until we go the way of all flesh

My commie heart explodes with guilt.

You ever come across stuff, and once you touch them or hold them or place them upon your guilty crown you realise "this is gonna be with me until I die?" 

Hats, ladies and gentlemen. Since I've shorn off my locks, I've realised how much I loved them. 

What better invention was there for the human head? Fuck helmets, I want a bowler derby. 

I've been getting musicks nonstop for the past few days now. Insomnia begets progress. 

Mostly Nujabes stuff, and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.

Also some misc. Lady Gaga shit, because I'm crushing hard.

I set my laptop to UK spelling sometime in Hong Kong because I was paranoid about spelling errors in class, but now I'm afraid I'll have to switch back and I can't recall how. Huh.

Thinking the Other Day

Was thinking the other day about this stuck up OC hipster crowd. 

I mean, it seems like if you wanna talk to somebody or do anything or get in anywhere you gotta know somebody first. And I don't get it. 

I used to get it, before I went to HK. Now, HK was my first experience being on my own and really, I mean really, socialising with people and experiencing all those various consequences and benefits. 

Little did I know that my jaunt to HK might well have been a jaunt to the moon. As on the moon, nothing in HK fell with quite the same gravity.  People seemed to talk to each other with little introduction, to bond, to connect, to kiss and to fuck and break up all in the same breath. As if none of the usual shit mattered.

And I wonder, as many do, why can't we bring that home? What's wrong with that? I was watching Transformers today, and it's such a typical "boy too lame to get into girl's pants" story. But I wonder if it's outdated in the here and now. I mean, are we still playing by those rules? Perhaps in Buttfuck, Wyoming, but here, really? 

Do we still chain ourselves to those same systems of consequences? Do we still judge each other by those same rudimentary and superficial guidelines? Must we still judge? 

What are we, animals?

People tell me all the time that race is a social construct. Sex is a social construct. Social classes, tribes, cliques, groups, socially constructed to divide, to unify, to group, to classify. Therefore null and void, therefore unimportant.

But we cannot extricate ourselves from these systems, from these myriad networks. We participate in them wholeheartedly, whether academic or wholly ignorant. To even participate in the argument is to subscribe to a network which believes that anyone who willingly participates in these "socially constructed" systems is a bigot or something.

Roberts criticised me for thinking that sterile hypothetical academic debates were useless. He told me to get out of politics then.

Well, maybe that's what's wrong with teaching kids politics in the first place. We study all kinds of perspectives and ideologies with which to view the world, as if it were a painting or a book.

But the 6 billion people on earth do not typically view the world from these viewpoints. They exist within social constructs, they live and breath sex and race and sexism and racism and hate and love and all that mess, all together. 

To try to place yourself somewhere outside of that is to study something else entirely, to devote yourself to serving the Utopian instead of the dystopian, the devolving, the degrading society in which we were born today.

To ignore that some people are actually alright with being ignorant is to be just as ignorant. To criticise the Crusades with bladed tongue is to be yourself some kind of Crusader. 

Sorry for the rant. In other news, gonna try and cop my girly's moves. She can dance so well. I dreamed about volcanoes last night and swore I felt the burn of those flying rocks like lava on my fingertips.

What does it mean when your dreams are more real than your reality? I was raped the other night in my head. It was just as traumatising. 

Where do these terrifying thoughts come from? Is there a dark place inside my consciousness that wishes to do me in? I have never been more hurt than by my own self.

Rapture

After about a week, I finally finished the first 20 rows of this bitch. This ain't some bitch's regular stockinette knit shit. It's got all kinds of directions in it, all kinds of holes, all kinds of shapes. This is the kind of stuff you look at while you're knitting and cry softly into the wool. 

I'm going to take a break from it and work on my beanie now. Two beanies perhaps. Even a turtle. A brainless fucking turtle.

In other news, my mother is still insane. It's a hot day, and the woman is obsessed with cooking a masterpiece for dinner tonight.

I'm a simple kind of person. I don't expect a lot of food, really. I like boiled spinach and some fish. I like roast garlic and a toast baguette. I eat some yoghurt for brekkie.

My mother tells me I'm putting on weight and then yells at me if I don't eat. She cooks for ten people at a time for a family of three very picky and light eaters. We end up throwing the food out every week. It's absolutely ridiculous. She throws tantrums if we don't eat, telling us we're wasting food, or that we eat out too much.

Truth is mum, when I'm out I really don't eat that much. Geez.

ermine furs adorn imperious

I've been knitting the same three inches of scarf for the past week. I keep on ripping out rows. It's always the little things I fuck up on. A yarnover here, a missed stitch there. 2 knit stitches instead of 3, so on. so on. It's a complicated checkerboard lace pattern, and I'm knitting with very fine dark blue yarn. If I can just focus it would be beautiful.

I saw my girly today. I can't wait to go out tomorrow night to Pistol. It will be my first time clubbing since Cassie's last night in HK. It will not be as mad, as drunken, as disappointing, but I shall enjoy it. 

Lately I have been thinking only of material things, and the thought is depressing. I think day in and day out about clothes and shoes and makeup and it frightens me. My head is empty, empty, empty.

Last night I saw Memo and find myself more and more comfortable with him, able to open up, talk about more than pleasantries, reveal the throbbing sadness and disappointment I always feel just below the surface, groundwater in the blistering sand. I don't know what exactly it is I want out of this besides sex and attention. Maybe that's it. It's such a new feeling. I've never been indifferent about dating anyone. I've always been head over heels. Since HK I've been seeing relationships and love in an entirely new light. I used to think that I couldn't have sex with someone if I wasn't in love. And then that whole thing with Roberts happened.

What had happened, I think, was that I had talked myself out of falling for him. These days I think I can talk myself into and out of anything. 

I believe what makes me a great actor is that in my life I am acting every single moment, that I possess no genuine feeling or emotion that motivates my actions or words. Yea, my words motivate my emotion. It's ludicrous and ludicrously complicated to describe. 

I often wonder if I wasn't really in love with Emmanuel; I wonder if he was just there at the right time and had fit relatively well into that vague man-shape I needed. If, by mistaking my lust and my neediness and my excitement, I created something like love, maybe even love itself, for him. 

If I quelled all the temptations, those numerous temptations, because I felt my increasing boredom was my own fault and not his. 

When I spoke to him I broke out in tears, but as soon as I hung up they would cease, I would be silent and empty. Was it real? It scares me to think on it. Was any of it real?

Am I real? I mean my personality and my words, my traits, my reactions, are they really and truly mine or am I like some preposterous mirror or parrot. 

Uggghhh. I have lost so many words since coming back. Right now, I've got such an anger inside I can't seem to find the words to describe it, and that maddens me further. I just want to punch somebody. I want to hit myself. I want to steep myself in violence and smoulder into smoke. 

 

notes on first kisses.

the first makeout session is always awkward, unless it is amazing. there are no in-betweens. unlike having sex with a new person for the first time, it will always feel like the first time you ever kissed a person. the fumbling, the groping, the maneuvering around the gear shift. are there any polite ways to conduct yourself during this nascent ritual, or will it always feel like you have braces on? with onion breath?

lame.

An observation, perhaps naive, but really wholly innocent, on women travellers: 

The girls I have met while backpacking in SE Asia fall into a few categories. 

There are the european girls, lithe and golden and tan, floating through the islands of Thailand and the rivers of Laos like angels. They are scantily clad, unimaginably beautiful, but in their eyes I think they are empty, naive. They are on holiday from Sweden, on easter break from London. 

we stand anchored to our vanity, eyes wide all jealous and shit.

and then there are the earthen women who trod in the mud of Asia and bloom like lotuses. They are fleshy and beautiful, their eyes shining with earnestness, overflowing with a simple kindness and love for the people here. they are brimming with stories, absolutely jubilant and joyful. 

i wonder, should i be like that when i return to america? should i be so bright-eyed and optimistic? 

brain is too scattered to contemplate all this. is destroyed. no words anymore. sigh sigh sigh.

SOMEONE someone someone please throw me up into the sky.

i swore when i first fell i dropped my cellphone and also my keys.

gotta get it back yo.

metaphorically speaking of course.

torrential downpour of thought driving me half insane. sitting here in the 圖書館 just doin chinese and going slowly surely mad, the way a feather falls. 

so much work to do. where did this insatiable hunger for fuckin around come from cuz man i been dickin around like no other. i am supposed to like school.

when did this become hard? the day i was disillusioned by this system. the day they labelled me a rebel and tossed me out the gates of studiousness forever.

the day i went jumped on the crazyhorse and never stopped riding.

weeeeee neurosis psychosis i am a small afraid thing wrapped beneath your beating wings. yes yes yes yes yes weeeeeeeeeee.

am perched on a precipice, surely.

no matter where i am i have this feeling like i just want to scream and scream and scour clean my filthy insides.

watching old red hot chili peppers shit and i'm missing cali like a motherfucker. i wanna drive in that cheap gold sunlight, buzz by those cheap ass buildings, cheap ass dirt and cheap ass trees, the superficiality of it all suddenly seeping into my bones like jumping in an ice cold bath. this is home bitch, this is home. 

man on a pallet man on a pallet man on a pallet in a monastery east of here woke up one day to find he had been lied to. there was no god nor clergy nor blessed water in that cold stone place only he and the rats and the rotted straw over which he lay. 

shorty let me tell you about my only vice it's got to do with lots of lovin and it ain't nothin nice

it ain't nothin nice

it aint nothin nice.

almost have the internet set up. yay yay yay yaaay.

been jonesing for good musick, good cigarettes, good people, a cloud of wondrous bliss, et al.

fail. fail. fail.

