit of me, and a bit of whom I’d like to meet. An idea of a person that comes to mind whenever I get dumped, go on a bad date, or have sex of the ordinary kind. He has no clear features or name. He’s the one.

Okay, so maybe the not the part about the guy being gay, and thirty-something... But anyone who reads the Hours is worthy of my attention...

But anyhow, Ethan Gray is an amazing writer. I can't aspire to be him, as that would involve drastic gender change-- but I worship his writing nonetheless. He's so fucking candid. Best of the best of bloggers, I swear.

procrastinator

2007-02-28T19:59:00.000-08:00

I am seriously turning into the worst procrastinator ever-- I have a huge essay/outline test in History of the Americas, and I haven't done a thing for it. And since I am responsible for the U.S. portion of the information I feel especially guilty. I guess, and I hope, my partner is more responsible than I, and has done her work, because then the essay will be seriously Canada-centric. Which is fine, but it just denotes what a lazy ass I am.

Not only have I put that off, I completely have blown off my math homework, and all of my other work until now. Or a few minutes from now when I'm done with this. And, to top it all off, I have a C in Math. What the hell. I have a A- in fucking Bio, and I have a C in Math. You win some, you lose some. Fuck it all. I'm just so infuriated with life.

And as if life couldn't be any worse, any worse, the Obscure Object has just gotten himself in the biggest shit ever. I mean big shit. He might have just committed a felony. I'm seriously trying very hard to keep it all together, and it's not working. I've been wavering between tears and just intense intense hatred of life. Why? Why? I don't understand, I just don't. Why the hell would someone so intrinsically intelligent do something so stupid?

I really don't understand life-- I don't mean to get so bloody existentialist. But this blog is really only for my benefit, I doubt anyone reads it, ever. So, I guess I shouldn't apologise for the existentialism. But I'm just so angry-- angry can't even describe the contempt I feel for him right now. But at the same time, I just want him to let me cry on his shoulder-- even though, he's the one who needs to be crying.

If he's expelled, I'm going to scream.

scary arm problems

2007-02-22T18:13:00.000-08:00

It feels like they're frozen-- but they're not cold. Typing is so hard-- and painful. I think it's just my left hand/arm. Agh. AND I have so much homework to do tonight-- how can I write if my arms feel like they're on slow motion? Damn and a half.

In other news-- I just started an amazing book. It's called Blink, and normally I hate nonfiction-- but this is really interesting and is about first impressions and how sometimes they're right. Which strikes me as rather hilarious, because we're taught not to base our opinions of people on first impressions-- even though everyone does anyway.

Mika saves...

2007-02-21T21:37:00.000-08:00

Basically -- Mika blasting at ridiculous levels, accompanied by a marvelous pair of new shoes... can save my mood. Yes, I retract all previous statements about men being craptastic. They aren't. They're wonderful.

Yes, Mika saves.

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

men = crap!

2007-02-21T19:47:00.000-08:00

Men are craptastic. It's official. I hate them.

I also am on a major "I hate my friends" binge, because they are all stupid self-centred bitches. And I am just as self-centred for posting this crap. But still-- I am so tired of hearing about their little dramas! Who cares if you have no "prospects". You whore-- I never have prospects. Agh.

I'm good. Just needing to rant.

2007-02-20T20:09:00.000-08:00

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

Band practise--

2007-02-16T18:49:00.000-08:00

We're officially called Telenovela now, and we're in the midst of writing a song called Obesity and Speed-- it's so exciting. I've never really felt involved with something like this before-- it's been such a rewarding experience. We'll never get anywhere, but it's still fun anyway. I intended to sing-- but I guess I'm just playing rhythm guitar-- which I really don't want to do, but has been fun anyway. Basically, we tried to play She Moves in her Own Way by the Kooks, but the time signature is absurd and strange, so we gave up and started writing our own stuff.

... !

2007-02-15T17:18:00.000-08:00

The Sex God touched my arm today!

