in this world.

sway

collide into me
and let's slow dance,
by the dockside
on a warm steveston evening
simply,
barefoot and young

Happy Birthday Willow**!
<3

summer in the gold and green

No boundaries, no confining lines...
just, you, me, and the crumbling walls of that which once hindered us.

Gute Nacht

Good night, moon
I'm ready sleep
Nestled in your womb.
-------------

I re-discovered after hours. I can breathe again.

Just

open hand massacre.

so.near. fantastica = !

Idle Friday

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean.
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.

--Alfred Lord Tennyson

I never wanted to believe that but sometimes...
it just so happens, that I've tripped on love. But from within this glass, we're just two worlds too far apart. And sometimes, my solace comes from the belief that you'd be free and unrestrained from the chains of my confinement - warmly nestled in the arms of another. I understand that my queer complexity is not necessarily everyone's cup of tea and that I can't please everyone. Over-analyzing eyes can scream disgust louder than words ever will. strange.

But I guess I'm just an illogical greedy bitch at the moment, fueled by hormones and PMS, so don't take my words so seriously. Otherwise I'll be ranting on about how desperately ugly I'm feeling. No ice-cream will suffice tonight. It'll be bags of economy-sized kettle chips and strips of bacon dipped in gravy. And like a silly coke addict, I'll be downing cups of tea and pissing on the toilet like there's no tomorrow. Puking is bad for your teeth anyways. seriously.

But thanks for that time on the 25th.

I'm way off tangent right now and not my usual self. After all, I just stepped on the scale and looked in the mirror. Analyzation tells me I've got low self-esteem, brimmed full with self-loathing. You stronger women and sensible men would shake your heads and say nothing.

I love you guys.
And by golly gosh, I love the Internet.

<3>

PS - To everyone partying hard on this friday night - Cheers!
(I would like to try that one day... )

Exclusively inconclusive

When I peer into this bohemian globe of red,
what will you think of me?

Relative to yourself| I am| what you want to believe.
Exclusive| and| static.
2nd best|,|always your favourite.

Relative to myself, I am what I want to believe.
Just,
loose words.

I feel like swallowing -
And digesting myself whole.
I want to be whole.

words that reap no action
yield fields of empty husks.

What you don't know, won't kill you

Oh craptastic, I really fucked up the car this time *contorts*

So, what else is new?
The mechanics never noticed the crack... but the it's deemed unsafe to drive. Thank goodness... if that tire blew, I would have potentially killed myself or anyone else in the car. My heart almost stopped. I could have hurt others on the road.

Another 700 dollars gone from an imaginary money fund. Though I've been secretly saving money from all my birthdays and red pockets since I was 6 years old. All beautifully hidden in a sock.
Gone.
(potentially.)
But on a lighter note. Deep fried mars bars are good. So is delicious company.

I wish I still had Amelie in hand to listen to again.
I'm not feeling too happy right now... in fact, I think I'm sad :(
It's times like this I feel spoiled rotten. I regret buying so much crap for myself.

nourish

Today,
I made a triangle with my fingers, juxtaposed against the sky -
framing this warmth of sunlight.
I felt kissed with the alpenglow of hope
and beauty - that this air is full of love.
I touched the texture of your skin,
saturated in shades of blush, so marvellous and enveloping.
I traced the outlines of your face,
my fingers framing the sun of your smile.

And the people would eat up all the food, gobble, gobble, yum, yum, and it would become excrement and memories. What then for little Ecuador?

- Kurt Vonnegut, "Galapagos"

I don't want the world to see me

Modest Mouse - Talking shit about a pretty sunset

Oh noose tied myself in, tied myself too tight

Maybe just a little too tight, too loose
unstrung on the other end.
Tracing your finger along the spine of my back
and mine around the contours of your ear.
Out of gas, out of road,
tracing this thread around my neck,
tied around your pinky finger.
--------

Shhh, don't worry, I'll turn to MG's old folk stuff. You are here.
Because no one knows me like you do.
You are here.

We are here and no one is to blame
because no one knows us like we do
and I am never too far away.

profound words resonate in static tv

the.
insomniac philosopher
preaching words,
that spill milk.