went for thai today with john and ted. ted is a local i like immensely, as he is quite chill, and john reminds me of my brother a little, as all gawky young men do. he's had two lung surgeries and a bevy of health problems, but he likes oblivion and odd musick. good in my book eh.

bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah.

mgmt is win.

help me i am failing mentally. i have no more mind left. i opened the door upstairs last night to find i had been robbed, and everything had been torn asunder. all the furniture lay in disarray, all my bedsheets took, the lamps broken, the photographs were all of strangers.

maybe i ought to read more.

just went out for a smoke with james. the cigarette becomes a timer for the amount of time i've got to spend with him before he disappears again. it sucks to come over here and to still be tied down to the land you came from.

though i suppose i ought to be too.

but i won't be. i won't be tied down anywhere. despite the nagging in my head and the hollow aching in my heart, i shan't. i won't.

bought a chain today. i just want to be a tough dyke, now don't i. look at the little asian girl.

who do i think i am. ellen degeneres.

lord and lord and lord and all the heaven You encompass where do i stand on this lonely planet. where do i stand.

who do i think i am. you tell me that because thinking is not what i have been doing lately. i have been drifting in the wind. i have been floating in the haze above kowloon like a spectre, like a mote of carbon dust.

wake up. wake up. wake up.

so had strange dream about the one back home. strangely satisfyingly and explicitly sexual in a way that woke me up all kinds of puzzled, like why in the world would make me dream that way? except maybe that i had some sheesha all curled up like a tongue in my lungs and it somehow evokes his memory in a curious fashion.

listening again to d. banhart. makes me all warm and fuzzled.

slower than slow here, as i've not even showered and it's 2:02 in the afternoon. everyone is already out with trista and i'm not particularly bothered about going. i'll shower and call them later. oh but what to wear hair and nails and all that jazzzzzz.

feeling oddly in a dream, as always but enhanced by the fact that i have uprooted myself completely from all that is real and all that is important in my life. i feel that nothing i do here is of real consequence, and so am freed.

i'm trying to remember emmanuel, all brown limbs and wild hair, all curled up against me like the way things used to be, that eternal feeling. i failed to remember it, and i sat there on my hard bed summoning up tears from my belly to water down that shameful emptiness.

que reste-t-il de nos amours?

an old picture, church bells, suitcase to a small town on a holiday last june. yes.

ahhhhhhhh i question the meaning of love. i question what it means to say you love someone, to say they complete you when it's so easy to drop it and run. when it's so easy to wake up feeling this kind of empty and this kind of free.

to feel this kind of small and meaningless. i'm a dust mote, i'm a gnat. i'm a human being with wants and wants and wants and nothing to need. and he and i, well we're just two lonely people, two great big empty maws with insatiable hunger.

fuck i used to be so innocent and i used to think that love contained the goodness in people but really it is the rumbling hunger of our hearts. it is the twang of need in the flitting feeling of our groins.

or is that lust. or is that love. or is love lust cushioned in the pity of god.

who knows anymore. i want smoke and i want pain. i want to stop and wake up for once. goddamn.

someday will probably look back in shame.

so am still alive, finally found way to get on the internet at least on the express terminals. apparently getting internet on my own laptop is tedious and laborous process. have no time for it at least until.... sunday? haa.

i don't even know what day it is. wednesday? wednesday. Monday night went to wondrous hotpot restaurant and stared in amusement as a hoard of foreigners clumsily grasped at their food with chopsticks and blankly pondered the strange eats. afterwards went to billy boozers, a local pub, where they served exasperatingly expensive alcohol but everyone got drunk anyway. met wonderful people. stayed out till 4. still managed to shower before passing out. last thought: who the fuck did i make friends with??

last night went to ridiculously expensive rice pot restaurant which was only so-so. wandered the night market which was interesting but nothing i've not seen before. what was curious was the farther along we went we started to see little dildo booths popping up, sparse at first but then multiplying until we couldn't go two booths without seeing uncomfortable images of anonymous asses clad in used thong underwear and gyrating, pulsating sex toys.

everyone else went to a club after i guess but the few stragglers i was with decided to hang out elsewhere, first going to bahama mama's for expensive fruity shit cocktails and then wandering victoria harbour looking at the wonderful sparkling skyline. we all realized then and there, aw fuck we live here.

tried to find billy boozers again but failed. took cab back to school where we found our crazy friend lily hanging with guy from texas isaac. i turned in early as was dead tired.

going to happy valley tonight. don't know if i'll enjoy it as i still am tired. tomorrow must drop off the old ladies at the airport which will be an uncomfortably emotional situation i am loathe to participate in. my mum has been terribly grabby today. ugh.

this morning got the brilliant idea to listen to devendra banhart on my little ipod as i was leaving for mong kok. instantly i felt well and whole again. maybe the sound of the city, all rushed and lonely and isolated, is making me feel so.

i really truly hate large groups and if given any kind of choice would probably rather stick to solitude. somehow making small talk with strangers is more lonely, as if i can now see how lonely and small i really am.

on the to-do list:

have got to deal with that whole 'being socially inept' problem. not going to get me anywhere in hk.

today a lady asked me where she could find wong tai sin. in cantonese. i think i turned bright red trying to grate out enough chinese to make sense. i feel quite embarassed because half the time they think i'm a local. ugh. anyway.

won't post again till i've got photos for you all. see you then.

two updates in a day means i'm deathly bored.

and feeling a tad unwell. i tried to have an american breakfast this morning at our usual chinese porridge place and was disappointed.

a) shit was about 19 dollars, which is expensive considering that a bowl of porridge is only $13.

b) bacon was half-cooked and stringy. i still wolfed it down. <--not exactly picky.

c) i think the bacon made me ill. 

that or all the hk greasy street food is partying in my belly. not fun.

When you live in a place like HK, I have decided it is best to locate your nearest market where you can find shit to cook in your room or fruit to eat, as I'm already feeling like I got machine grease injected into my veins. I've got this ridiculously delicious salmon en papillote recipe you can cook on a sheet of tinfoil in a microwave that I intend to utilize at least some of the time here. Cuz while it's not cheaper than street food, I reckon it sure is gonna be healthier.

There's a lot of South Asians here. I want to talk to them about how they came to be, how they find Hong Kong life, what are their thoughts on this or that. I want to talk to people! My mother is not allowing, as strangers lurk about every corner waiting to rape a young foreign thing. But every local I meet tells me the same thing, so the danger must really be there, a long shadow with an insidious owner around the corner somewhere.

Also drink a shitload of water, kids. These toxins and chemicals in the air and in the greasy food require much to flush it out. And you walk EVERYWHERE in this town, sitting only for the odd taxi cab ride, a seat on the subway si tu as de la chance. Don't get dehydrated in this enchanting cesspool :P

 

You know, when I was in Macau, all of a sudden, I heard Edith Piaf's clear and glorious voice trumpeting to my left. And though it was only two ballroom dancers having at it at the bottom of a staircase in front of a crowd of tourists, I was envigorated. Music will ground you when you are lonely and abroad. I feel like Thumbelina all wrapped up in her mother's great big hand when I'm listening to the soft and subtle notes of Wutang Clan's Shame on a Nigga.

We have quite run out of things to do insofar as these old ladies can handle. All day yesterday we waded through a sea of boot and leg in the Fa Yuen Street Market. Bought me a great big handbag to fill bricks with in case I get manhandled. Also bought sheets, as the university's not providing.

Found knitting heaven at Fa Yuen Market. Saw several booths selling nothing but novelty yarns and any kind of needles and stitch markers and gauges and *glazes over* I mean, I guess it's not like silk yarn or merino or anything but I could die here. Happy. That's a whole other blog though.

Need to get hangers, and all other kinds of amenities. When studying abroad, you always got to make sure to bring the little things. For example, if you're going to Hong Kong, do bring one of those little packets of tissue, as most ma 'n pa restaurants will not provide napkins for you with which to wipe down the greasy chopsticks and spoons. 

Of course if you're going to dine like a rich foreigner in those places with clean tableware, go ahead, but I only got so much cash and my stomach ain't so discerning.

Sorry if I sound a little antiquated. Was reading All the Pretty Horses all last night. Comepletely wooed by Cormac McCarthy's poetic prose, the stark yet sumptuous lyricism of his imagery. That and I adore westerns. 

Have got scads of pictures. Am downloading Irfanview now to edit that shit. Need to have time to post the pics up, so will do so at school when I have the leisure.

Can't wait to get rid of these old bags, as they are a whole lot of baggage for a lady to be carryin' around. I love my mum and aunt to death, but that old lady is annoying the fuuuck out of me. Honestly can't wait to meet and hang out with people my own age, drink legally. Karaoke. War games. Mmm.

Shabop shalom baby. 

kind of depressing.

Went to ladies' market night before last, which is like going to Chinatown except actually in China. Ladies' market is just one long strip of bootleg bazaar reaching a few blocks in length. After the first two blocks, however, you realize that everybody's hockin' the same shit, and then you head back, only to realize that you're lost. There was a contortionist begging in the middle of the way. The horrible smell of Stinking Tofu permeating everything. A little like a nightmare. Made worse because I had three old ladies in tow, and they kept stopping to look at bootleg Tumi luggage. And I kept wanting to stop and look at the cock costumes they had on display every five feet.

Bought a couple nice silver rings for 10 bucks USD. In the states they'd be 20 each. I try not to think about where they're made and by whom. For what.

It's hard when you're a stupide americaine traveling abroad and you've learned about this shit in the classroom. I mean, on the one hand, you don't want to support transnational crime organizations and child labor. On the other hand, shit is cheap. And the whole breadth and depth of the scheme is so large and encompassing you don't know what and where to go for any kind of legit shit. Honestly, if it's not the clothes at the ladies' market then it's the socks in the stores, or the bedsheets at the hostel. 

