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[03 Mar 2008|10:38am] |
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Met a man with a disgusting heart, he squeezed my soul so I left it behind.
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[13 Dec 2007|02:11pm] |
(chilled cardigans, sugar water eyelashes), leaves scattering to one side, away from me, & book pages flipping, everything is like air, and drowned and feels like sad magic is about to happen.
but nothing ever does.
everything is grey like
graves like
sorry doves and the trees look like wretched old blackened fingers,
spiry, breaking through the ground.
i wonder what they want.
what do they think is up there anyway?
so i'm clutching catcher in the rye
pages wet,
we all want to let it all out now
(the sky and i)
tears (and
crystalline sugar)
in my coffee,
tears quite everywhere.
. the faint, fat rain, well it's like god's cries, he lets his sadness fall down,
kisses me.
& i awaken from my snow-white slumber
(Motrin coma)
into grieving.
and yes so he falls down in pure puzzle pieces and kisses me, i wonder
who i can kiss by weeping;
my heart is sinking into my stomach,
they snuggle together by default,
my heart with it's cartoon ♥ s and flowers
and tears
my stomach warm and round like a small cat
it will share it's brunch muffin with the poor heart.
(banana & maple)
they'll cry together and
well, and i feel like i have the emptiest arms in the world.
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[15 Sep 2007|06:42pm] |
one must clean out everything that causes harm
i have to grow
1 step. changed my number.
2 deleted my email addresss.
i am making myself impossible to reach. I have to learn to live alone once again. Goodbye
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| Oh i'm here... |
[10 Sep 2007|11:02pm] |
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mood |
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 cranky |
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music |
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LA cuna Coil |
] |
Wish I could write like that again. Or feel those violent passions once again. Everything I went through . Everything. The loneliness amidst those dense acacia forests and hills overlooking the serene valley and world's greenest technopolis. The dark grotto of virgin Mary and the bougainvilleas above the steps. The nameless yellow flowers bathed in the fragrant morning mist . The dark passage behind the library that darkened sooner than usual the evening before I left. The room that flooded with rain. The coffin covered with yellow roses. Oh, the most precious possessions I have . Those priceless moments. I won't trade it for anything in the world. And I know one day I am gonna write about it all. About everything. Aman. . I owe it to my past. I do. I owe it to all those tears I haven't learned how to hold back . They have to be avenged. Or this life is not worth living at all.
My heart's breaking in to pieces. please don't let me die before I do it. I can't hold up those storms for long. They have to come forth. And kill. And wipe the wounds away.
Watched ulladakkam yesterday. The dark tunnels of my soul are lit in expectation love. Come to me when its time...am waiting with all my heart and soul.
I am extremely disturbed by my conversations with Christian. I just can't accept the fact that behind that sweet innocent exterior there's another, very different person hiding. Whom he laid bare in front of me today. I wish he hadn't. I shudder to think of the things he told me. At this age.., I wouldn't ever want my kids to grow up in this city. I am extremely agitated and unhappy today. I wish he had just maintained that facade of a normal person. And how naïve I had been. How very naïve.
Dear Sylvia.... Constantin is gay. It was so obvious. How couldn't you see it? Its not you, its him.
I am very tired today. I don't know why. It should have been a happy day. I was so very active until I went to sleep in the afternoon. Everything was just fine. Then I got up and it's as if depression is creeping in. Physically I am okay. But I have that vague, indefinable sense of loss, faithlessness and futility. Wish I could do something about it. Haven't written to Taylor yet. Explorer is acting funny.
Last night I had this dream about Colton. It was one of those innumerable dreams I have had about going back to the dept and seeing him. He was apparently happy to see me this time. (He acts differently each time) He even made some remarks to his present batch about me coming back, without addressing me directly. Then there were dreams about hideous men trying to attack me, rape me. I screamed loudly and frightened them all away. Then I dreamt about Mohan lal marrying a blind woman in some movie. It was full of red. Strange, depressing dreams.
