?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous 10

Jul. 8th, 2010

me

Blog Moved

Not that anyone really reads *this* blog but I`ve moved to  poofymarshmello.blogspot.com/ 

Mar. 31st, 2010

me

One Year

Yay for creative writing. Inspiration is from a conversation with a friend a few days ago.

One Year

They leaned over the ledge of the balcony, beer bottles clinking together in a toast. Sue twisted the ring on her left ring finger. It felt as if it were made of brick instead of soft, fine gold. The reddish orange glow of Tokyo Tower shone across the skyline while the occasional car whizzed by below.

She bit her lip and took a swig. That morning she'd seen a crow perched on the telephone wire. Sue couldn't remember when or where, but someone had once told her that crows in search of food were a bad omen. She glanced back down at the diamond ring on her finger.

Kei had left for Australia a few weeks after she'd returned to Tokyo. He'd left her waiting the few times they'd agreed to get lunch, and when they finally did talk, it was through silence. He'd stared at her ring and a strange smile had crept over his mouth. In her mind she'd imagined that he'd ask her if she was happy. She'd practiced her reply in her head over and over again. Each time, she'd smile gracefully until happiness shone out of every single pore in her body. She'd calmly, and graciously say "Ecstatic."

But she never got the chance. He offered a muffled "Congratulations" and told her to invite him to the wedding. He apologized for being busy, and then told her he was off to another country, but he wasn't sure which. Theirs was a relationship nurtured by distance and suffocated by proximity.

He'd never say what she realized she still wanted to hear until she begged some kind of forgiveness. She'd never beg forgiveness until he told her what she wanted to hear. They'd chase each other until the end of time just because they'd been born a second out of sync.

One year was not enough.

"You look tired." Sue snapped out of her reverie to look at Vincent. His eyes were focused on the cemetery below. His long brown hair was tied messily into a half-ponytail and red paint was still smeared over his hands.

"I am."

"I take it didn't go well." Sue stilled. She hadn't realized that he knew that she'd gone to see Kei, seeing as how she took great care to never mention it. She'd thought it'd upset him. She glanced at his nearly empty beer bottle, and the way he carefully avoided her gaze.

Damned if she admitted it. Damned if she didn't. She took a swig from the bottle.

"Things rarely go well for me."

Vincent ran a hand through his long dark hair. He put down the beer bottle, fished his long fingers into his pocket and pulled out his lighter and a cigarette. He never said much. but then again neither did she. She didn't have to. He had an uncanny ability to know what she was thinking or feeling before she did. And Vincent...it was what he didn't say that spoke volumes.

The way he stood, upright and tense. The way he smoked slowly, deliberately. The way his feet turned away from her. The way his face betrayed nothing. It was carefully neutral. Not a single hint of a smile or a frown, just neutral. The near imperceptible clench of his jaw that told her he was struggling to hold his tongue.

Vincent was a patient man.

But one year was too long.

Sue took a swig. The beer had gotten lukewarm and she fought to keep a grimace off of her face. With Vincent there were no clear label to describe what she was to him to he to her. She had no clear story that she could tell about the first time she'd seen him or the first time they'd met. Not like Kei. Sue vividly remembered the first time she'd seen Kei, the first time they'd talked to each other. Perhaps because he'd demanded everything from her, and Vincent asked for nothing.

She glanced over at Vincent, who was now leaning over the balcony to gaze at the cemetery below. His back was to her and Sue bit her lip. She slipped the ring off of her finger and into her pocket.

She didn't remember because she hadn't bothered to. He was still a mystery because she hadn't tried.

Sue set down the beer bottle on the floor. Leaning over she rested her head against the space between his shoulders and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Why me?"

The muscles in Vincent's back relaxed and he sighed. The smell of tobacco filled her nose, and even though she normally hated it, today it reminded her of him.

She remembered the first thing he'd said to her. It was quite bold coming from a man who barely spoke. She'd been standing there at the party, alone and feeling extremely out of place. She hadn't even noticed him until he opened his mouth to speak. His words still rang in her ears.

He didn't say much, but when he did...

"Because it was true."

"Because I knew you wouldn't say otherwise."

Sue smiled. For her, one year was just enough.

Feb. 28th, 2010

me

"And the award for the best liar goes to you"

Whatever it is that's rattling around in your brain, some old dead white guy said it first. And he most certainly said it more eloquently than you ever could. For example, Benjamin Disraeli, former Prime Minister of England and giant dandy, said " The wisdom of the wise, and the experience of ages, may be preserved by quotation." Exactly what I said, but better.