But that can't be an excuse. You gots to make choices, and change what you can. Which I suppose is hard, since the mindset around here is that you can't. 

But anyhow. Had expensive dinner with more old ladies and one of their well-to-do sons. The place is called Crystal Palace, and it's got decent Peking and Szechuan food. Hate to think about the paycheck.

The next day, we took a taxi to Tsim Sha Tsui to take the ferry to Macau. Tickets are decent in the daytime. Like 133 HK, but the return trip is like 175 HK at 7:30 in the evening.

The aunt and mum being asian and typical were swayed by very persistent tourist guide for exorbitant price. I think it was like $1000HK for 3 hours but we talked him down to $600 or something. 

Anyway, it was interesting as we talked more with him and learned about his family and where he was from. He took us to an AMAZING little bakery where they had egg tarts that just made me die. Delicioussss. But it took like a half hour to get them, the little place was so packed.

So I guess it was worth it, to have experienced it. Guy needs to work, right.

Alllssooo. On the way back our taxi driver told us that all the subway lines were shut down because somebody threw themselves onto the tracks. Suckz.

Also for new years' a gathering of people were silly enough to light a billion sparklers inside a crowded club. a fire of course ensued. sigh.

Came back and had really good chinese sausage and spinach rice. I could eat this everyday. A little expensive at 35 bucks a bowl, but two people could handle a bowl and still get stuffed. No english menus though. 

While trying to handle my earrings I spilled tea tree oil all over the bed. Shit is potent. Now, while I love the smell of tea tree oil and can deal with sleeping in it, the old ladies with me kicked up a fuss and we slept with the windows open, traffick noise blaring in, but the lovely smells of eucalyptus wafting out. Slept very well. 

I discovered a huge worn copy of Cormac McCarthy's All The Pretty Horses and the sequels at the hostel. Funny, since I had wanted to shell out cash for it in the states, but I found it here, a hidden gem. Mmm. But I have no time to read it. :( Might steal it, might buy it off them. Probably the latter. Fuckin' conscience :P.

Am now sitting here in the lobby listening to Wu Tang Clan, want to call Catherine but don't really want to deal with the other people here. That I think she might get annoyed with me wanting to talk to her all the time. But I do :(.

Will post pics tonight, si c'est possible. 

had bizarre dream last night where robbie, tracey hartman, and jon were present. robbie was being himself, tracey herself. jon gave me a ride somewhere in a ginormous truck. after he opened the passenger door and helped me down and kissed me. it was strange and the kiss real. i guess i am pretty jealous, but for why? i don't know. i don't want to think about it.

no time to fuck

hey kids, been real busy. the old ladies are rushing me to go here go there, ugh. but it's ok. i enjoy it :D.

no time to post pictures, as i am woken up in the early a.m. to go eat breakfast and then it's this or that. 

i had two whole posts for this blog on the plane, but i can't seem to copyxpaste. quel domage, eh.

so long story short, it was alright, akin to a very long road trip except much louder and in the air. the view was spectacular for the first hour or so as los angeles peeled away beneath us like a sparkling golden snakeskin onto a nightblack sea. the prettiest you'll ever get to see our little shithole.

i slept the first seven hours then watched hk movies and wall-e for the remainder. Catherine gave me a very surprising gift that filled my fitful naps with terrifying and unwanted sexual fantasies. What a friend. What a pal.

Got loads and loads of pictures. Can't wait to edit and post. not.

The first day we got here we arrived at seven in the morning. We dropped off our shit at the Dragon Hostel on 83 Argyle St., which is smack dab in the middle of it all, pretty much. I really like this place and could stand living here for the whole six months. It's only 20 dollars a day for a single room (40 or so for four people), the staff is great, all kinds of folks internationale passing through, and there's free wifi in the lobby. Downside is I can't skypesex Catherine at eight in the morning without feeling slightly embarassed by the other clientele.

Anyhow. We drop off our shit and head downstairs to wander a bit for breakfast. We end up at a little porridge shop where they sell these decent bowls of congee for like 13 dollars HK, which is less than 2 dollars US. For the four of us who had four bowls of congee and two or three plates of fried bread wrapped in rice sheets (omg heaven) it came out to be something like 11 dollars US.

omg. food heaven, je suis ariveé.

what else did we do. went shopping for sim card for my cell phone (which has broken, btw). You can buy a sim card for your cell if it's unlocked for international use. The sim card is usually anywhere from $68HK-$100HK($10USD-$14USD) at around 15 to 25 cents HK per minute. Pretty good deal, if all you need a telephone for is to reach people about the city while you're out and about.

What else did we do? Had dinner with other old ladies, which is HORRIBLE OMG SO BORING. What's worse is we also had BREAKFAST WITH MORE OLD LADIES. All of whom are amazed by the fact that I don't look chinese at all and nod politely at my horrible cantonese. like a curiosity. a linguistic amputee who happens to look filipino. ahhhh my life.

The next day was more exciting, as it was new year's eve. after the aforementioned torture dim sum venture, we roamed to kowloon tong where i found my school and met Lorencio, who has spearheaded the international student experience and makes life easier for all of us. afterwards took train to sha tin where we roamed some more.

BTW, if you love high end malls, you will love HK. I swear we cannot go for five minutes without falling headlong into another designer deathtrap. I saw four or five different Burberrys and Vivienne Westwoods just yesterday. Ridiculous. Almost as bad as 7 eleven. 

Felt sick and tired from eating too much food too fast so went back to hostel to nap and squander time until about 8 o'clock pm, whereupon I dragged my mother with me to Tsim Tsa Shui to sit for four hours in the cold and crowded to watch fireworks along Victoria Harbour.

Getting there was pas dificile, but man, gettin' out was INSANE. I'll post pictures later. Packed and packed with people. It took us an hour and a half to walk from the harbour all the way back to Jordan Station where we stuffed, stuffed, stuffed ourselves onto a crowded train back to Mong Kok.

Lord. But it was worth it. I slept the whole night.

This morning we wandered to a won ton shop where we had wonton soup for about $10HK. I can't get over how cheap this shit is. You could have three square meals for about 5 bucks USD a day.

We're going to go to Lantau Island today to see the huge Buddha statue. possibly monkey hill, too. to feed monkeys :D.

will update later. possibly tonight, possibly tomorrow night. we're going to go to macau tomorrow. 

kids and kids i am finally excited. :D

the start of it.

i'm starting a new travel blog to chronicle my adventures in hong kong. this is for anyone who's ever thought about studying abroad but didn't have the guts. this is for anyone who hasn't yet stepped onto an airplane. cuz god knows i didn't until now. will hope for better visuals in the coming days, and coherency. 

so my plugs came. that will distract me long enough to stop feeling miserable.

i feel so goddam depressed now, for no particular reason. If I was forced to be honest, I'd say it was because of seeing Catherine and John together. Maybe it's because I'm pretty attracted to John, or else it's because it's like me and Catherine's sister Kay are alike in that we're both hideous attention whores.

In my heart there is a dark dark maw that aches wide open for the glimmering spotlight. it's like staring into a black hole. like one day my self-esteem collapsed on itself and created an implosion of cretinous codependence. so now i'm wholly dependent on what other people think of me. 

it's too tiring to explain. or write out. i just want attention. i'm sorry. it's so ignoble. so cretinous. that's such a beautiful word. cretinous. that's what i am. a cretin.

a fucking schleb.

yeah that's probably it. i just want the attention of young attractive men. i want to be held and loved but at the same time i am repulsed by the idea. i don't want anyone to touch me. i can't even touch myself.

the only one i feel comfortable holding is emmanuel. him and only him for now and for eternity. that's the damn truth.

but i can't allow myself even that. 

he's just my heroin, and i have to quit, and this empty loneliness is my withdrawal. that's all. i just have to think like that for now. i'm so terrifyingly sad. 

i drove home today half in tears. i want to cry all the time. 

georgia. geoorgiaa. the whooole day through.

so good.

music is all i need man. i could disappear into the sweet relief of a song, a box of blueberries bouncing softly into a bowl of cool, whipped cream. just like that.

i don't want boys but there they are. too much. i just want to study. i want a clean empty room with a clean empty desk and time, time, time to study.

i sleep but wake up absolutely exhausted. a pile of clothes grows in my room. something unfinished sits at the top of my to-do list and i can't quite put my finger on it. 

i feel pathetic as always. this girl that hangs out with dave a lot, nadine (who is pretty but also pretty silly) calls me very pretty and i look at her because it sounds so absurd.

the exboyfriend leaves a voicemail, telling me not to call him to see if he's alright. he says he keeps thinking about me, etc. where did he go wrong, etc.

oh gosh. whatever. he needs to quit it before he reallllly pisses me off.

tres est mechant. il aime une autre. et moi, j'ai aucune idee quoi faire.

tapp tapp where the pussy at i dunno i dunno i dunno..........


That song is playing in my head all day all the times. it's terrrible.