Well,

I don't understand why there's a sudden need to come back on here and type during the day. Today is supposed to the most depressing day of the year. How many resolutions have you broken? Has the overcast sky made your day gloomier? Ahh, sweet radio... thanks for telling me that silly scientists. I think Chinese New Year is coming up pretty soon. The Metro is down again and I'm going crazy without it. Maybe I'll stay behind at school for a little longer today... I like the sound of the clickity-ness of these old-school keyboards down at the library. I don't know, a certain satisfaction that I'm actually doing something. I'm crazy, just to remind you guys.

I have to sort my priorities out sometime this week. I've been the queen of procrascination lately... allotting a day to do a simple task and yet I leave it until the last minute. Little wonder why sleep is so awkard nowadays. *sigh* Volunteering seems like the usual. 5 people died from that 10 day influenza outbreak in one ward alone. Bah, I'm not trying to be depressing... I just want to keep my fingers moving. Tee hee hee. like train tracks and the clump-thump-clump-thump clickity clack.

I miss those sound books at my elementary school library. The book cases and the tiny computers. I want to go back there to find the Brother Grimm's tales... those were so gruesomely wonderful. I can't find a copy of it now because there's so many renditions and different versions of them. All the same, they make for the most intriguing read. Does anyone remember the hungry hungry caterpillar? ahhh. or I Spy books. or those scary books called Scary Stories where jenn's favourite green scarf cut off her head after settling down with her significant other. I remember the story of the guy with huge teeth... the pictures were frightening. But all in good measure.

Well, I'll stop now... I've been hanging around here for long enough. Ciao bubs.

the ghosts of your pleasure in contempt

and when we were liars, things were so seemless
when we were wired, the world was like a secret

The romantics were so full of themselves... they were the dreamers and the anti-empricalists who believed that they could live forever in their art. In a sense, it's true... their art, their poetry live on in memory and in moments never to be forgotten. It was never about the objects or people who were the root of inspiration... it was always about the process of that inspiration. One isn't supposed to write about the person they loved, but the process of loving... one isn't suppose to write about watching that sunset, but the process of getting up to see the sunset. To me, their paintings were never organic.. in fact, they were far from it. Their poetry isn't organic to me either... rather, so strict like the classic poets before them, but with a different focus. I'm just thinking... why draw a line? The romantics failed in the art for the very act of confining themselves to just writing about the processes of something inspirational... but I personally think the source of inspiration can be incorporated as well to be appreciated at its fullest.

I think abstraction does that quite well.

Guh Gosh, all that and I haven't prepared anything for that darned essay when I object to all the ideas already, lol. Oh dear. Oh, and I feel like something salty... it's crazy. I had these weird Japanese octopussy balls at Aberdeen today... so empty. But it was garnished with these crazy thinly-sliced woodchip like shavings (shallots?) that tasted so yummy. I feel like those right now... minus the balls. It tasted like burnt wood... I love it!

And lately, I've been feeling so tired. And I'm plagued with the feeling that something is amiss. And happiness is not a fish that you can catch? talking is just masturbation without the mess. I need to pick up old cds and listen to them again. I'm tempted to just knock on your door and tell you that everything's going to be wonderful again. The future is inevitable and time can't be paused because the gyre has already turned towards completing an incomplete circle. As a wise woman once said, "sometimes the hard part is being your own significant other, and realizing no one else in this world is significant because they're your other. Everyone can truly stand alone and that's beautiful."

I don't know what to say.

When I think of the past, I also think back to all the of "what ifs" I had the option of choosing. How different would life be then to now. Would I be the same person? It's like thinking of old crushes and just making the simply making a move. I dislike the analogy that all this is just a game and that we're just pawns on a board with a finite number of moves to make. I wonder what Bobby Fisher thinks. Maybe the romantics did have it right and the fine art of abstraction deviates too far from what is actually beautiful. So when I think of the future now, I just think of the finite number of moves that are possibly left... but just how far from the end of the game only Bobby Fisher really knows. What's your next move, m'dear?