But today it's not an old dead white guy. Today it's Maya Angelou.

She said at something reminiscent to forgetting what exactly people do, or say--but never forgetting how they make us feel.

And it's true. Eight years ago I had my first real high school crush. Save for the fuzzy details that he had wavy brown hair and blue eyes, I don't really remember what he looks like. I don't remember why I liked him, or the conversations we had. But I remember how I ran down the escalators from the fourth to second floor in between third and fourth period just to see him go by. I remember how my palms got sweaty when the teacher switched my seat so I ended up sitting right next to him. I remember how hard it was to stop smiling when he knocked on the cafe window where I was sitting with my friend to say hello. I remember how my heart skipped a beat when he smiled.

The second part of the equation, does come from an old dead white guy. Robert Frost said that life could be summed up into three words: it goes on.

Aside from his name, I don't remember him. I'm sure stalking him on Facebook could refresh my memory, but there's no point to. It was eight years ago. Those memories are echoes of emotions rippling across time. The more time passes, the weaker they get.

In my brief and short life, there's been a lot of things that I've had to learn to get over. A lot of hoping and a lot of disappointment. A continual stream of getting my hopes up and the inevitable truth that people let you down. That occasionally, you forget your head and you let yourself down. How and when to let go, square your shoulders and march forward. But it's impossible to forget how sharply that first bit of disappointment cuts.

The first time I was rejected, I ran into the bathroom of my elementary school and cried. Brian Lemus effectively made me feel like crap because he pointed to me and said "You call this a girl?" But even at the tender age of eight, I wasn't going to let a boy see me cry over him. I may cry easy but I'd never let him have the satisfaction of seeing it.

It's easy to slip into the mask of anger and push people who might see too much of you away. It's easy to ignore people, to act like a frigid bitch in hopes they stop bothering you. If you're not careful, it becomes second nature. Because feeling angry is better than feeling sad. Because focusing on revenge is easier than facing disappointment. Because pretending you're strong when really, all you're doing is running away is how you operate.

I recently lost my head. Put my faith into someone who didn't deserve it, and who ended up being utterly disappointing. Not once, but twice. In the past six months, I made the same mistake twice. But I learned a valuable lesson last summer. There's no point in getting depressed over someone who doesn't care enough about how they let you down.

Don't get sad. Get even. Be an absolute bitch if you have to.

Feb. 10th, 2010

me

"Go get your gun, get your gun and we'll find out what it does"

Back in ‘09 I had:
[x] broken a promise
[x] made a new friend
[x] fallen in love
[x] fallen out of love
[x] done something you swore never to do
[x] lied
[x] laughed until you cried
[ ] stole
[x] went behind your parents back
[x] cried over an ex
[x] disappointed someone close
[x] hidden a secret
[x] pretended to be happy
[ ] got arrested
[ ] kissed in the rain
[ ] slept under the stars
[x] gotten in a fight
[x] kept your new years resolution
[ ] forgot your new years resolution
[x] met someone who changed your life
[ ] met one of your idols
[x] changed your outlook on life
[x] sat home all day doing nothing
[x] pretended to be sick
[x] left the state
[ ] almost died
[ ] drank yourself retarded
[ ] lost someone close to you
[ ] been to the hospital
[x] gotten closer to someone
[ ] streaked
[x] cried over someone
[x] broken up with a gf or bf
[x] given up something important to you
[ ] talked on the phone all night
[x] learned something new about yourself
[x] tried something you normally wouldn’t try
[x] found out who your true friends were
[x] made a total fool of yourself
[x] met great people
[ ] gotten really drunk
[x] kissed someone you never thought you would
[ ] Already regret something


1. Are you in a relationship?
No

2. Do you hate more than 3 people?
With a burning all consuming passion? No.

3. How many houses have you lived in?
If we say like, house-houses, then just two. If we're including apartments -- nine.

4. What is your favorite candy bar?
I don't like candy bars. *gasp* But if I absolutely had to choose a singular candy bar, it would be 3 Musketeers.

5. What are your favorite shoes?
My fuck me boots.

6. Have you ever tripped someone?
Not on purpose. That's mean in a malicious way.

7. What was your least favorite subject this year?
Accounting. Hands down.

8. What was your favorite subject this year?
Is it sad that I can't think of a favorite class from 2009? Probably was Kingston's Modern Japanese History class.