我的名字是林安娜。我常常去王先生的商店買筆和書。

ahhh. hey kids

i am empty and sad. i need to fill my empty heart with people. a lot of cute boys on campus, none of them worthy. i want to smooooke. a cigarette. sigh sigh sigh. maybe tomorrow. maybe. 

met cute guy today, like, seriously cute. like clive owen javier bardem type. said he was a writer, etc. had pretentious typewriter, moleskin notebook. obviously.

asked to see credentials. gave me a writings, poorly typed:

shit was like, a bro's journal. shit was like, stuff a high school kid did with one hand in his pocket, ya dig?

dis. a. ppointing.

i hate when people describe a beautiful woman in a book. so sophomoric, so juvenile. 'oh she had fair skin and long lean legs that lead up to a place i only dreamed of, etc. perky breasts'

a grocery list, an itinerary. unappealing. 

it is enough to say she was beautiful. to do more than that is to try and prove it.

beautiful things stand for themselves.

anyway. the convo disintegrated after that. 

ahh fuck guys. all the smart ones are ugly and the pretty ones dull. 

and the smart pretty ones are beyond me. i am an ugly thing.

i know cuz i checked my ugly mug in photobooth and it told me so.

haha i got a macbook bitch.

found this note in the annals of my email account:

oh my heart my heart my heart i clove it in two i ate one half and gave the other to you. i don't know if you tossed it or lost it or what but the half that i ate is tearing my gut.

fuck i'm so sad. this book is depressing me, but i am depressed because i will need to take all of emmanuel's things and put them in a box, and put it in my trunk, and take the box to riverside, and give them to him. and say they don't belong to me, they belong to you, your things. not our things. yours.

but i feel that it must be this way, or otherwise i will never be happy.

to shy from pain is to be afraid of it, and i shall not be scared. i shall be strong. i have to be. but why this utter, incomprehensible, oppressive weight of dread fear, a slow smoldering loneliness like two eyes placed steadily on a vantage just beyond my ken?

lo lo lo.

I am shouting for joy in the cavernous halls of newfound independence, but the cries echo back in empty tones of loneliness.

i want to be like mae west. she's so glamorous, so fierce. she is every gay boy's wet dream.

i want to be unattached from everything.

i wonder what he kisses like. aagghhh. i hate my stupid brain. how it's connected to my stupid vagina. why wasn't i born a man, or lesbian. i wouldn't have so many problems.

i'm absolutely useless. i forget everything. i'm so useless it's painful to type this shit out. roaaarrr.

i can't even send anything out correctly. i wasted fucking twenty five fucking dollars for nothing, because i left out documents. fuck. nobody else is this idiotic. why can't i follow instructions.

easy, peasy instructions. just read the list and do what it says. why is that so hard.

and i call myself smart. i deign to sign forms. fuck that shit. i'm an idiot. grade f. idiot. how pathetic.

i don't deserve to be with anyone. least with emmanuel. fuck all the rest.

fuck this shit. fuck me. gah.

i was turning off the lights in the living room, and i thought to myself, innocuously, "is missy asleep?"

of course she is.

and that's when it really fucking hit me. this really fucking sucks. i held her beautiful head in my hands, and she was already gone. it was the first time i had held someone who had passed. she was my old lady, my golden girl. i'm never gonna see that same silly face again. i'll no longer have a reason to buy tennis balls because she never returns them to me.

i miss my dog. fuck the chihuahua. i want my old lady back.

have got a new room et new floors et al. feel like rotten egg inside new pristine shell.

I think i'm getting distracted by all kinds of peripheral shit, and I hate it. I want to throw out all my clothes, chop off all my hair. :[

guilt guilt guilt? probably.

My cat does not like fancy schmancy cat toys. No brightly colored french ticklers for her. Though I'd like to buy her fancy toys. My animals are simple things, they like balls of aluminum foil, soup bones from the actual soup, not this packaged chitterlings and gravy gourmet shit. well, the cat does, but like me she is a professed hypocrite.

My mum brought home supply of large cardboard boxes. I have set up one and placed it on the ground. My cat has come over, staring at the box as if it held the answer. She meows at me, twitches her tail. What's in here, she seems to ask. She jumps in, jumps out. paws at something invisible inside. She will get bored, leave, then return.

If I could only get that excited about the mundane again, or find that the mundane is not mundane but all that we really need in life.

Lo, I stand again on that dreadful precipice.

A million things to do, love. Finish that visa app., I've to move out of this room. Finally getting that wood flooring I dreamed of, but to what purpose? I shall look at that lovely shade of oak for two months and then the dreary modernist interior design of city university dorms for 5 months.

Hotel rooms, airbus cabins, taxi cabs, sticky bus vinyl floors, cement, tile, linoleum, department stores, sweet Hong Kong grass, mysterious Chinese sand. Lo! I stand again on that dreadful precipice, where shall I go.

In an effort to blow steam.

I have deduced that Alex, while a nice guy, has some anger issues, and does not like people.

This is probably why he dresses the way he does, and is an angry little white boy.

Man, when men are angry, they are really vicious. They needs to chill out.

Dilemma. Hardfest is sold out EVERYWHAR. Why.

And mother even let me go. SHE EVEN LET ME GO HOLY HELL.

It is only after I find tickets that I will find someone to cover for me at work. This is so I will not lose any money or sleep.

Haaaaa. Life works itself into funny situations.

I am without prose today.

Prof. Simoni made me feel like an idiot.

All my professors do.

Why am I doing so poorly? Gambatte!

It's like wandering through a desert and coming back upon the same, gnarled skeleton half-buried in the sand. Over and over. I keep crying but it is like pouring tears on a rock, useless, nul.


My coughs taste like blood.

Sigh.

I've a hollow in my heart, and the wind whistles through, and I am cold.

So life is equal parts exciting and happy and also terrifyingly sad.


I am on the verge of breaking up with Emmanuel.

I don't want to stay with him if he is going to be the same man.

I want to stay with him if he is willing to look at me like I am a human being.

If he is willing to treat me like a human being.

But alas there there is a puddle of cool, still water at my feet in which my reflection peers up at me and says, "Lo, he shall not change."

I've been sad and hurt so many times that this last fight has been like hacking at dead wood. I feel none of it. But when he called me just now and spoke to me genially, I started crying.

I feel so at odds with myself. It should just be easy, like buying beef at the market.

I never imagined having to slaughter the damn cow.

Actually spoke with Mike today in language lab. He has rounded eyebrows. *nod*

He's a pretty cool down-to earth guy. I'm very jealous of his ability to travel everywhar. For example, he is going to China in November to visit his girlfriend.

I wish Emmanuel could do that if I was in Hong Kong.

Correction lads and ladies that is now when I am in Hong Kong. I got accepted :D Now it's just paperwork and those kinds of formalities.

I hate this cough. I can't wait for it to go away so I can go back to the gym. :(

Haven't spoken to Emmanuel in two days. He called me back this morning and we spoke for a little. I thought he was mad at me but he says he wasn't. It was awkward; probably because he was sleepy. I let him sleep.

I think I'm starting to find myself.

Well, I don't really agree with the idea that you're finding yourself just because of the fact that you're making more friends.

That's like saying I am nothing without the right group of people around me. Undesirable thoughts.

But I am feeling happier since I've been making friends with the int'l studies people.

The guy who looks like a Persian Heath Ledger is named Trace and on closer inspection doesn't so much look like Heath Ledger as he does a kind of maybe Asian Heath Ledger with some kind of Jewish thrown in. He is German as well as Swiss and has a profound German nationalist brewing in there somewheres. Fond of black v-necks and jeans, like Emmanuel.

I can't even think about Emmanuel right now. I can't even think about him in a warm cuddly way, much less sexually or critically. I just... can't think of him at all without conjuring up these wounded feelings.

And about what, I don't know.

Maybe it's a profound weariness? Maybe I'm just sick of this shit.

Dreamed up a shrug made out of soft green wool. Perhaps it should be felted, or no, just with chunky grass-green yarn. It would have gathered puff sleeves with a princess collar and and curvy rounded shapes. Matching green enamel buttons. There should be little bobbles on it, maybe some border panels with curling shapes. Haa.

It's these kinds of thoughts that keep me sane, that keep me floating like a lily pad above all the mud. I've been meeting all kinds of wonderful people, and it's hard for me to think that I am anybody all that special.

Cookie is this amazing girl, and I feel a bit cowed in her presence. She is of the earth, and I am a whisper in the grass. She stands firm, her and all her youthful girth radiates warmth like a cliffside in the sun. I really like her. I feel stupid around her though.

Had debate with Ali about conforming to the system and what it meant to be educated. He said to stop comparing ourselves with others and making judgments on people based on our own standards. We argued because I told him he was wasting his time at the University if he wasn't showing up to tests in Chinese class, to which he responded he didn't care.

Maybe I should stop comparing myself to other people. I most certainly am. Sitting in I/ST 200 is like going to an intellectual beauty pageant in which Mike is the perennial Miss Universe and everyone else is a spinning twirling galaxy and I, I am a dust mote, I am a hydrogen atom dissolving into protons and electrons and back again. I am not even stable enough to remain whole at any one time.

I am the semblance of a whole. I want to fall apart at this table right now. My dignity, like a weak magnetic field, shakes me, tells me to pull it together, man. We've not weathered the worst of this storm.

In other words, I feel useless.

Yesterday met beautiful spirit named Annie while I was hanging with Dave at his usual place. Met a girl named Amanda who seemed very young and already had a daughter aged 3. Met tall person named Collin who was fun. Met even funner person named Matthew who was just a riot and I suspect gay.

Annie sang for us "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and made the whole of my day. She varnished my day with a color of sunshine, the color of her voice. She sang with such a classic and pure voice, as if Audrey Hepburn or Judy G. herself was singing to us, like a sparrow song.

But the heavy rain of insecurity and sorrow washed that happy color off my day and by the end of the night I was depressed and sullen yet again.

Will there be no permanent happiness for me? The more I delve into something, the more I find that I have accomplished nothing at all.