I was in the back of the theatre freaking about something, when the Sex God#2 walked by, with some of the members of one of his many bands. He touched my arm, and said hi. And he smiled. I swear-- I swooned and said, in a rather weak voice, "Hey". ... Hey? Hey? How about-- "I think you are beautiful and I am totally in love with you?" Yeah. That sounds right. I've had a quasi-crush on him since fourth grade. He's pretty much the boy I'll always wish all my other crushes were.

In other boy news-- the Obscure Object and I have struck up numerous conversations in the last few days-- I think he thinks I'm stupid, but I'll prove him wrong.

In a completely different hemisphere-- I got a hundred percent on my Mexican Revolution paper!

valentine's day

2007-02-13T20:11:00.000-08:00

I hate Valentine's Day.

It represents all of the commercilisation that our world has gone through. Love is no longer kisses and hugs-- it's chocolate and roses. And the most expensive teddy bear. I don't think anyone should express their love with ridiculously over priced flowers.

Donate to the Heifer Project, or One, in the name of the person you love-- instead of wasting a ton of money on stupid objects. Or, take them out to dinner. Watch a movie with them. Whatever.

I hate hate hate how love can't be expressed every day-- and how suddenly it's acceptable to make up to someone by giving them a good Valentine's Day.

Obscure Object woes

2007-02-01T21:30:00.000-08:00

Basically, I finally told my friend that I liked him. She was kinder than I would have expected. I would have been nasty and rather catty. But, she wasn't. She was quite unsurprised, really. She just said that she'd suspected, but had repressed the idea. Amusing. I make people repress things-- I guess that makes me rather abhorrent. Anyhow, she said she had no emotional attachment whatsoever, and then advised me that "he enjoys arguing about religion and evolution-- it turns him on". Right then... She also remarked that he was a "bloody good kisser".

Paolo Nutini

2007-01-31T21:43:00.000-08:00

Pretty much, I heard about him a few months ago, was lazy and didn't check his music out, decided to get unlazy and check him out. And decided that I am going to marry him, play beautiful music with him. Yes. I don't even need kids, just his voice to me stellar guitar. He's like hotter than the Obscure Object.

Me and My Shadow

2007-01-25T16:16:00.000-08:00

Robbie Williams and Jonny Wilkes.

I am so in love with Robbie.

Hmm...

2007-01-24T15:58:00.000-08:00

My grades for this semester were rather unsatisfactory. So, I promised myself I would buckle down and do very well this next semester. Along with: play guitar every day, update my journal at least twice a week (what bullshit), and wear matching socks. Needless to say: New Year's Resolutions are absolutely ridiculous. Oh, and I have to lose ten pounds. Yeah, right. I'm just way too ambitious, and in this situation, not optimistic enough.

On another note, the Obscure Object is sitting kitty corner from me in one of my classes now. Can we say... true love? The back of his neck is extremely sexy, even though I thought I'd never say something like that about anyone! It's rather disgusting once I think about it. Anyhow, he is still the topic of much revulsion, and I really can't mention his better aspects when everyone is talking about how he reminds them of a lap dog, like a Chihuahua, barking non-stop. Quite an issue, really.

Smile

2007-01-22T16:11:00.000-08:00

Lilly Allen's video, Smile, is possibly one of the most amazing videos I've ever seen. Seriously. I love it so much, I'm going to share. And does anyone know who that actor is in it? I've seen him before... the one who plays the boyfriend...

Bubble Girl

2007-01-21T20:18:00.000-08:00

Hmmm.... Sounds oddly correct.

Lonely

2007-01-04T16:04:00.000-08:00

Today was not a good day— many of my friends are running of to San Jose for Mock Trial tomorrow, and I’m going to be alone. Not alone of course, really, but alone in the sense that my constant companions won’t be there. Which is very strange, for me at least.

One of the girls who is leaving was planning to watch the Arsenal vs. Liverpool game with me on Saturday morning, and I’m going to have to watch it alone, I think. It’s a rather disappointing idea— we were going to get into full-blown rivalry mode. I can’t help but think that the game will lose some of its novelty if she isn’t there to malign Liverpool, and I can’t malign Arsenal. She says she’ll call, even if she’s in the middle of a trial, to check up on how the game’s going. I doubt it.