9. Do you own a Britney Spears CD?
I *used* to back when it was popular to do so.

10. Have you ever thrown up in public?
Does throwing up in a hospital count as public?

11. Name something that’s always on your mind.
Time

12. What is your favorite music genre?
Broadway, Metal, Rock. Yeah.

13. What is your sign?
Aries Dragon

14. What time were you born?
Sometime between 2 and 3 pm. My mother doesn't even know. How fucked up is that.

15. Do you like beer?
Only dark, black beers.

16. Have you ever made a prank call?
Never. How boring am I?

17. What is the most embarrassing CD you own?
Like I'd say. It's pretty freakin' embarassing.

18. Are you sarcastic?
Who? Me? Noooooooooo. I wish there was an emoticon for eye rolling.

19. What are your favorite colors?
Green, Black, Blue, Purple and White. Which are oddly the colors of bruises. Hmmm.

20. How many watches do you own?
One, but i have NO idea where it went.

21. Summer or winter?
I love winter fashion but I hate the cold. So summer.

22. Spring or fall?
Spring.

23. What is your favorite color to wear?
Black and white. No need to color coordinate.

24. Pepsi or Sprite?
I hate pepsi with a passion. Sprite.

25. What color is your cell phone?
Black.

26. Where is your second home?
Amy's house

27. Have you ever slapped someone?
Yes. You could hear it reverberate off of Jupiter.

28. Have you ever had a cavity?
Yes. They HURT.

29. How many lamps are in your bedroom?
One. That's not plugged in. Yay.

30. How many video games do you own?
I'm going to say upwards of 20, but less than 35.

31. What was your first pet?
Pinky the fish. That got eaten. By the person my mother swore would take good care of her. God I hate Asians sometimes.

32. Have you ever had braces?
Five excruciating years of my life.

33. Do looks matter?
Yes and no.

34. Do you use Chapstick?
Yes, Burt's Bees!

35. Name 3 teachers from your school
Prof. Kingston, Prof. Bacon, Prof Koyama

36. American Eagle or Abercrombie?
American Eagle. Sometimes you can find non-crap there.

37. Are you too forgiving?
I'm told its one of my biggest faults.

38. How many children do you want?
one or two...depending

39. Do you own something from Hot Topic?
Not that I am aware of.

40. What is your favorite breakfast?
Scrambled eggs and ketchup.

41. Do you own a gun?
No. Should remedy that before the zombie invasion.

42. Have you ever thought you were in love?
Most definitely.

43. When was the last time you cried?
The last time I watched End of Time, part 2. Cue Scene with Rose, cut to Ood Sigma, and then close in on David Tennant's eyes. Somewhere in between there the river of tears just won't stop flowing.

44. What did you do 3 nights ago?
Three nights ago...was...Monday night? I...went home and read Love in the Time of Cholera.

45. When was the last time you went to Olive Garden?
I've never been to Olive Garden...as bizarre as that may seem.

46. Have you ever called your teacher mom?
Er....nooo

47. Have you ever been in a castle?
I've been to Osaka-jo...which is a castle but I don't think you're allowed *inside*

48. What are your nicknames?
...Vicky seems to be most common, though I hate it. B is another one. Will calls me slick Vic on occasion.

49. Do you know anyone named Bertha?
Haha, no but now I wish I did.

50. Have you ever been to Kentucky?
Nope. Mmm horses and fried chicken.

51. Do you own something from Banana Republic?
...Yes. Multiple things.

52. Are you thinking about somebody right now?
Yeah. What kind of question is that? Seemingly broad question when really particularly nosy in a not charming, cheeky fashion. Psh.

53. Have you ever called someone Boo?
Er. No. That would be a definitive, resounding, No.

54. Do you smoke?
Hell no. Smokers taste like ashtrays.

55. Do you own a diamond ring?
I wish.

56. Are you happy with your life right now?
Very happy with my life right now.

57. Do you dye your hair?
Not anymore. Used to have red highlights back in the day.

58. Does anyone like you?
Perhaps. Hard to tell sometimes. That and I am willfully oblivious.

59. What month were you born?
April.

60. What were you doing May of 1994?
I was six years old, and I imagine...in first grade learning things from a nun.

61. Do you own a Backstreet Boys CD?
Millenium. Oh yeah. Crappy 90s music for the WIN.

62. McDonald’s or Wendy’s?
I have sentimental attachments to both--more so for the people I went with rather than the god awful food.

63. Do you like yourself?
I need more self confidence, but for the most part--yeah I love who I've come to be.

64. Are you closer to your mother or father?
When I was younger, this would've definitely been mother. Now, I'm not sure because I don't feel close to either.