Why do I hate people so much? Was it because I was raised in loneliness, and now I shall flounder in it? LIFE LIFE LIFE you are si dur.

sonic youth- superstar

don't you remember you told me you loved me babyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy~~~

baby baby baby baby baby~~

lalala.


everytime he fucks it up i love him a little less. and one day it shall dwindle to nothing, and it will hurt less than shaving my legs to leave him. one day.

and yesterday i loved him so much it hurt.

and i will repeat myself everyday, like a mantra for independence. and it shall go on and on and on.

i'm hurting so bad right now. i don't know what to do.

fuck it fuck it fuck it, man.

i wonder if all relationships are like this. or if it's possible to be with somebody and just be chill and whatever about it all. not like completely anal about every fucking detail.

or if like rusting gears it always winds down to a cold brittleness. a glass etching held above the ground at great heights. and etc.

Wondering if I should get more into this blogging thing. I need to get a new camera, one that is small and portable, which will allow me to document things more easily, ie. take camwhore pictures wherever possible.

I lost 5 lbs. since that first Gogol concert. Am currently devising way to convince Mum that all I need to lose weight is more concerts and clubs. Unexpected leverage.

Currently feel like I was in a fight with a crowd. Like a whole crowd. Like a mass of arms and legs jumping and bumping together, crashing on my limbs. An old bearded man elbowed me in the crown yesterday during Gogol's spirited rendition of Harem in Tuscany, but it was all in good fun. I love that about these kinds of shows. You could fall on someone's breasts and they'd just shrug it off. YAAAY breasts.

Now must slake thirst with something, anything. Who's in town next, where else to go. Despite the obvious limp in my poor foot, and the aching in my arms and the small of my back, I am invigorated.

That's such a good word. Invigorate. To imbue with life. To make lively. To make alive.

I am made alive with this music. I am made alive, and I look forward to doing things. Yes yes yay.

AHHHH HELLO PEOPLES OF THE WORLD.

Everytime Emmanuel says something disparaging I love him just a little less. And yet everytime I see him and everytime he kisses my forehead my love for him is renewed. Yesterday he was very beautiful, and I was happy to be with him.

At first I believed he loved me more than I loved him. But the tables have turned.


This does not invigorate me.

i am so sick. :( can only hope to enjoy today. sorely wished i was in the best of form, but alas. feel fuckin' awful. what else can you ask for eh.

lallalalalalallaalallalalalallalala. i wrote a poem, but am loath to post it, as i am scared to shit of having my shit copied. oh oh plagiarism. people will stoop to no lows, i tell thee.

dadadadadadadadafd ddaaadaadadadadadadadadadaaaa da da.

so excited to see gogol again today. everything else is secondary.

hopefully emmanuel will not be asshole today. will sorely dampen spirits.

the grass is growing. how exhilerating and exciting, the study of the mysterious birth of things. no wonder children are so precious. what curious a thing is growth. oh oh oh.

calmez-vous calmez-vous. j'ai mal au coeur.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

j'ai mal au coeur. quelqu'un, aidez-moi. aidez-moi. mon coeur tombe quand il doit voler.

Everytime I try to talk about the barren wasteland that is my uterus, I feel like crying. But if I don't talk about it at all, it's ok. Typing it is ok, too. Somehow, it feels more like somebody else's problem.

Emmanuel says he doesn't care, that we can just adopt, that it's just temporary, the doctor said so. I hope so.

I've never really given it much thought, but I really did want to have a child of my own. The time, the pain, the frustration a couple goes through to have a child, it seemed so magical. If Emmanuel and I went through that it would bind us forever. We would have a child together.

It's so funny how we say words without realizing their power. Repeat it yourself again, slowly. Savor and appreciate, realize all the implications of that singular sentence.

We would have a child together.

I won't ever get to know what that's like.

I guess typing it is not okay, either.

In other news, I am writing my essay for Study Abroad and am having a time of it. It's only supposed to be a page long, so I am scrabbling for terse words, culling for brevity.

Also I am looking at clothes and shoes and plugs. I haven't bought anything at all! Just food, and it's been 20 dollars a frickin' day for the past few days. My friends are expensive. Mes amis sont tres cher.

Tomorrow I should like to go to a museum, perhaps, or to the Huntington Library. I'd like to have a nice day, doing something nice, eating somewhere nice. I feel well enough to go running tonight. I shall do so.

Gone are the days in which I vacillated for hours on end. I realized that instead of lying about for half an hour dreaming of being Chun Li, I could actually train to be Chun Li.

You all really don't know how much I'd like to be Chun Li, with her fecund thighs.

Fecundity is not a word that shall describe me, anymore. Lalalala.

i vacillate, mes amis. i vacillate.

i also hunger. am very hungry, atm. am wondering what i shall get for food. perhaps just a smoothie? or something perhaps more substantial, like a salad. om nom nom nom.

have been lately obsessed with Vagabond, the story of Miyamoto Musashi. :) the art is si beau, it makes me want to cry. For example, there was a closeup of a sandal that was so expertly rendered I wondered if he had simply xeroxed a photo. each and every fiber on that twine-woven sandal strap was expertly and vividly recreated. It was beaaauuuttifffulll. And his storytelling is quite divine.

in other news, if my period doesn't come today, i am infertile. it has been ten days. the depoprovera is making me sick. i feel horrid and tired all the time.

maybe i would like a salad. with some tomates.

will shortly be working on an essay for study abroad. i shall finish this before i luncheon.

in other news i think emmanuel has a job interview today. that is pleasing. hopefully he does well. i so sorely want him to do well. :(

hmmmm.. no time to do reading. i have to abandon the idea that i will have a social life and devote myself entirely to my work. i will perhaps have a piece of cheesecake when i go home, though. it's sitting there, waiting innocently. i want tomorrow to be over already, so that friday can come. that's my only day off now, truly and surely. all my days are crammed full of nonsense and business.

no time to do reading. i'm ashamed of myself. no more social life, no more social life. my head hurts immensely. i just want to go home and sleep. and eat. and sleep some more.

will have to go running, though. perhaps later at night, when i am not so wrapped up in the details of being alive?

Am trying to make some sense of my week.

Today did school, went to Rancho with Eden to visit the old folks. Encounter with Martin equal parts awkward, bitter, and funny, like biting into a malformed lime.

Kept falling asleep in class.

Had terrible nightmare last night about some guy who ambushed me in the all-too realistic setting of my bedroom. He had cried "SNIPER RIFLE" before sniper rifling me in the gut. Enraged by such a terrible dream death, I struggled to awaken as pain enveloped my belly and blood gushed from my mouth. Then I went back to sleep dreaming about elementary school and Kingdom Hearts antics. Lighthearted, epic fun. Woo.

Went to the doctor, as I am concerned about the fact that my crotch has not let forth its bloody deluge since... like... January.

Took pregnancy test, which came up negative. So I took a blood test and am taking depo provera in the hopes that it might induce a period. It will, if I'm ovulating.

If I don't get a period in ten days, it means that I am not ovulating.

Which means I'm infertile.

Which means I can't have kids.

The doctor explained that it wasn't some kind of death sentence: that just because I might be infertile now doesn't mean I won't be fertile at some point later. So that might account for why I don't care so much. Kids, whatever.

The blood test is to test for a couple things. Either I have a thyroid disorder or I have a tumor which is supressing my cycle and causing my amenorrhea (lack of menstruation).

Good news all around, eh.

i desire to be a seditious rapscallion.

just got out of class. my new favorite, kids. global politics, oh, it's like stepping onto a minefield of supressed anger and passion. Like you had pent up bunnies in hutches and fed them gray pellets of subpar public education for twelve years and now had let them out onto the fresh, green grass of a true public forum. Like someone had said: "The World And What Pisses You Off About It: Go."

Fantastic. Really educated people getting together and finally spouting off their heads. This young guy, named David, who looks a lot like Moby and checks the stocks on his black Macbook Pro, won't stop talking. I mean, it's cool, hey, this impassioned jeune, you know, but it's a bit disruptive. He's very idealistic, saying that the masses ought to rise up and come together, like a youth brigade tending to the hurts of the lesser peoples.

Well, wouldn't it be wonderful, but you'd have to take man and make him an angel. You'd have to have a million Bodhi trees under which we all must sit and fast, and there would be no more pain for anybody. It would be marvellous, but kids it doesn't work that way! Oh, David! Please understand, the party system as we know it won't work the way you want, and people have got their individual problems and that's the way it is, quite simply. Sad sad sad.

Will be seeing Emmanuel in Long Beach today. Looking forward to doing something real substantial today: what, I don't quite know, but hopefully it requires more than us lounging in my car at Rite-Aid like we normally do. Gosh that's old. I really want to stretch my legs out, cats.

dance dance dance hay!

am feeling v. down.

i'm taking a look at all these classes, and it feels as if i have burst my own bubble. i feel like, all along, i have pretended to be on the top of this hill, when really i am at the bottom of the mountain.

all along i have imagined that perhaps i am pretty damn smart. but kids there are a million others smarter and bolder and wonderfuller than i. it is a saddening thought.

what caaan you do.

i need to speak to dr. noble, but i don't really relish speaking to him. he makes me feel very stupid, as if i ought to know this stuff already. i feel quite lost. i wonder if it's not so much the sense of confusion and displacement as it is the confounding sense of stupidity in which i have steeped myself, like realizing i've peed my pants after a good guffaw.

kids what are we left with. sigh sigh sigh.

made spam musubis yesterday with emmanuel. good times.

song: heroin- the velvet underground

this song makes me feel real insignificant, as if the feelings i feel and the thoughts i think are just stinking rotten thoughts, real unimportant shit, you know? and... well. it leaves me speechless.

hey jesus! jesus guys hey.

i hope emmanuel is really real about smoking together, that would be ever so grand. bruce says you shouldn't have sex when you're on drugs, because it makes all sober sex afterwards pale in comparison.

man, talk about forbidden fruit.

soooooo.... i don't think this song is finished. it cuts off right at the end :(.

aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhh.... yeah, it cuts off. i'll just download a new one from trusty bitttorrent.

i shoulda been born with these songs. i feel like my heartstrings have finally found the right notes to sing.

kids the day is not yet started, and yet all i want to do is dream and dream and sleep. i want school to start, so i can commence being so busy i don't eat, and don't sleep, and run all around and around and be lonely again, as usual.

i'm so lonely at school, kids, and i am there all the times. i really don't want to go through that again. sigh.

with hope and sadness maybe i shall dive into schoolwork so far i won't notice.

i wish emmanuel was closer. it's so hard to dedicate a whole day to seeing him. i wish i could do more things, some days. like join the newspaper. aahhhh high.

hats.