This weekend is going to be devoted to homework, I think. No time for friends, I have to study and raise my Biology grade. So, I’m all alone— and feeling sorry for myself.

Lust or Love?

2007-01-03T16:38:00.000-08:00

I think the Obscure Object might still be a royal asshat/fuck weasel. But I really can’t help but stare at him — pretty much constantly. I know that everyone hates him, and that even I “hate” him, but I really can’t help it. It’s like seeing that slice of cake that you know has been dropped on the floor, but some sick perverse part of you wants to eat it anyway. ‘Who cares if it’s been beat up, a little bit?’ You reason erroneously. But in the end, it’s all the eyes on you that cause you to say, “Ewww. Throw that away.”

Poor analogy, but I can’t really think of a better one that doesn’t involve food, or sexually suggestive metaphors. Perhaps it’s all just lust, and nothing much more than lust. Which would explain the food metaphor. I want to eat him? Not really, he’d probably taste badly, he’s so bitter and full of bile. Lust is a royal pain in the ass. It makes me do things I’d never do normally. Such as, stare at the class fuck weasel as if I want to make out with him at a spur of the moment.

Christmas Blues

2006-12-26T15:22:00.000-08:00

After Christmas, wallowing in loving feelings for my close family and friends, I always get the blues. I can't help it-- it's this guilty feeling that starts in the pit of my stomach and works its way up to my throat, where it sits and rests. It rather burns, and I suppose it's that feeling of guilt when I see those less fortunate than I on the street during the after-Christmas shopping.

They always seems so accusatory, which they have the full right to be. I feel guilty-- and I start asking God why I am so lucky to be blessed with family and friends during this time of year. And then, I start wondering why I'm seeking God's forgiveness for such a thing. I don't even believe in God.

We went to Catholic Mass on Sunday night, and though I could not take communion, as I am not Catholic, I went forward anyway and got a blessing.

I told my father, "If I have to be here, I might as well save my immortal soul."

Such blasphemy. I felt guilty saying it, but it's true. I want the easy way out. I want to never believe during the year, and as soon as Christmas comes around, suddenly conform to my parent's religion and become a Christian again. And tada, I'm saved.

But I know that's not enough, and because I don't believe in God, that shouldn't matter. But it does. I think I want my parent's approval and happiness more than I want God. They want me to be 'saved' and as long as I live in their house, I'm going to have to keep pretending to be God's child.

I'm sure the homeless couldn't care less about my miserable issues with divinity.

Unawares

2006-12-15T17:30:00.001-08:00

The discovery of a crush is especially devastating when the individual that is the object of your love (or lust) happens to be a pretentious bastard.

During Theory of Knowledge I was idly munching on a chocolate cookie, contemplating the advent of the holidays, and the lovely weather. Our IB coordinator was discussing the upcoming SL tests in May, and I couldn’t have cared less, because I had a cookie, and the sun was shining. Tomorrow is the beginning of the Winter Holiday, and I get two weeks of unadulterated relaxation. Even studying will be in a relaxed atmosphere. I couldn’t help but notice that everyone else was as starry-eyed with the prospects of freedom as I. Save one person.

A boy I know was slumped in his desk— his mouth partially shielded by his hand. I cannot describe the fatigue that seemed to have settled over him. It was if one lone cloud of rain poured on him alone, and everyone else was exempt from its grey oppression.

Usually he is the epitome of character— he sits up ramrod straight and his hand flies up like a whip to remark snarkily on various subjects— adored by none, and vilified by all. I find myself in the latter category. He is pretentious, and vindictive, and bitter. He is as brilliant as they come. But the combination of such intelligence and such animosity leads to a explosive combination. His leadership of Mock Trial is the subject of many quiet, vituperate conversations, held in corners of dingy classrooms.

But now, he exuded grief like a waterfall— his shoulders were sloped— even the dark blue of his warm-up jacket seemed almost pitch black.