65. Favorite features of the opposite sex?
Voice. Hands. Face.

66. Are you afraid of the dark?
Not of the dark, but what I can't see in the dark.

67. Have you ever eaten paste?
Ew no. That can't taste good.

68. Do you have a webcam?
Yar. Two.
Tags:

Feb. 9th, 2010

me

"Driving in your car, I never never want to go home"

Love in the Time of Cholera By Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Started: 2.2.2010 - 2.8.2010

Rating: Officially, one of my favorite books of all time.

Spoiler Free Summary: As adolescents, Florentino Ariza and Fermina Daza fall in love through a correspondence in letters. However, when Fermina ends their relationship and chooses to marry Dr. Juvenal Urbino, Florentino is heartbroken. He resolves to wait for the day where he can be with Fermina again, but in the meantime he tries to fill the void in his life with 622 affairs. The book is about these events, what comes after and everything in between.

Who would love it?: I think people with an appreciation for lyrical writing, and who are romantics at heart would love it. Also, its plot is slightly reminiscent of the Great Gatsby--so I think anyone who liked that would also like this; and though I adore the Great Gatsby, I prefer Love in the Time of Cholera.

Pros: In a stylistic sense, I absolutely loved GGM's transitions between each of the main characters. The story is told in a somewhat chronological sense, but it does skip forwards and backwards depending on which character's story we're following. Really, a lot of this book's beauty and charm comes from GGM's poetic sense with words. Its intoxicating and mesmerizing really-- in my opinion, in what seemed to be a blink of an eye, a hundred pages had already passed. If it weren't for the two or three days where life got in the way of reading, I'm pretty sure I could've finished this in less than a day.

In a story-sense I love how GGM tackles the idea of love and the many many forms it can take. It explores first love, romantic love, physical love, spiritual love, marital love, platonic love, any type of love--you can name it and it's in the book somewhere. I think interpretations could differ from person to person and how you take it. This book could be misinterpreted to be a pure love story about how true love wins out over everything, but I found it to be a much more cautionary tale about how a healthy, functional love, requires two people to work at it and actually *know* each other rather than admire from afar.

Cons: I think some people may just take it at a surface level and find it to be a story purely about Fermina and Florentino with some Urbino thrown in as an "antagonist." I don't think we're meant to think that Florentino is Fermina's "soulmate." I think GGM intentionally wanted us to find fault in Florentino's blind devotion to Fermina and find her right in initially rejecting him. It's a very layered book, and it does require some reading between the lines, which is not what some people want in a romance novel.

Favorite Quotes:

Every page is stylistically, a delight and half of my favorite quotes aren't really quotes but pages which I won't bother to type out here. But of the 348 pages, here are the ones that I particularly liked.

pg 10 "Each man is master of his own death, and all that we can do when the time comes is to help him die without fear of pain."

pg 14 "Moreover, a clandestine life shared with a man who was never completely hers, and in which they often knew the sudden explosion of happiness, did not seem to her a condition to be despised. On the contrary: life had shown her that perhaps it was exemplary."

pg 40 "The man who has no memory makes one out of paper."

pg 42 "But he released him immediately because the ladder slipped from under his feet and for an instant he was suspended in air and then he realized that he died without Communion, without time to repent of anything or to say goodbye to anyone, at seven minutes after four on Pentecost Sunday."

"He recognized her despite the uproar, and he looked at her for the last and final time with eyes more luminous, more grief-stricken, more grateful than she had ever seen them in half a century of a shared life, and he managed to say to her with his last breath: 'Only God knows how much I loved you.' "

pg 47 "She prayed to God to give him at least a moment so that he would not go without knowing how much she had loved him despite all their doubts, and she felt an irresistible longing to begin life with him over again so that they could say what they had left unsaid and do everything right that they had done badly in the past."

pg 87 "One night she came back from her daily walk stunned by the revelation that one could be happy not only without love, but despite it."

pg 204 "'It is as if he were not a person but only a shadow.' That is what he was: the shadow of someone whom no one had ever known."

pg 205 "But that is what she did at a crucial moment in her life, giving no importance whatsoever to the handsomeness of her suitor, or his legendary wealth, or his youthful glory, or any of his numerous virtues; rather, she was stunned by the fear of an opportunity slipping away, and by the imminence of her twenty-first birthday, which was her private time limit for surrendering to fate."

pg 211 "'The problem in public life is learning to overcome terror; the problem in married life is learning to overcome boredom.'"

pg 348 </b>"Then he looked at Florentino Ariza, his invincible power, his intrepid love, and he was overwhelmed by the belated suspicion that it is life, more than death, that has no limits." </b>

What's next: The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

Feb. 5th, 2010

me

"They taped over your mouth, scribbled out the truth with your lies, your little spies."

Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, 150th Anniversary Edition

Started: 1.19.2010 - 2.2.2010

Rating: Loved it

Who would love it?: Fans of Emerson, or of American transcendentalist poetry; I have a feeling people who like Dickinson and the such. In general, I think people who like poetry or people with a general sense of 'earthiness'.

Pros: I'm a huge fan of Whitman's style, but I'm also pretty sure its not one of the more accessible ones. In the edition I read he uses a lot of symmetry to convey a sense that everything that he is, is what you are. Really it's a celebratory piece of work about the human body, himself and American-ism. This may be only my interpretation of it, but there's a lot about small beauty everywhere, "immortality" but in an accessible sense. It's not overly grand or sweeping in anything. It's a celebration of the small things--of which I'm a huge fan.


Cons: There are points where I felt I didn't really absorb everything there was to. For an initial read, I really liked it but I do feel like I'm going to have reread it to understand it on a deeper level and just appreciate more. That being said, since it is poetry I feel like everyone has different poets that speak to them and others that just don't do it. I'm pretty much of the opinion that finding good poetry is pretty much a process of extreme trial and error. As for this edition that I bought, there's a long and pretentious introduction by Harold Bloom that had me rolling my eyes the entire time. It's pretty much up to anyone whether or not to read the introduction--but my advice is to skip it.

Oh and some "race sensitive" people might find some of what Whitman says to be racist--but I think you just have to understand the times they were written in and get over it.

There's also a fair amount of sexuality in it, which I think is tastefully done and personally like, but some other people might not.

Favorite Stanzas:

[Song of Myself]

"For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you."

All of [2]

"There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now; And will never be anymore perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now."

"They are alive and well somewhere; The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceased the moment life appeared.

All goes onward and outward...and nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed and luckier."

"What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life."

"The city sleeps and the country sleeps, the living sleep for their time....the dead sleep for their time, The old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband sleeps by his wife; And these one and all tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, And such as it is to be of these more or less I am."

"have you heard that it was good to gain the day? I also say it is good to fall....battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won."

"And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes, and the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known."

"This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody but I will tell you."

I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware I sit content. And if each and all be aware I sit content. Our World is aware, ad by far the largest to me, and that is myself, And whether I come to my own today or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait. My foothold is tenoned and mortised in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time."

"My final merit I refuse you....I refuse putting from me the best I am. Encompass worlds but never try to encompass me, I crowd your noisiest talk by looking toward you. Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, With the hush of my lips I confound the topmost skeptic."

"Let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles, And we that we call Being."

[To Think of Time]

"What will be will be well - for what is is well, To take interest is well, and not to take interest shall be well."

"What is good is perfect, and what is called sin is just as perfect;"

"I cannot define my satisfaction...yet it is so, I cannot define my life...yet it is so."

"I swear I think there is nothing but immortality! That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is for it, and the cohering is for it, And all preparation is for it...and identity is for it...and life and death are for it."

[The Sleepers]

"I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other dreamers, And I become the other dreamers."

"I am she who adorned herself and folded her hair expectantly, My truant lover has come and it is dark. Double yourself and receive me darkness, Receive me and my lover too....he will not let me go without him."

"I swear they are all beautiful, Everyone that sleeps is beautiful....everything in the dim night is beautiful, the wildest and bloodiest is over and all is peace.

Peace is always beautiful, the myth of heaven indicates peace and night."

"the Universe is duly in order....everything is in its place, That is arrived is in its place, and what waits is in its place."

"I too pass from the night; I stay awhile away O night, but I return to you again and love you; Why should I be afraid to trust myself to you?

I am not afraid...I have been well brought forward by you; I love the rich running day, but I do not desert her in whom I lay so long: I know not how I came of you, and I know not where I go with you....but I know I came well and shall go well."

[I Sing the Body Electric]

"I have perceived that to be with those I like is enough, To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough.

To be surrounded by beautiful curious breathing laughing flesh is enough, to pass among them...to touch any one...to rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment...what is this then? I do not ask any more delight...I swim in it as in a sea."