I have become obsessed with this hat. I finished one yesterday, and am now experimenting on something shimmery shiny and wonderful with this deep purple heathered satin sport yarn. Mmmm the name is as sumptuous as the yarn feels. :D I've gotten almost to the point of finishing, but I decided to rip out half of it tomorrow and start again with another pattern. I want it to be pretty! And shell stitch is very pretty indeed. I'm very tired. My eyes are caked with eyeliner and mascara and I need to wipe that shit off. Ugh. Tired guys.

I want to bottle this smell.

I've got this shirt from Emmanuel with me, and it smells all 100% him, all heady and fragrant like incense. MMmmmfdf.

I haven't slept at all. I'm writing an essay.

My brain is deteriorating, btw. Gone are the days when 6-8 page essays were the norm. Gone are the days when I could spin out a 4 page hand-written essay in less than 40 minutes.

alarming, how we disappoint ourselves over the course of a lifetime.

Goodness gracious it's only 4 pages. Come on, now.

Agghh. Cats are soft.

I am crocheting. I have done finally a granny square that actually looks like it ought to be a granny square. I tried a second one but it turned into a pentagon and so it lays now a curled mass of ripped out stitches on my floor, like vibrant turquoise pubes.

wonder if it is possible to stop liking sex.

personally speaking, of course.

ugh.

angels in the dust gone wrinkle it up gone wrinkle it up




i feel sad again. even as i'm typing this shit, it feels too tedious and terrible to go on with it.

it's just so stupid, and i feel i'm being whiny. so i won't even talk about it.

smoked hashish for the first time for reals yesterday. bruce is such an instigator. he wickedly made us take hit after hit. i think i did three or four, and minh was doing terribly at it, so he kept making her do even more just to catch up with me.

it was a terrible, harrowing experience. i thought i was going to die, ladies and gentlemen. there's no sensible way to describe it. it wasn't very poetic. wasn't very noble.

in short, if someone asked me to do it again at a party, i would say no. it put me in a place on the other side of reality. i don't ever want to see that place again until i die. really.

i feel emptied out, like a tin can with pebbles in.

aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh. no, it's not over yet. i don't want it to be over. i don't. but i don't think he understands. i don't think he wants to understand.

i think, most of all, he doesn't see why it's so bad. i see that he thinks i'm being fussy, i'm being silly, and i am taxing his patience.

i just don't see why anyone would want to be with someone who was so mean. and i want him to know that. because i love him, and it's the last thing i would want for him, to be so mean and not know it. because words count, even if he doesn't think so. when our relationship is just so, words are all we have. we don't have enough time and we have too much space for actions to have lasting effect. it's the words that build the bonds, it's the words that carry value.

warm touches fade to memory, but words are fuel to ignite the flame.

i love him. so much that it aches, but i feel sad when i'm with him. i feel sad when i talk to him, because every five minutes is another slight, another impatient insult, another exasperated moan. he hates every little thing now.

he makes me feel like i'm such a terrible person, and I don't know what to say or do about it except go, because i don't want to be where i'm not wanted.

the world is round, else we'd see the end of it. i never saw the end of this.

the jacarandas are blooming, so why is it si gloomie?

uhh. spent more money today.

dad asked how much taking missy to the vet was. i told him it cost 70 dollars, so he ended up giving me like 80 or so which is okay, considering it really cost me some 330 dollars.

sometimes, i'm such a good kid, i just hate myself.

anyway.

went to strip of vintage shops in long beach with the boyfriend, found some interesting things. a gift for the pute, a new wallet that was 10 dollars but is now 5 bucks :D and a dress that cost me a whopping 30 bucks. I KNOW, for a vintage dress, but it was cute.

thing is i have to redo the sleeves since they're tight, but that's easy even i can manage to redo that. me and my fat arms haha.

i also saw a satin varsity jacket like the one the bf has, but smaller, like a chick size one. wanted it so bad to match the boyfriend's, but it was 150 dollars.

the shop i went to is called immani's, it's really cute the clothes are adorable. but vintage being vintage, well, you know. the prices are si cher.

and there's still that dress in the tiki shop that's still waiting for me to lose 20 pounds. i just want a 24 inch waist......... 3 inches to go, piper.

also spent extravagant amount on stuff for my sore and aching feet since it seems i can't wear any shoes that are in any way cute because my toes will start screaming bloody murder. the boyfriend asked why girls buy shoes that they know will hurt them, and i replied that fifty percent of the time i'm blissfully unaware that they would cause any pain. alas. alas. and then the other fifty percent is willful ignorance.

for example, those old-lady t-strap mary janes i had started hurting an hour after i put them on. and i've had them for years! why why why.

anyway, enough about spending.

wanted to draw short comic about poe, him and snails.

i think csulb is infested with snails. honestly. something about the moisture from the top of the hill dripping down to the bottom, meaning more moist environments and more places for snails to be happy. i walked past this giant boulder sitting in a decorative patch of garden and there were at least 60 snails clinging to its underside. and walking past a secluded corner of the computer lab i saw three snails crossing a path, stalk eyes beseeching a safe way across. they're large and healthy there, those calstate sluggers.

they're so fragile, you know, snails. even in their inherent repulsiveness, how can such vulnerable creatures be alive? the slightest weight, the hintest hint of salt, the unassuming footfall of a footman, and they are toasted. and yet they seek paths, and cross roads, and eat people's cabbage. how life moves!

i've got a heart of lead.

anyway i just finished a pretty spectacular fanfic about superman and lex luthor getting it on. it's a really happy sunshiney family story about clark, lex, and their genetically engineered lovechild Kon aka Superboy.

That's not something some poor fanfic writer made up, actually. Superboy is actually a part of the DC Universe, like some bunch of professional writers came together, did a couple lines of the good ol' white and brite and shat this shit out. "Test tube baby created with Lex and Superman's DNA" my ass. It sounds like they worked it backwards. "Lex and Superman have lovechild, how do we make this feasible?????"

I have to send this to Cory, he would shit himself.

It's pretty sexy though.

why am i such a stickler for gay sex? what is it about the tenderness and the gay and the men and the penises (penii?) that get me all warm and fuzzy?

am wondering if i am really a gay man in woman's body, and wouldn't i like a thing to stick into other things.

i've a hollow in this tree.

watching bill o'reilly do antics on youtube. i hate when fundamentalists get together and spout shit. it's one of those cases where you talk so much shit you end up talking shit on yourself. pretty hilarious, and sad. and annoying. too much shouting.

sad sad sad. saaad.

money corrupts, buy a puppy.

so life has been equal parts boring and wonderful, like the birth of a calf in rural Tennessee.

sold 1135 dollars yesterday in facepaints. this is remarkable for several reasons:

a. i did probably over 60-70 facepaints. this means more than 60 kids had parents willing to shell out almost 20 dollars each for a slice of transient and washable happiness. and more glitter than they've ever known. what better metaphor is there to describe the intangibility of our desires than the facepaint? I see parents getting angry over how expensive water is in Disneyland, or how expensive are pickles. But those things are valuable in intrinsic ways. What the fuck does a facepaint give you except maybe fifteen minutes of pure childish glee and then four or five more hours of consciously and carefully trying to get your money's worth?

plastic surgery is probably the next least useful thing on the list for similar reasons.

b. i got paid a 21% cut of 1135 dollars, which, though being a paltry sum in comparison, means I made roughly 29 dollars per hour yesterday.

c. once you hit your first 1000, the company gives you a 100 dollar bonus.

d. my paycheck is going to be fat next week.

e. i'm guilty about being this happy about bullshit.


In other news, I can't get my life together.

Harmony Korine was on Indie 103.1 today, on Joe Escalante's morning show. They waxed poetic about various things, mostly centered around Korine's filmography and his fantastic life.

The interview reminded me of one of Bright Eye's albums in which Conor Oberst stages a radio interview and fucks with the host in his tremulous and neurotic way. I guess both Korine and Oberst have that spring-coil springtime fragility in common. That and crack cocaine.

Korine is at least more coherent than in his interview with David Letterman almost 10 years back, where he is so drugged up he can't even finish sentences.

But I'm glad I caught that interview this morning, it made my day. Definitely seeing Mister Lonely on May 9th.

Got drunk friday night with my favorite cousin and mon frere. Mon frere is already on his way to alcoholism, having previously magicked away all the wine bottles in our household, so he did okay. But me and mike kinda overdid it. we watched darjeeling limited, which is a fun and pretty movie to see drunk.

I threw up on my bed, which is not so fun and pretty. Spent the next two days managing that mess, which is for the most part taken care of.

Mum's in San Jose until tonight, so am funked out about how to manage the household until then.

I need to see Rocky Horror Picture Show. Someone remind me I have that on my desk.

I want a vanilla bean. I want to facepaint ice cream cones. I want things. I want to want something better than things.