Will you move to the rhythm of your heart and dance with me?

in contrast to context

i love when life stops me.
when i have to halt here at the draw-bridge, i can get out of my car,
stretch my legs, my arms, wave at the boats, smile at the view,
at the birds, at the people
viewing me from their protective glass encasements.
i can breathe in the air.
i can breathe out the air.
everything just stops.
and i can just be.

happy.

tee hee

privet

...

And the results are in!

Maybe that was an 11 bucks worth while.
it came with an extra head and a holder

The only con is that you can't do anything too detailed because it feels like I'm shaving with a big handicapped hunk of soap on stick. But oooooooh, there's moisturizer and shaving foamies built into it. And it smells good. cucumber-esque good. Tee hee, maybe it's cuz I haven't bothered with my legs since Christmas... but it'll all grow back *slits eyes*. I'd be happy without hair neck down. Then again that shopper's camera proved that my face is actually a forest, lol. Oh dear.

In other news, I think I remember why biking is so hard in the beginning. I feel so tender and raw... as if I attempted doing the infamous Indy 500 (that woman isn't even human, I swear). "pout those lips and suck those cheeks in dear!"

rain rain rain

school campus = moist shithole
da bum seks?

Dear Diary,
Today was crappy. So I bought a razor and a magazine to make me feel better. I also bought some wood glue for no apparent reason. That was my shopping experience for the day.
The end.
Love, Jane.

So I'm sleepy now. I gorged on too many chips after dinner and now my mouth feels like a parched oasis. I feel like eating steamed broccoli and spinach in garlic butta right now. Mmmmm, fibrous. Or actually.. something cooler. Like Vienna ice-cream logs (which are no longer in production) or a nice girlfriend value size of Haagen Daaz. I also discovered today that men have clits. What's actually visible of the female clitoris is actually the tip of an iceberg. The rest of it is internal and can span from 2.5 - 5 inches long. Ha ha ha, how BIG are you? I'm going to buy that book tomorrow to nefariously show to everyone as proof. Not that I can whip out the rest of that organ and wave it around... though it would be cool. Kinda like a wad of glutinous wtf-ness. And you know what else is rather glutinous? Glutinous wraps. What a gungily word. glutinous. ta ha. what is the average peener size anyway? Never figured that out. *giggles*

Well, I guess it's that time for a bath... I'm excited, there's bubbles that smell delicious! And a razor that's just waiting to draw blood.

Bright End of Nowhere

I'm in a good mood right now. I feel kind of shifty too, like a spy. Though there's this sudden urge to play World of Warcraft for no apparent reason. addictive stuff.
It's been alright. :))))))
I remember listening to that song going on a walk a couple of years back late into the night along the dyke. Spitting outside. I felt depressed and kind of horny. So you know what I did?
I walked up this random stranger and said,
"Good evening"
and walked away. Felt better than concrete.
because I didn't talk to anyone.
Loo da dee da doo. bike it is tomorrow. and I'm feeling higher than a kite right now for reasons I won't specify. too much tea and I've gotta research vitamin C. it'll give you gout. I know I'm going to be riddled with diseases and physical problems when I get older. You know, bad genes. Don't pass them onto your kids. I'll adopt instead. And grow stretch marks to compensate for the gain.

And that my tasty friends, is what goes on in my head within the span of a few minutes. Don't read this you lurking schpits. Before I divulge personal information of my masturbatory routines and sexual wants. Eeek eeek eeek. Jane+anything remotely sexual = ew, turn that shit off. <3 Go watch indie porn on showcase. Because it's the new entertainment.

Man, I'm bored.
I feel like milk and cookies.

Satan, the Heroic

" He spake: and to confirm his words, out-flew
Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs
Of mighty Cherubim; the sudden blaze
Far round illumin'd hell: highly they rag'd
Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped Arms
Clash'd on their sounding shields the din of war,
Hurling defiance toward the Vault of Heav'n."
--excerpt from John Milton's Paradise Lost (Book I)

no wonder his word is so seductive.

pourquoi?