[Great Are the Myths]

"Great is life...and real and mystical...wherever and whoever, Great is death...sure as life holds all parts together, death holds all parts together; Sure as the stars return again after they merge in the light, death is great as life."

what's next: Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Jan. 20th, 2010

me

"Hold it, I can feel you most when I'm alone"

The Island of the Day Before - Umberto Eco

Started: 12/21/2009 - 1/18/2010

Rating: Loved it

Who would like it?: People who don't mind dense books that ramble on about philosophy (I.e. nature of time, love, existence of God, death, the art of writing, fate etc).

Spoiler free summary: Roberto Della Griva is sent on a trip to figure out the secret of Punto Fijo (longitude) and ends up shipwrecked at a mysterious island. Afraid of swimming, Roberto is stuck alone on an abandoned ship and begins to reminisce about the events that led him there.

Pros: Umberto Eco is tres eloquent and his passages are beautifully written, his depictions of Roberto's philosophies (or sometimes, lack thereof) is just plain freaking beautiful. The story is both linear and non-linear, and I love the fact that it jumps between Roberto's mind and what's actually happening to him. It's fiction, but at the same time it's a debate on various philosophical concepts.

Cons: Sometimes its really dense and you have to be in the right mood to really appreciate what Eco is saying and the story. Also, half the time I want to slap Roberto and I'm not sure that towards the end any breaking of the fourth wall was really necessary. That and at slightly over 500 pages its a long read requiring mental fortitude at times.

Favorite Quotes:

pg 6- " ... What do we know of the difference between passion felt and passion expressed, and who can say which has precedence?"

pg 60- " 'Sir', Saint-Savin replied, "the first quality of an honest man is contempt for religion, which would have us afraid of the most natural thing in the world, which is death; and would have us hate the one beautiful thing destiny has given us, which is life."

" As that theologian said, strong is a king who destroys all, stronger still is a woman who obtains all, but strongest is wine, which drowns reason...stronger still however, is Truth and I who speak it."

pg 83-84 "But the philosopher is like the poet. The latter composes ideal letters for an ideal nymph, only to plumb with his words the depths of passion. The philosopher tests the coldness of his gaze, to see how far he can undermine the fortress of bigotry."

pg 111 "Never speak of yourself: either you will praise yourself, which is vanity, or you will denigrate yourself, which is stupidity... Be much but seem little."

pg 112: "If arrows can pierce the body, words can pierce the soul."

pg 117: " An amorous yearning is a liquor that becomes stronger when decanted into a friend's ear."

pg 118: "When nature fails, we turn to art."

pg 121: "Abandoning my heart, you have left it in an insolent creature who is your image and who boasts of having the power of life and death over me. And you have gone from me as sovereigns leave the torture chamber for fear of being importuned with please for mercy. If my soul and my love are composed of two pure sighs, when I die I will beseech my Agony that the breath of my love be the last to leave me, and I will have achieved--as my last gift--a miracle of which you should be proud, and for instant at least you will draw a sigh from a body already dead."

pg 127 "Melancholy is not the lees but the flower of the blood, and it generates heroes because on the border of madness, it spurs them to the bravest of actions."

pg 138 "Look at the moon, and reflect that if your God was able to make the soul immortal, He could easily have made the world infinite. But if the world is infinite, it will be so in time as well as in space, and therefore it will be eternal, and when there is an eternal world, which has no need of creation, then it will be unnecessary to conceive the idea of God."

pg 141 "To speak always seriously provokes irritation. To be always witty, contempt. To philosophize always, sadness. To jest always uneasiness. I have played every role, according to the time and the occasion and once in a while I have also been court jester. But this evening if you tell the story well, it will not have been a comedy but, rather , a fine tragedy."

pg 344 "But he savored also the beauties of night, when all seems at rest, the stars move more silently than the sun, and you come to believe you are the sole person in all nature intent on dreaming."

pg 466 "For that matter, how long was the time when I did not exist, and for how long in the future will I not be? I occupy a very small space in the abyss of the years."

pg 467 " we realize its impossible to stare directly at the sun and at death."

"Someone said to me that truly few know death. As a rule it is tolerated through stupidity or habit, not thorough resolve. We die because we cannot do otherwise. Only the philosopher can think of death as a duty, to be performed willingly and without fear. As long as we are here, death is not here, and when death comes we have gone. why would I have spent so much time conversing about philosophy if now I were not capable of making my death the masterwork of my life?"


pg 479 " There is no thought more terrible, especially for a philosopher, than that of free will."

Next: Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman as recommended by Amy

Jan. 18th, 2010

me

"See the luck that I've had could make a good man turn bad"

I think some things are fated to be.