I don't know. I am angry at half the world. All men, that is. I hate them for not letting us be. For intruding into our lives all the time, trying to take control, to preach as to what is to be done, casting lusty looks all the time, saying they want to savor us, as if we were all some delicious dishes.
I know I want to write, but I am afraid, I am merely trying to satisfy my urge by feeding it other irrelevant pleasures, mere fluff to fill the void, which collapse very soon into nothingness. Then I am empty again. Then I'll hunt down some long forgotten desire to wear cotton kurtas or drink tang, to cook menudo or study cognitive psychology and fulfill it, trying so foolishly to keep my mind from thinking about the ultimate cure. Delaying it ...until god knows when.
In between, I thought I could write prose. Reading bell jar. It was so foolish. One look at my life Elsewhere which should have actually been named Lyric Age, and I knew my mind can never order itself to yield to the structures and shapes of prose. Oh, I am so typically Jaromil, I know.
Wish I could go to Phoenix. Krishna, wish I could just forget everything, past, present and future, and uncoil myself, all the knots, bonds and tangles that I am. And release everything that's pent up within. Want to erase all memories and experiences. Then I'll open my eyes to Taylor's smiling face. A new start to a fresh, untainted, life. He is an icon still, no matter how much I pretend to joke about it.
Am I mad? Am writing it as if Taylor is reading everything over my shoulder. He's probably not even bothered.
I am the luckiest soul on earth, having been one of Taylor's immeasurable loves.
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[02 Sep 2007|11:02pm] |
says he's going to fly, a sunset wrecked with
spiderwebs and bits and pieces of
debris, broken hearts and matters left to rest.
waxing wings like lyrical motions of hands, too bare to
feign importance and shrill calling of bells, nothing left
and nowhere left to run.
wings fall like flowers, water runs like thickness from eyes that cannot burn
anymore.
says he's going to fly, bone-like, a statue stone cold in the
darkness of the greenery, a deserted setting for
flash and focus, life zooming out and resting in
hollow cavities belonging to a torn heart.
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[29 Aug 2007|12:23pm] |
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I have forgotten about livejournal. I have absolutely no time to update I'm living in Arizona the desert is beauitful the sunsets are breathtaking the air however; is hard to breath I miss Korea now that i have left it behind me.
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| Random |
[26 Aug 2007|10:18pm] |
it was a stalker's dream come true.
five hours in a passenger's seat equals a forever freeze in disbelief.
no other music comes to mind
but a david gray ditty and urban dub's 7th song,
both involving the word "sail."
midnight blue sneakers matched midnight blue seat covers.
beady little eyes of a hamster on a skin deprived of melanin
matched blood lacking hemoglobin.
my merchant china man,
you put just the right letters
to make a hollow, muscular organ
throb
Shall we do the whole reminiscing thing all over again? I think not.
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| I hate Koreans. |
[31 Jul 2007|04:36pm] |
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... I don't care how terrible that sounds. Korean people are rude & deceiving I speak mainly of the older generation, although the younger kids are pretty fucking stupid and ignorant.
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| Making fun of a pretty sunset. |
[18 Jul 2007|01:48pm] |
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mood |
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music |
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Portishead. |
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Today I realized my life still holds those moments when you can suddenly see the world around you fade into an unreal fog and you hear only those dream moments from the past flutter by, with wings of quivering silk. I was walking in dream spaces, hearing voices trembling with emotion, never uttered but in sleep. Words never said to me, but inscribed on the green walls of my memories... songs sung for the most beautiful women of his time, but trapped in the never-ending corridors of my passion.
Shammi Kapoor is the name of that moment. "Abhi zyadatar uske driver aate hein... woh aged hogaye na... "
And I knew I was the same schoolgirl in love again. The eyes, in which I saw love and passion for the first time, were looking at me again from the bright sunlight behind the window... oh, to think he has walked the sands of this chowpatty, his feet touched this earth...!
And I have never craved for anyone like this seventy-year-old man.
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| We never really knew eachother |
[13 Jul 2007|12:12pm] |
It is easy to say isn’t it?