"Life is not a walk across an open field." --Russian Proverb

The Physics of Green

I steal glimpses at her tuesdays thursdays in the morning. She's a red head with long delicious smelling hair with skin so fair, it's probably like silk to the touch. Normally she's adorned in a plaid olive green wool trench-coat with brown fuzzy boots. It's chilly outside. Her meek smile just has me captivated everytime. She's just... beautiful.

I think it's the colours too. They taste sweet to the eyes.
You would want to look at her too.

I guess that's my motivation for waking up and leaving early to make it to an 8 am physics class. Snore. The prof. and his material are boring as hell. Then I break. I break for awhile actually. Usually sitting at a table in the cafeteria, I catch myself studying the shape of everyone's faces. Such variety and uniquness in character. I need to buy shampoo and maybe invest in a razor. Does that Intuition stuff work well? I guess I'll indulge. I'm curious about silk and the movement it makes - the flow and where it works best. But in the meantime, I better wash me bras'n'undies (aka the dirties).

Another thing I've also learned about myself is that I'm a very jealous person. I can dwell upon certain words since day 1. And I still do. I'm a terrible liar. so subliminal
if you noticed.

So I'll let my fish loose.

vintage

I should really stop waiting... shouldn't I?

I've grown too dependent on even the simplest of exchanges or some tiny emoticon of acknowledgement. Oh, why won't the gyre start turning.

*glum face*

I've got not motivation. so I'm keeping physics. After some resolution to find a job, I don't even care. Reflects how much I don't care about that aspect.. mind as well continue the burden that is an extra course. And I didn't even try.. not even to look at a resume. I'm so full of bullshit sometimes.

and believe it or not, it took me 30 minutes to write this crap.

Bah

I have really become the procrascinator. I guess I should pack up soon and live at school during the daytime... I think then I'd have no other choice but to work. Anyways, I want to give a random person a kiss. Math sucks. And I love smelly felt markers. Light blue blueberry was my favourite... then Crayola came out with popcorn flavour, the new ew of ass.

In conclusion,



Chretien knows the score.

classique

+ on

The neck
is holy skin, to the touch.
It tells of your story, your past
so tender, to the touch.

<3 emo

Dulce est decorum est pro patria mori

Dulce est decorum est pro patria mori 

(It is sweet and honourable to die for one's country)



Bent double, like old beggars under sacks

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.



Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! --- An ecstasy of fumbling,

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And floundering like a man in fire or lime ---

Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.



In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.



If in some smothering dreams you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,---

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.



--Wilfred Owen

id.

Do you know of George Bernard Shaw's description of dancing?
And the slender provacation of the waltz?
Your partner will remain monogamous
thoughout the song.
So Perverse.

Freud was right about the ego of men
the conflict of women
and the science of sex, as described by Kinsey.

But all the while
I clutch in my arms, maternal questions:
Am I a mother?
of children I'll never see.

I am,
but not from the womb of anything,
not even mine.

And know my children are all blind, deaf, and mute
- already so beautiful.

Where art thou, stalker?

Whispering in the Dark

Ominous.
Like the dark romantic lubricious to the thought
and shrouded with the taste of musky desire.
But they always wore black... he always wore black.
One and all - all the same
ever re-occuring. And gone.
Always breaking the vase of femine form indefinately
violating steadfast roots and understanding -
a contradiction>> Objectified.
My, fragile vase, broken more and stepped afoot
closer to fragments of sand
so we can melt to glass.
And be Art forever
Opalescent and ominous, like my secrets.
of you

comfort

I've also realized

The secret tensions and air of competition at school.
It's not a matter of being anti-social. The people I meet now, I approach with all due kindness and hope. I dont see it. Pushed away because you're in Science too? That you're my rival? You don't see this in arts at least... well some. My palms are facing upwards for everyone.
I don't look down at anyone.
Respect. me. for me. Not for petty assumptions or myths. Honesty -
You can ridicule, you can slur, you can snicker
Like a mirror.
I am your equal, our equal.

I hope you can see the reflection :)

A canvas half-un finished

david cho.