I can’t describe the absolute misery and discontent that grew in me, and I could practically feel my lower lip tremble. A stuffy feeling appeared in my nose that hadn’t been there before; my hands were suddenly cold, and the hollow crevices of my pockets could not warm them. I watched him for a moment— he was spoken to: but he answered as if in a daze or a stupor.

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked after class, as he walked out of the room into the shining sun. His eyes were so dark I felt a rush, a shiver run down my spine and settle in my lower belly. "Hello?”

“I’m fine,” he replied hollowly.

“Do you want a cookie?” I offered, realising how childlike I appeared, in my sun-dress and low heels, my bangs sweeping across my face. I supposed then that I would always look childlike to him, barely reaching his strong shoulder, with small hands and feet, and slim wrists. And oh so naïve, thinking my cookie could save him from whatever depression had seized him.

He waved me off with a hand, and continued off toward his next class, the light streaming over him like an unwelcome blanket. I stood there, my cookie tin pressed against my stomach, like a lost bird, fluttering to and fro in indecisive agony.

When I was walking home, I saw him drive by, and he waved with one hand, the other on his mobile, driving by sheer will, I suppose. I felt my heart flutter, and I smiled involuntarily, a sort of sweet, melancholy slip of my lips.

Realisation is difficult— and I suppose that my heart will speed up next time I see him, and that a flush will appear across my round cheeks, and that I will want him so badly that I will stand pigeon-toed in his presence and stare at my feet. I wonder how I could have been so caught unaware, and by so wrong a person.

I suppose, for the purposes of anonymity, I shall call him the Obscure Object in this blog.

Procrastination is Life

2006-12-14T19:53:00.000-08:00

Life is constantly procrastinated. We put off living every day to watch T.V., update our blogs, read about the latest celebrity's sordid scandal. Every day-- I procrastinate on taking walks, playing with my dog, talking with my little brother. He's growing up so fast, and I'm sort of afraid I'll blink and he'll be an adult. It's like watching my own life flash before my eyes as I try and catch up with school work, and the website. It's rather frustrating to be so unable to do much of anything besides watch. I try and reach out and touch what I don't have, but something keeps me from catching up.

Falling leaves

2006-12-14T16:05:00.000-08:00

I saw the most beautiful thing today. A large gust of wind hit the liquid amber trees on my street, and while the limbs shook and quaked, hundreds of red and golden leaves swept down onto the asphalt. All of my mother's work, raking and scooping last week has been undone, but the red and gold dessicated leaves are so beautiful on top of the grey street. It was like watching rain drops turn yellow and orange.

Beauty in simple things...

2006-12-13T21:47:00.000-08:00

I felt as if an elephant has sat gracefully upon my back, and I was trying to support it with only my feeble arms and weak limbs. I am referring to the literal pain that was coursing up and down my spine, but also to the overwhelming sense of desolation that had settled over me over the last couple weeks. I kept trying to comfort myself, saying, bloody hell, it's the holidays. But it's hard to feel cheery when one feels as if a wet rag is stifling all your creativity and all the beauty in life.

I guess I could say all that pessimism stopped when I looked out the window, just a mere second ago. The screen seems to fracture the light from the neighbour's porch that streams across the road and illuminates every divet and pot-hole on our dingy street. The neighbours catty corner to us have all of their icicle Christmas lights up, and even though the moon is strangely absent, there is enough light pollution to lead an airplane. I can't say that my back hurts any less, but there is something strangely moving about what I see. Perhaps it is the lack of sleep, and lack of coherence, compounded by stupidity, but I cannot say that I've seen anything more beautiful before.

Duty

2006-12-13T21:28:00.001-08:00

I suppose I've always wanted to be a so-called "literary fiction writer". I think I've failed in that regard. So, that is what this blog will be. It will be a recount of my life as if everything were dreadfully and terribly important, and that all things are serious and ponderous. They aren't. You can see my other blog if you want to see un-serious or ponderous things. So, it is my duty to complain about life, and other interesting things, because I feel like I could contribute something to the empty space of the web. Yes, I could. Maybe.