“I don’t love you anymore, good bye.”
It’s easy, simply easy.
I hope it’s as true as it sounds. When one decides that the lunacy would stop, that the obsession, the paranoia, the phalanx position, the battlestar scralatchtica in one’s mind would come to an end, what happens to all the spoils? His favorite bands, his favorite songs, his rich brat car, his midnight blue sneakers – I wouldn’t know what to do with all these useless pieces of memory. I’d throw them all away and store codal provisions in my brain instead. But I couldn’t. These are exactly the sort of things that cling. You fall in love with an idiot and you smell the rotten stench for years.
Why couldn’t he just be decent? I know he can’t speak very well, and his social skills aren’t exactly the most charming, but common human decency is the bare minimum requirement. And he couldn’t even meet that. If a full grown man with seemingly exceptional qualities would still turn out to be a complete jerk, I would begin to sit down and rethink my heterosexuality very carefully. It’s just very frustrating. It’s as if you’re holding out your white linen spread for some kid to spill spaghetti sauce all over.
My merchant chinaman, there is just no more room in my life for another one of your kind. I had hoped that at the very least, if we clearly aren’t Nancy and Dean in “baby, it’s cold outside,” we could be friends. But circumstances put us where we could never happen. Oblivion will sustain you, I know, so my anger is of no moment, not today, not ever.
What was David Gray saying in that nine-minute song of his? Oh, yes:
“I never knew you,
You never knew me
Say hello, Good bye;
Say hello and wave Good bye,”
Let’s get back to being strangers.
Divorced at 23.
Just wonderful.
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| The Trigger is stuck. |
[10 Jul 2007|01:37pm] |
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I've always meant to write about that goofy look on your face. It was like Mickey Mouse on crack- HUGE eyes (and I thought I look like a stoner when I grin like that...), mouth stretched too thin. Cartoonish. Japanese children babbling in the background, a stranger sitting five feet away, and another person I thought I knew (who later became a stranger) sitting right there, watching.
I've always meant to write about how hard I giggled with embarrasment. How my cheeks must have flushed to fuschia. How I wasn't sure of my own reasoning for a while there, shaking with laughter, with thoughts of "What the fuck IS this?" racing through my head. I mean, YOU were pretty close to being a stranger at the time. Our conversations mostly consisted of facetious death threats, curses, and insults. One night you even feigned strangling me and I nearly had an aneurism because of the strange complex I have about people touching my neck. I certainly never would have predicted this scenario, which I am finally writing about.
You looked like a raving lunatic, lying there on a nondescript bean-bag chair. Fucking insane. I kissed you anyway, tongue and all. I never did figure out why I went through with that. I mean, my then-boyfriend-now-stranger's eyebrow plucking habits can't have been of total importance.
It was senseless, clumsy, strange- like song lyrics minus the melody or Menthol cigarettes (okay, so it was better than Menthols). I suppose, though, that it's the senseless part of life that makes it worth living. And true, it was strange, but what isn't strange?
.
I remember attempting to watch a DVD. Iron Maiden, I think it was. We lasted about fifteen minutes before you got inspired.
I remember going to room, watching you play electric guitar, and being amazed. I remember you handing me an acoustic, and I remember quite clearly how much I suck. We laughed.
I remember going outside in the dark. Walking. I remember explaining to you the situation with my boyfriend, who was passed out asleep on your bed at the time- how his guilty conscienced-self had given me permission to cheat.
I remember you telling me about yourself...an ex girlfriend...college. we actually had a conversation that did not involve killing each other.
We sat on concrete, up against a little bridge. Your pale skin glowed in the dark, and I stared at the moon while we talked. You danced around from time to time.
I remember pauses in our banter. Strange residual awkwardness...I don't know what that was. I didn't know then, either.
I shrugged it off.
Getting in the car with my then-boyfriend to make the drive to his house, and then to mine, he turned to me and said "You two totally like each other." I gave him a funny look. It was senseless.