It's kind of like writer's block
in a new chapter. Fresh, but touched.
"Sometimes I think the air we breathe is mortal
And dies, trapped, in our unfeeling lungs." --Hine

It's pretty outside. Fluffy.
School so far has been reduced to idle card playing,
though Alvin and Serena did surprise me with a luvverly gift of thanks (+ x-mas):
Gas cash and chocolate of course, lol. :)
OH dear. I'm covered in woman fat. The stuff of babies. poochy poochy goo, smack baby tummy.'

so no yoga/pilates/belly dancing. either runs too late or there's class conflicts. And I can't go for 3 hours without food. HOWEVER, there is a newly added erotic pole dancing. And I'm old enough. *brave look*
but such an odd sod, lol.

------------
"Now is the winter of discontent,
Made glorious summer by this sun of York" --Bill Shakespeare (richard III)

and I have reached writer's block. not that I write, nor paint, nor do anything artsy.
I suppose I'm not worried, but I'd like to say I'm concerned.
Laying in bed. but to be frank, Gabriel... I'd like to hold your hand, hold you up.
A push, a smile. I miss the smell of Old Spice and the pocket in your shoulder. and I remember last year's talk in snow. Something's lacking, but not between us. I'm looking at Sir Timothy thinking what he'd do right now. A gallant pose. I see no levels - I see one.
Shared amongst everyone.
hope in the moon, the night, the sky. I love. penetrating through the night air.
please.
i try, (too) hard, my hardest.
we're young.

My dear, we're flying to Copenhagen tomorrow

Why do I ask myself?

s0 k3wl lolz1!1!!

Do you remember when we used to sing "Sha la la la la la la ti da"

Another stye in my eye... such utter ridiculousness. i'll give it to you too
pink eye.
So my chem prof's this young hottish guy who's so obviously inexperienced teaching. My English prof. however, is a man devoted to all aspects of the fine arts. Quite admirable actually... so now I'm scared the silly stomach out of it. The T.A.s too.. they're all actors and comedians so this should be interesting. But when we move on to biology... bujeebus, we have an exaggerated William Shatner who speaks like an old English fart fresh out of a 19th century tavern after a few pints. *chuckles* All in good cheer of course.

i'm looking forward to this term. and i might just keep physics (shhhh). Because I'm not all too enthusiastic about cleaning rat cages on campus for minimum wage. Reminds me too much of Hanson's rats with fistulated eyeballs and bulbous tumours. Buhmp.




where i end and you begin.

My,

dearest

scatter h e a r t. . . .




) : (

sleepyhead.

Amphibian

The woman came out of a man's rib
Not from his feet to be walked on
Not from his head to be superior
But from the side to be equal
Under the arm to be protected
And next to the heart to be loved

Oh that sounds desperate. I never realized how many kids these days pop ecstasy like gummy bear vitamins. Interesting. The times are changing, even the drugs are changing. Reminds me of Trainspotting and Ewan's peener. Oh dear, if only more people understood the chemistry behind designer drugs. Like rocket fuel gobbed onto a lollipop stick. ;)
so innocent

So, I'm expecting to cough up some resolutions. Does anything ever become resolute? Let's start off with the cliche:
-a job
-drop 10-15
-mend numbers and letters

But in my heart I want to:
-pick up threads of old and wrap them around my fingers again
-smile from inside out

There's pagan poetry falling off my tongue. I'm ready.

So it goes.

"Where am I?" said Billy Pilgrim.
"Trapped in another blob of amber, Mr. Pilgrim. We are where we have to be just now-three hundred million miles from Earth, bound for a time warp which will get us to Tralfamadore in hours rather than centuries."
"How-how did I get here?"
"It would take another Earthling to explain it to you. Earthlings are the great explainers, explaining why this event is structured as it is, telling how other events may be achieved or avoided. I am Tralfamadorian, seeing all time as you might see a stretch of the Rocky Mountains. All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I've said before, bugs in amber."
"You sound to me as though you don't believe in free will," said Billy Pilgrim.
"If I hadn't spent so much time studying Earthlings," said the Tralfamadorian, "I wouldn't have any idea what was meant by 'free will.' I've visited thirty-one inhabited planets in the universe, and I have studied reports on one hundred more. Only on Earth is there any talk of free will."

Happy New Years

dancers