Had hideous stomach flu.

The last time I went to the doctor was on January 30, 2008. There on their Reality Scales, I weighed 141.8 lbs.

Saturday, April 5th, 2008, I stepped on that mighty plate and came in at a less hefty but still hefty 136.4 lbs.

141.8
136.4
-------
5.4 lbs lost.

Hooh-Ray! What a feat for the lump.

3 cholos blew kisses at me today while I was at the atm. And me the racist was scared of being robbed. All they wanted to do was me. :[ I oughta be ashamed.

Thinking of writing things down, thinking of really doing them. Thinking of all the lists I have written and have never looked at again. I think I am a thinker, not really a doer. That doing is for others to do, and what I am for is for thinking.

Watched Mr. Magorium's Magical Emporium today at Tiffany's house. What a splendid movie. A bit short, but I guess when it's for kids these days you have to cut things short and put a bunch of sprinkles on it. It had Natalie Portman AND Dustin Hoffman, two things dear to me.

And the monkey. You know the :( monkey. Awwwwwwww monkey.

CLOSURE!

Tiff got into Soka University, which is a school she is v. excited about. :D I am glad for her. In a way she has become like my little sister, of whom I am very secretly protective and boastful. And a bit jealous. I guess I feel kind of like James, in that she is more talented than I am. Like a kind of Russian Doll thing.

Really want to make stuffed animals. Starting off with that treeling. Kind of want to really go to Michael's like now, but will probably end up going tomorrow. Seeing as I have important business to attend to. What time does Michael's open?

How big will the Treeling end up? If I give it to Mr. Durand, will he appreciates it?

I should have a wicker basket of stuffed animals on my dresser. How entertaining! And a red coat rack. And a wood floor. And a ceiling that is..... yellow!

How charming!

Comme c'est curieux comme c'est bizarre.


Martin?

MARTIN?

Lately when I have let my brain go it runs like my dog around the room.

I could have deep v's in any and every color. They are so charmant. Mais si cher.

asdlkfja;kdf

Emmanuel has been sick. It makes me very lonely as he has not had the energy or the stomach to deal with my pining and irascible sadness.

The more I love something the more I fear losing it.

The sad thing is he fell in love with me thinking I was so grown-up. Sorry sunshine, I am a small, needy kitten.

the restroom in the school library is a sauna. a gross fucking sauna. it's humid in there, and i feel i am breathing the warm collective steam of everyone's little shitbowl.

like a dog grooming parlor where the pooches get steambathed. fucking gross.

While in there I wondered if every life is a particular formula, or if every life has its particular forumulas, in which people are variables, in which fate is a constant, and the equation produces various amounts of happiness or hate or sex or what.

the toilet really is a spot for thinky-dinking.

dirty thinking.

even in the two weeks since i have picked up my paycheck, i have managed to spend some 350 dollars. almost. am clinging to thin principles like a dick to a condom.

I want red eyeshadow. Why is this so difficult to get??

Why do I want?

Waited some five hours for the boyfriend to get off work yesterday. he was supposed to get off at four, they kept him till 7. I had already gotten there at 1.

that's more like 6, isn't it?

but it was worth it, to be with him, and to make him a little happier at the end of his day. he worked nearly 12 hours for shit pay. that's like 96 dollars.

God knows if I worked a 12 hour shift at facepainting from 8 to 8 I prolly woulda made 200 or better. It's not fair, dude. I fucking facepaint.

He produces useful service to shitty customers. It really isn't fair.

But anyways I got intimate with the inner workings of the Galleria at Tyler in Riverside. I guess this is a pretty massive mall in Riverside. Judging by the stores in there and the availability and variety of products I'm going to go ahead and say that it's somewhere in between Main Place and South Coast, but definitely closer to Main Place. I probably walked through the mall's two floors four or five times and went into almost all of the stores except the puppy store which smells like a dingy beach restroom and is full of suffocated and half-dead pups nestled in shredded newspaper like broken porcelain figures at the Goodwill.

All in all spent six dollars which is pretty good considering I used to drop eighty dollars at the drop of a hat. Now spending six dollars on a hamburger seems an atrocious price to pay. I like my newfound sense of thrift. It validates me.

Bought a stick of rock candy, pellegrino, and a pair of 9 ft. shoelaces for the Docs Emmanuel bought me. Had no idea that twenty-eyes required such work and such huge amounts of string.

When I get home tonight I shall spend some time making those boots feel loved. Reminds me I have shoe polish and some moleskin left over. Contemplating buying one of those shoe sole things since the soles in mine seem like to blister my feet worse than the road to Golgotha.

I waaaant to see my boyfriend tomoorrroooowwwwww. :[

btw wondering if the human body is like a star or Io, largest moon of Jupiter, in which outer forces affect the inner forces deep inside us and therefore cause the myriad rifts and shifts on our geological planes much like tidal forces from Jupiter cause friction within Io's core and produces volcanic activity on its surface.

Would explain my whiteheads in any case.

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Ggggg. i have a speech to give in half an hour. there is a fleeting hum of trepidation in my belly, which is weird because i am used to speaking in front of large groups of people.

and i am not concerned over the quality of my speeches. it is dangerously good.

payday today. somehow the resolution i made about saving my cashes seems to wither away. :[

o capitalisme! comme c'est magnifique, comme c'est puissante!

at least the boyfriend is letting me pay for his textbook. this will give him some fifty dollars extra so he can buy something else he undoubtedly needs and lets him study harder and better so later he can pay me back with his ease of mind and his love and some burritos.

seriously his situation is making me sad. i want him to be glad and easy again, the way he was when he met me. it seemed that the stability of his job had given him free reign to be as silly and relaxed as he could be. now, some tension, some new problem, some busted bolt or thinning tread on his tires makes him seem so sad and stressed out.

Truthfully, EZ Lube does not pay enough for a kid trying to put his ass through school and manage bills at the same time. I wish he could find a better job, and if that means that I have to pay for some of his shit is an okay possiblity. I could do that.

I mean, if Tom can get paid 13 an hour doing tires at American Tires, then why does Emmanuel have to get paid the bare minimum working 40 hours a week? That's bullshit! :[ i just need things to be better for him. i want my happy monkey.

Had fantastic day today.

First woke up a bit angry at Emmanuel cuz he said something insensitive last night but it wore off by the time I got over to Riverside. We went to Mt. Rubidoux and climbed to the top (which is a hillside stroll compared to the hikes in Yosemite that I remember), and basically had a splendid and sweaty morning. Emmanuel of course had to do something to prove his virility and jumped from one rock to another, lost his balance and nearly fell to his death. :\ His arm got scratched up, the silly goose.

Well, not to his death, but you know.

We ate sandwiches for brunch and napped. Drove back to my house and slept/sexed for an hour while my dad was in the house. I think it thrilled him to be so near death.

Got tacos at the place Casian recommended. Pretty good. Paid in quarters cuz I'm broke as fuck. Drove Emmanuel back to Riverside where I couldn't leave him for an hour.

We talked about any number of topics, but the one that stuck was when we talked about me having sex with other people. I guess he thinks it's inevitable that I would sleep with other people, and that he sort of wanted me to go out and experience other things.

But I still feel that I can't do that to him. Even with his approval or whatever, it just seems too wrong, too selfish, too hurtful. Cuz you know you can say one thing, but when it comes down to it, it will hurt and hurt and.

Found out about summer school in Montreal. Sounds super interesting, kind of want to go for it. It's 1020 dollars for the whole thing not including traveling and spending expenses. There's supposedly a 600 dollar grant but I dunno.

Montreal! Such a fine city, of French and music and beauty and wonder! And I could see Ed? Oh wonders of wonders!

What if Emmanuel could come, and I could tuck him away in a box? He would love the Jazz Festival, I think. Oh wonders! WONDERS! lol.

Been reading up on transfer admissions stuff. I was lying abed the other night thinking, well where am I going? And I realized if I didn't fire off these emails and make these appointments and make these phone calls I would be going nowhere. Making nothing of myself.

Comme c'est rigoreux.

Is that a word? It sounds like it oughta be. Ai.

Hmmmmmmm. HMMMMMMM. HAAAAAMMMM. I exist in a place outside my brain. It seems like everyone accomplishes so much more than I do.

Today lab class was cut short so I decided I wanted to go to Riverside and surprise Emmanuel at work. He seemed very happy to see me :D We had some Del Taco (their tacos are so tasteless but whatever I was hungry and happy so it was ambrosia) and he talked to me about his paper and I made some suggestions. We cuddled awww. I only got to see him for a half hour but it was pretty worth it.

Made it back to school at around 1. Ran into TJ and chatted with her. We planned to meet up again at 3 but I didn't see her. :[ I don't have her number either but I guess I'll chat her up on Facebook.

While I was there I ran into John from Astronomy and we hung out while I was typing out a Geography assignment on Islam. Pretty cool.

After we saw the film on Islam in Geography today I started debating the nature of Islam with this old guy named Dave. He seemed pretty adamant that Islam was a violent faith.

I don't know what kind of point he was trying to make by pointing that out. I mean, no matter what kinds of things you point at Islam, you could turn right around and point it at Christianity.

Violence, I would argue, is not inherent in Islam, and it is not inherent in Christianity. It is inherent in human nature. Religion ought to be something that counteracts those animal instincts of people, raises them up, puts them beyond the simple fight for survival and elevates them to enlightenment for the greater good of the earth and stuff.

But shit don't pan out that way.

Anyway it was a friendly debate and afterwards I shook his hand and asked his name. Walked out to the car with Richard who is terribly clueless about the class. He wants to start some kind of geography study group with Arvin and stuff. I guess that would be okay, except I think I might be the only one who knew shit.