I remember calling you a few weeks later, on the verge of tears, after having an excruciatingly painful phone conversation with him- knowing the end was all too near. I explained the situation and said, "I need someone to make me laugh. You almost always do."
I remember too much rum in my orange juice. I remember being a pirate, dancing. Music.
The senselessness that has since developed between the two of us is somewhere between our strange kiss and our even stranger friendship. Sometimes it's awkward, sometimes it's smooth.
Either way, it's fine with me.
Things have changed. everything changes, I feel violently happy and guilty all at the same time tonight, i'm glad i have restraint because there are parts of me that are constantly fighting each other &
i hope the good side wins
the recent events in my life have made me feel like that acrylic i did when i went insane that one night.
[burning alive from the inside]
and in a way i like it
it feigns orgasmic
but i have to realize that the seams need to be ripped out and re-sewn
and that the design must be improved
i'm feeling love, love not just for lovers (i miss that lately) but love for ideas, love for people with ideas, and love for people who express their ideas so beautifully my knees can't handle and weaken
new events in my life include:
-Counting down 26 more days
-consuming nature to become happier
-feeling lonely, and lonelier yet
-wounds from the past re-opening and proving their usefulness
26 more days and I can drive again.
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| Farewell Lover. |
[05 Jul 2007|09:14am] |
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I wonder if you can feel my stomach tremble and turn when I can't breathe from the drowning, the salt of my body cinching me to this enveloping liquid madness.
I wonder about you, semi-medicated insomniatic bleary blue eyed beautiful staring through painful glass tears. What were you thinking? It wasn't the same thing. Different atmospheres, different people influencing thoughts. Finding binding ways to think not of how it was before, but how they made it sound, how it is now, and how they say it will be.
But then there's me.
I promised you forever and always, as you're the embodiment of spectral emotions, the personification of purity and deviance, want and need. You're impossible to define without slipping ungracefully in a puddle of sticky cliché. You're everything that keeps.
But that's only me.
I wonder about you, lonely, medicated insomniatic teary blue eyed beautiful staring through painful glass ceiling. What're you thinking? It can't be the same thing. A similar atmosphere, similar isolation within tilled thoughts. Never finding ways to not think of how it was before, how they're making it sound, how it is now, how it might or might not be past each tomorrow.
There's no getting forgetting anywhere.
I wonder if you can feel my chest tighten and wrench when I can't speak from the ripping, the enveloping madness and full body spasms shredding away any remnant of comforting peace.
I wonder if you're feeling the same thing.
My love affair with South Korea will be ending soon, Bitter sweet thoughts of leaving are overwhelming, I think of everything i'll miss and I become nostalgic. I'll miss how Everything here in Korea is graceful and elegant how Some places are so struck with beauty you have to remind yourself to breathe, I'll miss the smell of sulfur and kimchi. But most of all i'll miss my Co-Worker, Choi the Brittish Katusa i'll miss his awkward brittish accent and i'll always be thankful i had him by my side during my whole adventure here. He's been my closest friend, I trust him with my foolishness and he willingly accepts it maybe because he's foolish too. I'll never forget you friend
Sowun Dance Performance
 
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| Dearest. |
[25 Jun 2007|11:34am] |
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 contemplative |
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Metric |
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I have spent my time frustrated and unfulfilled. Happiness is something found within and I found happiness long ago. I've had various beliefs regarding my purpose. I've spent time searching for answers. I've spent time lamenting. I've spent time only surviving. I've spent time attempting to improve my capabilities. I've pursued hedonism. Sadism. Atheism. Christianity. Buddhism. I've acquainted myself with histories great philosophers. I've searched for peace; peace of body and of mind. I've pursued social sciences. I've searched for understanding. I've searched for truth, riches, knowledge, companionship and love. I've hunted and been hunted by time. Reputations won and lost and inescapable. I've confronted my fears. I've attempted communication with equals and unequals. I've tried drugs and sobriety. Rituals and prayer. I've looked for kindred spirits in literature and speech. I've attempted honesty and treachery. I've been myth. I've been legend. I've been invisible to the world and to myself.