The small things you don't notice at first, a glimpse of something your mind can't quite comprehend just yet.

Some words just follow you everywhere you go. Might be that you write them all over your tumbler, your shoes, your walls, in your notebooks. Your unread blog. But you write it everywhere in hopes that somebody recognizes it somewhere.

Most days you wake up and the entire day will pass without anything special happening.

Of the 6,000+ songs in your iPod, what are the chances that one song is the one that wakes you up today?

When you're ready to try something new, what are the chances that you run into something that you were trying to forget? When you expect to dislike something, what are the chances that you'll be taken by surprise? What are the chances you like the same things or come from the same place?

What if I'd been a minute earlier?

Trains that run on parallel tracks. Always leaving when I come, always coming when I leave.

What if I'd been a minute later?

You sit in a cafe in Shinagawa station and watch people going...somewhere. October 23rd was a Friday. January 15th was also a Friday. It's always on a Friday. You remember dates and wonder about chapters of your life. It always begins and ends on a Friday.

Thousands of people walking through the station, what are the chances you'll run into someone who will change everything? I don't know. I can't do the math. I think science tells us not to believe things you can't see or prove. I just think we can't comprehend the threads of our lives yet.

"There's no such thing as an unwritten life. Only a badly written one."

What are the chances that today will be amazing?

Jan. 12th, 2010

me

"Behind the hatred there lies a murderous desire, for love"

It sits in the bookshelf, third shelf from the top. A purple box with words scribbled in black Sharpie all over it.

The Box of Important Memories.

I'm not sure why I gave such a pompous name to a box that holds things of undoubtedly insignificant value to the rest of the world. Maybe in the event something happens and someone has to decide what to save from my apartment, they'd know to take that box. Except I've written it in English and it's unlikely that anyone here in Japan would take the time to decipher English scribbles in the event of an emergency.

There's a few letters from my mother in there. In particular, a card. It's pink, and there's a drawing of a little girl on it as she picks some kind of flower. Daisies perhaps. I'm used to my mother sending me lots of letters, and most of the time they aren't anything particularly "box-worthy".

But this one almost made me cry.

She says briefly that she's finally found the time to sift through boxes of old photos and she's remembering my childhood. Then she writes, "I used to have a lucky adolescent who loved poetry, literature, music, art and philosophy."

It must have only been a few minutes, but I stared at the words "used to" for what seemed like forever. I wasn't aware I'd changed from the person that loved those things. But I suppose if I'm really honest with myself, it's true. I've stopped littering the apartment with my "art" projects, I can't remember the last time I wrote a story, the last actual piece of literature I read or the last time I discussed philosophy with my mother. At that moment, I felt as if I were a stranger to myself.

The last line in the card, my mother mentions preparing for her swan song. And it worries me more than I'd care to admit. I know I've disappointed her, and that she's been unhappy since I left but...

There's the wrapping paper from Amy's Christmas gift to me. It's white with silver swirls in a paisley-like pattern. I remember how beautifully it was wrapped so I kept the paper. I want to make something with it but I don't know what yet. So it sits there in my box, and when I look at it I remember. And even if the gift was a simple one, it was the best one I got all year.

I remember standing on the platform of the subway station at 74th Roosevelt Ave in NYC and feeling like a kid again. I already knew what the gift was, and Christmas stopped being exciting for me years ago. But waiting for the train, with such a beautifully wrapped, utterly thoughtful present-- that excitement. I don't want to forget it.

There's an envelope full of photos from this summer and a night out at Lederhosen in NYC this past winter break. I've taken most of them and thrown them up on my apartment wall as an impromptu collage because I'm too poor to buy nice picture frames. I've been playing the Smiths non-stop recently, so I scribbled down a song lyric and threw it up on the wall next to the photos. It looks weird and out of place, but that collage is the first thing I see when I wake up and its the last thing I see before I go to bed.

"To die by your side, well the pleasure, the privilege is mine."

It sits in the bookshelf, third shelf from the top. There's a story behind every single one of the objects in that stupid purple box.

There's no real reason to keep it really if I think about it. I suppose the only reason I do is because I want to share it with someone, someday. I want to open that purple box and say, these were the things that were important to me in 2009,2010,2011--however long it takes for that box to fill up.

Because there's a story behind everything--but I'd like to think that box is full of little stories about love. Love for a friend. For a daughter by her mother. Love still here, and love that's gone.

And in the end I think instead of me saving these memories, these stories--whatever it is that they are--, they're saving me.
Tags: , ,

Jan. 9th, 2010

me

"To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die"

Back in Japan, but I don't really want to be.