Kinda testifies to the kind of school CSULB is when you only attend class 2/3 of the time and still make the Dean's List. Shit's too easy, I guess. I gotta focus on self-embetterment. That's not a word, but it sounds better than the self-embitterment I put myself through currently.

My laptop crapped out on me too. More shit to handle, more shit to do. Have to jog tomorrow morning. Not so evil a prospect as it used to be.

Had really bizarre dreams last night about people dying and something about work and a very unusual scene in which Jose Ricardo was fingering me. That's kind of frightening because Jose Ricardo while being pretty cool is not the kind of guy I want to date or be fingered by. Bleh.

Anyways I'm rambling. Schwinggg

Shit. I think I just wrenched my back.

I'm only 19! And I can't bend over.. Ahhhhh.

been thinkin maybe the human heart grows cumbersome with time, till we can't turn about without cuffing somebody. i wonder if i can throw off these heavy coats of emotive nada and move through the room nimble and free, loving one and all in naked lightness, innocence.

don't want to hurt anybody. want to have a good opinion of myself but doin' so would mean I am like an eye, lookin' out on the world without lookin back on me. And that's unfair, that's building a tower up of myself. And that's not right, is it?

After I dropped off Catherine, I went to the Walgreens on Chapman and looked at makeup cuz you know, that's what I do. Anyways I spotted this bottle of green nailpolish, the perfectest emerald and realized I had no such color.

When did I hate the color green? I can't believe I never owned such a verdant varnish. Suffice to say at a price of 2 for 3 dollah I had to snatch it along with a blushing work-safe pink.

Pink and green, pink and green, these two colors have fueled me for the night. I have words to say, pictures to draw. I'm all 'spired for the evening darling.

Now if only I could work the crick out of my back. I want to jog tomorrow, shit. Can't hobble along like I'm older than mi madre.

I feel sort of light, like my chest is a breezy bramble of bone, and my heart an ember dangling. Fruitless.

I'll tell you about my day.

Class #1, Cultural Anthropology with Professor Eleanor Cross Harrison. The woman is filled with a kind of quiet passion, the kind you see exuding from dusty antique marvels in an attic. Much of the time though, she is rather incoherent and prone to babbling. It makes me feel kind of sad and guilty for being impatient with her, but there it is. She was saying something about kinship and marriage and incest taboos and exogamy and endogamy, ordinarily very fascinating topics, but man. She might have been recounting her last garage sale haul.

Class#2. Macroeconomics with the professor that could compete with an air horn. Impossible to not pay attention, which I guess is a good thing, and I have some tenuous grip on GDP, etc.

note: am loving how my classes kind of mesh together in a FACT sort of matter. Application of knowledge, et al. In geography, we'll be talking about GDP per capita in Brazil and how increased industrialization in South America is infringing on the lifestyles of the indigenous peoples, and then in cultural anthropology we'll be talking about the indigenous peoples, and so on! Fantasmic.

So at this point, it's after Class #2 and I decide to call Emmanuel's workplace to get a hold of him, because my heart is beating so and I started to cry in Class #2. Waited on the phone for ten minutes only to be told that he didn't pick up the the phone and had left. The slightly exasperated man on the phone tells me he might be back.

I proceed to panic.

I skipped my last class and drove to pick up my paycheck (measly 80 bucks, btw), then rushed to Riverside to Emmanuel's workplace. One of the employees tells me he hasn't come back, sorry ma'am, had been gone for an hour. He asked if I was related to Emmanuel. I said I was his girlfriend.

So I drove to RCC, in vain hope of maybe finding him. I walked through the library where he sometimes goes to do his homework, couldn't find him. At this point, I am a mess. I'm crying, I'm thinking mad thoughts. I cross the street three times thinking I should go back and search more thoroughly. I stop and realize that I'm acting a little bit crazy.

Okay, a lot crazy.

I mean, what kind of crazy girlfriend plot was I brewing? Was I thinking with my breasts or what?

I mean, the asshole slighted me. And here I am sniveling to make amends. Amends for WHAT?

I just. I get so angry. I get so despereately sad. I am. I don't know.

Drove home crying, half passing out from fatigue and crumpled up soggy notepad eyes. Went to the Verizon store to file a claim on my "dropped" phone.

I realized this morning I had thrown it so hard it had struck my digital camera and popped the batteries out of it.

So I came home, ate something cuz I was passing out, and then proceeded to pass out. Slept and cried in turns for about three hours. Talked to nice claims lady on the phone. Getting replacement on Friday.

Proceeded to transfer the photos and videos of Emmanuel and me onto my computer via email.

I love him.

Typing that seemed hard. I hate him sounds easier but more painful. I'm in such a flurry of emotion I can't compose myself.

I want to call a million times in a row.

I want to punch him in the face.

I want to fuck him.

I want to scream, and scream, and carve out an empty space, a bony alcove in my ribcage, and go to sleep there forever.

maybe it just needs to be this way. maybe that's why, instead of a harrowing, painful emptiness i ought to be feeling in my chest i just feel empty. maybe cuz i've already felt those terrible contractions before, and now is the inevitable, the final, the last straw.

i want him to come running to me, holding me, begging me to not go. But he's not that kind of person. And I don't need begging. I need stability. I need happiness. I need someone who doesn't think i'm full of bullshit all the time.

With him I think I feel stupid, insipid, and insubstantial. Why he keeps me around, I don't know. I love him for who he is. What does he love me for?


I am so sad that the insides of me have cooled down and congealed, a flat, calm jelly formed around the perfect shape of my heart. And at the same time my brain is all a'roil.

I won't lie. I thought of suicide, but that was more a dramatic gesture than any kind of seriousness.

Yes, I could very well live without him. i might even be happy. but it's a small chance.

ow. my pussy could be a vice. i hate period cramps. bleh.

In more sanitary (sanitarily sane?) news, the boyfriend is taking me to Build-A-Bear today, so we can finally do one ridiculously cute couple thing since we met.

Possibly to make up for him possibly screwing up my vagina for years to come.

Somewhere inside me I am excited, but I suppose the weather and my uterus is pullin' me down.

Breasts are expanding, and I needs to get a new bra. Unfortunately, the money is not providing.

Dum de du.

Sitting in the CSULB library, typing pretty profane ponderings onto my school's keyboard.

I hate this place, this shithole, this cesspool of idiots. But as far as I'm concerned, I'm one of them, vraiment. Did you know, one of the librarians is a transvestite? With flowing blonde hair and a miniskirt. Tres trashy, if you ask me. If I was a transvestite, I'd deck myself out in the latest rags, none of this "I'm a lady so obviously that means I'll dress like a hooker from the eighties" mess.

I'll make like those Japanese boys and do it right. Pale-faced goddess in Victorian mourning and ridiculously expensive PVC boots.

I will be swathed in the black froth on your dying lips, my dearest. The laciest cobwebs of your inner eye.

You'd think it would be a proper gimmick to have a box of pocky in my pocky bag. But no, pockies are for the free and fat. I am chained to the weight of my sinking self-esteem.

Who am I now, that all I think about is buying and selling? Where is my soul of souls? Somewhere beneath those AA leggings.

i oughta be a stonemason, the way i build walls. i do it so effortlessly it's like i shit bricks to build with.

i haul the ice for this igloo, and have the temerity to complain of the cold.

do i mix my metaphors? i hope i do so finely. i wonder when i will be well. my mind is like so much pond scum, with mud all at the bottom. will lotus buds bud?

emmanuel is the heron, solid and strong, who stands in me, and the clearness of his reflection on my face is all the clarity i posess.

Hello brain. What is your name.

So have been feeling like a torn-up spiderweb, all kinds of everywhere, centerless, repulsive, floating. And he what who made me is either dead or spewing more white shit out of his ass to make more such fragile and transient structures.

Strong as spidersilk surely.

Kinda sad cuz I missed my last class, Geography 100. The class was canceled? but then I checked my email today to learn post facto that we were all to attend a sparkling lecture that day about international human rights in Rwanda.

Sad mostly because now I look like a callous fool uninterested not only in keeping up with the professional and educational aspects of her life but also completely uninterested in what she says she is interested in: human rights. That makes me a hypocrite, or does it make me a bumbling eejit incapable of keeping her life half enough together to even be interested in anything at all?
Hence the esoteric references to spiderwebs and all that rot.

But I have made a grand-scale plan to make conversation heart cookies for one and all me friends today. They will say yummy things like 'chinga tu madre' and 'i love you' and stuff. Is that ambitious enough or should I sue for world peace?

Have always told self to not worry about ambition because it is a scary idea, as if life ought to be lived out in to-do lists.

Gazelle do not have to-do lists. Nor zebras or hippos. Or maybe they do.

1. Eat.
2. Swat flies off buttocks.
3. Roll around in dirt.
4. Zig-zag.
5. Babies.
6. Contribute to circle of life.
7. Bedtime!

Been reading loads of the good ol' G.R.R Martin. Is that like a name template for great fantasy writers or is he just bein' smug? Or is his name really something like George Reynaldo Ruben Martin?

Anyway, it's all fantastically fantastic stuff. I miss the days when I would just be curled up in places where blood and gore were the norm and everybody who was anybody was either extravagantly beautiful or extravagantly strong and everybody sexed each other and nobody got pregnant unless it was a plot device that was well-planned and didn't make you feel like your life was over because you were gonna pop out the prophecy fulfilled or some shit.


Man life in fantastical terms is truly preferred.

But imagine being a lady knight without some monistat and you're all yeasty on the battlefield or something. I imagine boiled leather and flowing brocade can get sweaty.

Brain all swabbed out. Off to Comm 130.