What I've found to be consistent, dependable and unavoidable in this world are violence and fear. They are the ultimate powers that conquer all others. Love being the ultimate power is a rumor. Love is strong and can overcome much adversity, but the blind, incommunicable sweeping force of fear and violence yield to no power. All the love in the world is eschewed and trampled upon in a moment of rage and confusion. I got it now. i'll figure it out. I accept it. You win. Call me , please. You know where to find me; I'll be in the light, sans sunglasses, offering you a smile that's indistinguishable from joy and dissapointment, waiting for the ride; or, perhaps, waiting for the ride to stop. I suppose you were right all along and that's why this occurred. I apologize. Let's fix this. Finally, inevitably, indubitably yours.
it is monsoon season in Korea.
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[19 Jun 2007|03:22pm] |
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mood |
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 mellow |
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Seabound - Rome on Fire ] |
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Una notte, camminerò nuda fuori durante una tempesta. Permetterò la pioggia e la grandine mi batere. Dai lividi, dai sangui, dai dolori - il mio corpo si scoglierà e la mia anima nascerà di nuovo.
I'm feeling extremely polluted. The chemicals and hair dye and cigarettes and coffee and pealing tattoo. I wonder if people like Charlize or Kara ever feel polluted. I'm not sure. People "like that" seem clear. Seem. Free of moldy houses and bad skin and animal hair sticking to clothes even though one doesn't own a pet. Of course it's wrong to think that way. Neither a complaint nor a comparison.
I dance myself to exhaustion sometimes and it feels great
Unharnessed and hardly innocent ecstacy.
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| Oh, who will render in our tongue, A real update. |
[09 Jun 2007|03:02pm] |
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I want to be a man so badly sometimes. To have their beauty, their strength, to know how they feel bodily from within instead of without.
I remember thinking that if I looked like a man, somehow I'd be beautiful like one. Strong. Capable. I know that I also used it as a way to keep men away from me during my rocky period in 10th grade when I was mistrustful of men and never wanted to be touched by another one as long as I lived. I wanted to be a man so that men would stay away from me, even though I still lusted after them. Thinking back on that time in my life, I realize now how badly I treated myself...what a horrible shambles my mental state was. I really have been my own worst enemy for most of my life.
It's been a long time since I seriously thought that I'm just no good at being a woman...that I hate being a woman, and I so want to be a man. Today, I kind of feel that way again. Oh, I know that, as a woman, I have all these emotional luxuries - the right to be soft and fragile, to cry at whim, to have men clamoring to be perfect gentlemen around me - but I don't want to be fragile. I don't like crying. I prefer to open my own doors and pull out my own chair.
I've been told that I'm intimidating; "too much woman". But is it really such a bad, fearsome thing to be a woman who hungers to meet a man head-to-head, blow-for-blow, match his passion and strength with her own? Is the idea of being equals with a woman really so threatening? I don't want to emasculate - I want the man I'm with to feel empowered; set alight, as it were, by my strength - feminine strength, but strength nonetheless. I think I can be a lady in the living room and a marvelous bitch in bed without compromising myself or him.
Today, I want to be a man.
"And when the sun sets its vigilant eye, when history is past, I will not only wrap myself in my cloak but I will throw the night around me like a veil, and I will come to you - I will listen as the savage listens - not for your footsteps but for the beating of your heart"
I am the architect of my own misfortune.
I think I'm doomed to keep running into him, the boy I once called my "faunlet of an evening"; the boy at least two years younger than me who had my head in such a whirl at two consecutive conventions...
And now today. A surprise from out of nowhere.
He looked the same as he ever has - still achingly beautiful, still Van Veen in glasses and khaki shorts...and still, quite surprisingly, able to send a thrill of desire like a shock of water through the desert of my libido-starved nerves. He's the first boy I've seen since Adi, who has done that to me, filled me with such immediate and unforseen hunger. I suppose it makes sense, though. I've wanted that boy since the first time I saw him; doubly so since we danced. It seems like such a long time ago now, my dulcet little darling, but I still feel the material of your suit under the pads of my fingers, your warmth against the length of my torso, your delicious weight pressed into one lucky thigh.