It's the New Year, and frankly, I can't really describe it better than an excerpt from a diary entry written on the plane ride from NYC to Tokyo. Tres existentialist in nature.

1.6.2010 (Wed) 20:15 NYC or 1.7.2010 (Thur) 10:15 Tokyo

I'm flying again, and there's never a flight where I don't feel the need to write in my diary--if you could really call this a diary.

These days I feel different than I did before. More...I can't really describe. Language is such that loneliness describes the pain of being alone, and solitude expresses the joy of being alone. I forget who said that but it keeps popping up in my head lately.

It feels decidedly strange coming to Japan and leaving New York behind. I've forgotten almost completely the person I was a month ago. Perhaps that's too strong an assertion. More like my time in NYC reawakened a part of me that's slept dormant for years and ergo gave birth to a newer version of myself. Yet I feel familiar. I was doing this very trip 4 months ago. Yet 4 months ago I felt scared and nervous, unsure of what Fall '09 held in store for me.

I was lost, for lack of a better word. I think in a sense--I was desperate for someone to tell me I was something or someone worthwhile. I was lonely. Even though now I think I can realize that was a fabrication of my own insecurities.

but here I am 4 months later. I remember what I felt, but I forget the feeling. That's the thing about fourteen hour plane rides. We're all here in this big metal hunk of technology, 3000 some odd feet in the air. I'm not moving or doing anything worthwhile, but when I get off this plane I'll be exactly 6, 317 miles away from where I boarded. Right now, back home Amy might be having dinner with John (Mr. Mui...) Byron, and maybe even Lisa and Chao. I could've been there but here I am, displaced in a vessel hurtling through the air.

I remember what Chao said about the person I was in high school. I remember her but I don't. She was very angry, and so very sad. At what, or why I don't remember. She's still inside me somewhere but she feels like a stranger. I've always had issues with self confidence. Mainly being, I didn't believe in myself. It was stupid to seek confidence from somewhere else.

...

I've said ti before, but if I could spend all my life exploring the wonders of the universe I would. And if I got lonely, I'd just make new friends. or learn a new hobby. Or share it with Amy.

And then I have flashes. Moments where I realize one day, I'm going to die. Even though I feel like I'm going to be forever, I'm only temporary. One day my time will be over. I'll be gone and all that will be left of me are the things I leave behind, " the things I carried." In the end I'll be imperfect memory and I will be no more.

It's kind of scary. Definitely morbid, but I wonder if it just means that's the price we pay. We're mortal, we must die and our time is short. But because of that fact, because we are finite if we just open our eyes and our souls we can see the true beauty of all that is. If that's the case then I'd choose to live a short meaningless life every single time.

It's funny how things blend and repeat. Nothing I'm writing now is new. I've written this before. I suppose these feelings are intensified every single time I get on a plane and fly for hours on end. For 14 hours, I'm trapped in stasis.

Then again every time I write in this diary, journal thing its because I've "forgotten" myself. It's a period of time when I feel hyperaware. Where it's like I take a step back from my tiny insignificant life and see just how small I really am.

It's like I can feel it. This whole vastness, and I see my place in the universe--the whole of time and space and I am tiny.

People choose to ignore it. I think we can't survive if we keep looking at the vastness of time for too long. That's why we bury ourselves in the minutia of everyday life, society, tradition. Routine. If we could stare into the heart of the universe we'd go insane. We'd be gods, forever immortal. But I don't think our brains could handle it, which is why we perceive time the way we do.

But in this way, you can see the heart of everything just by seeing it in all the tiny meaningless things.

I'm probably delusional right now. Maybe I trick myself into believe this for whatever reason. This connection to something bigger than me. So big I forget myself. But I feel it. I really do.

There are times where I don't recognize myself in the mirror. I forget where I am, what my name is, or rather. I know who I am, what I look like, where I am--I just don't recognize it. I'm still me but my head is somewhere else. I'm stuck in between.

And quick as that, that sense of hyperawareness and connection is gone. I'm back to being Victoria. Maybe that's why I write so much. Why I listen to certain songs on repeat. Certain tiny things I find particularly beautiful. A string of words, a quote, and just once a conversation. Only once a conversation, but I don't quite think that'll ever happen again.

These thoughts lie underneath the surface somewhere and once in a while they come bubbling up. And that's why I write. To get these thoughts out and maybe reach that feeling of hyperawareness--where time stops still and I'm just content with everything.

I think I'm bonkers really.

Previous 10