Of course, it's nonesense to think of him I am leaving this place in less than 2 months. And I recognize that this boy is and always has been just a passing fancy for me - the one who McFate allowed that I touch for a moment, and whom I then had to let go. And I'm fine with that. It's better, really, because , were I actually to get to know him, befriend him, or share a relationship with him, then he would cease to be bathed in the romantic light in which he is always displayed in my mind's sugar-rimmed mirror; cease to be my little Van, my lithe, porcelain-and-poison prey, and become instead just another boy, dull and course and flawed as all the rest of humanity...and that would be a very sad thing indeed.
Klimt, Gustav. "Judith I." 1901 Wien, Österreichische Galerie
I used to feel like I was almost completely free, at long last. Now I feel trapped again. I can't be myself, can't be open with what I feel, for fear of angering, hurting, frustating. Others. Not-me. Me is just somebody who should smile and be quiet, for their sake. I feel myself slipping backwards into that old hole, crawling back into that old cage. I've got so much I feel like I need to say, but it's all been said before, so it's just wasting words. It's useless and pointless. If I just keep blabbering on and on, what possible good will it do? It's a self-perpetuating, viscious circle...and it's better if I just shut up.
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| Bibliophilia and a Vision of Heaven |
[09 Jun 2007|02:48pm] |
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Hidden |
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Vedera. |
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The street winds labyrinthine before me. I push forwards, through walls of salt-sweet, ghostly mist, as though through the silvered and sea-starred cloaca of a gasping ocean girl.
To be born white and new; to stand with garments soaked through, and my very heart visible through palpitating flesh. To know that the light of my spirit shines forth like a knife through the dross I so wish to leave behind myself.
All around me, pages fly. I want them gone away from me. I want the scribblings to become unintelligible. Let my voice die in the caverns of Lethe. Let me forget. Let me be forgotten.
My head aches as though I had crushed it against a solid wall. Have I not? Have I not paced my prison a thousand times, and tried, through sheer force of will, to break my way out of it?
I want to dance with gods. I want gold to shower out of the sky and enkindle me with divine fire. I want swans to encircle me like pearl-silked handmaidens on the tangled banks of narcotic streams. Let me become a tree, a reed, a star. Let me listen, and speak no more.
All the names I have borne: scratch them from the tablets and scour them from the tombs.
The true freedom is to have no history.
Why did I chain myself here?
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[09 Jun 2007|10:27am] |
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music |
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Sia- Breathe me |
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i'm always a little sad when company leaves. each visitor takes away a little something that we shared during the visit- laughs are canned up and anecdotes packed away until next time. our once free-flowing conversations will be replaced with morse code spurts of information. dit dit diiiiit dit diiiiit dit dit.
we'll collect so many stories in the interim that upon meeting again, they'll be gushed out with no care for pesky punctuation.
for now, i'll just enjoy the iced coffee and wait for the morning glories to bloom.
I told Christopher I would give him another chance to prove me wrong, to prove that he isn't like "everyone else" I can't help being manipulative. I am evil, i'm not proud of my actions but I can't control myself; i'm too good at this. I can't sleep at night-- I have a conscience I don't know where it came from; but it has arrived.
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| New Tattoo. |
[06 Jun 2007|09:22am] |
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mood |
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 hungry |
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Thanks to PFC Masters, My friend.
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| Change |
[30 May 2007|01:12pm] |
I was in bed last night, falling asleep, and suddenly it hit me. I understood completely why I have always felt the urge to move forward; why I have never been comfortable in the corners I've carved out for myself. The universe is telling me about the change I'm being directed to bring out.
I've always had problems in my life, but nothing that has physically restrained my ability to move forward. I have this instinctual urge to lead and make a difference: to stand out from the crowd. The universe is trying to set my out on the course I need to follow
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widow's journal