Colored Ink
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miss something? check the archives name: n/a aliases: kit, kitsuki de kage (don't ask), hey you, the smart girl, foxay, kitkat, kittykat location: southern california contact: coloredink@mailcity.com you have to add the .com age: 17 hobbies: anime, manga, drawing, reading, writing, video games, French horn likes: all of the above, being lazy, laughing loudly in public, animals, mushrooms dislikes: bugs and insects (especially the stinging kind), ignorant people, religious fanatics who attempt to convert everyone in sight, violence, olives playstation 2 20-30 gig hard drive car summer job a good night's sleep money stress-free life dip pen + ink dayworld by philip josé farmer kabuki by david mack over the rhine cd moxy fruvous cd anime/manga yaoi/shounenai clamp music animals life and living candles video games my mice school (**cries**) ffx the great gatsby by f. scott fitzgerald ff6 ffx galerians (sieangame) hana yori dango (16) gravitation oav (1) fruits basket (17) ayashi no ceres (11) utena (15) rayearth (8) gto tv (4) ccs tv (8) blaze of mirage (3) |
Monday, June 17, 2002 [link] 08:23 p.m. listening to: "Calypso" - Suzanne Vega . . . sorry about that. Sometimes I get a little stressed and frustrated, and at this point in time I'm feeling really burned out. It doesn't help that most of my friends are already out of school and enjoying their summer vacations, which only serves to remind me that I am still stuck in fucking school taking my fucking finals. There are some nights where you want to lie outside and stargaze, listening to "Call Me Call Me" in your head. This is one of them, but I can't see the stars. The sky never gets dark here, only rose-colored. (can't see the stars, and i think it's killing me) Monday, June 17, 2002 [link] 05:04 p.m. listening to: "Call Me Call Me" - Yoko Kanno I am tired and I am angry and I am hurting and I don't want to revise this essay anymore I don't want to watch The Grapes of Wrath anymore I just want school to end end end why won't it end I want to rest I want to laugh I want to run I am suffocating in this sun-baked state where I cannot dance in the rain or take walks in the woods or look at the stars and I hate it I hate it I hate it here I think it's killing me and I'm dying and I want to be free let me see the ocean let me feel the wind let me see the end of the world. Monday, June 17, 2002 [link] 04:07 p.m. listening to: "Call and Answer" - Barenaked Ladies Mars isn't fucking far enough. I am constantly reminded of how life, people, and the world are shit. But I keep hoping for the better anyway. And now, I think it's time for me to explain why I don't like having my picture taken. It's not really that I believe that a camera sucks your soul out. That's just something I use as an excuse. Part of the reason is that I don't really care much about my appearance and I hate being reminded about that. But the much greater reason is that I don't like people having a "piece" of me. Well, obviously, pictures of me have been taken before. Yearbook/ID picture, relatives taking pictures; those can't really be gotten away from. But I avoid having my picture taken as much as I can, because it feels wrong somehow for someone to have me on a piece of photo paper. I don't like memories, moments, time crystallized like that. That's why most people like photos, but that's the reason why I hate them. This is all very ironic, of course, coming from an aspiring writer who does her best to capture things like these in words. So much for "a picture is worth a thousand words." But somehow, I like words more. They leave some of it up to your imagination. And while, yeah, pictures can be manipulated very nicely and cameras can lie, it's. . . not the same. It really isn't. Sunday, June 16, 2002 [link] 07:01 p.m. listening to: "Strange Waters" - Bruce Cockburn/"Mercy Street" - Peter Gabriel FFX blah blah blah. I am, as they say, running on fumes, so this will not be very coherent. Current Location: Some desert in the freakin' middle of nowhere, looking for Yuna. I never realized how horribly inconvenient life is without a summoner. It took me, like, ten minutes to kill one of those freakin' #$%^$# sandworms. And having to use potions is irritating. At least everything I kill seems to give me hi-potions. It's really cool how Rikku can kill machina by stealing from them. Teehee. Auron makes me want to cry. I don't even know why, either. Actually, never mind, the entire game makes me want to cry. Every time I play, it's with this funny shaky feeling in my chest, like I'm going to fly apart any second. It intensified while watching Jecht's sphere. I had Strange Waters stuck in my head the entire time I was under the lake. Seymour kicked my ass the first time through. Then the second time through I managed to kill him, but I till had to sacrifice two of my Aeons to do it. Fighting Anima was not fun. At all. I think I need to level up. I was levelled by the Guado and the Wendigo, too. I'll just run around in the desert some more. The backgrounds still stun me. The Macalania Woods were simply breathtaking. Even more awesome was the glassy path that appeared when I turned back to try the butterfly game again. I thought it looked like a path of spun stars. I don't know why it took me until Macalania Woods to notice, but Auron in battle has a little sphere/pyrefly thing orbiting him. I think this must be significant, somehow. I also think that I don't want to find out what it is or whether or not it's important. Not yet. Wakka is so thickheaded it's funny. There are some stories that I don't want to end. This is one of them. I bought dinner for my dad today. Sunday, June 16, 2002 [link] 05:28 a.m. listening to: "Wake Up, Jonah" - Bruce Cockburn I have just been through the most irritating night of my short lifetime. A year or two ago, I suffered from horrible insomnia. It's since then solved itself, but occasionally I still have sporadic bad nights. Now, I normally sleep very soundly. Earthquakes do not wake me up. I sleep through thunderstorms. If I wake up, I can normally get back to sleep pretty quickly. I like my sleep. When I am woken up, that's a different story. We presently have a tenant who gets back at odd hours of the night. So far this hasn't disturbed me, because I've been awake every time she's come home late. But last night I slept early because I wanted to be fresh for tutoring today, and she came home at twelve thirty. Apparently she had trouble with unlocking the door in the dark, the scraping woke me up, and I almost panicked because I thought someone was trying to jimmy the door and break into the house. Then I figured out it was the tenant. She got in all right, wondered why I was still up (I didn't say anything), and then went to bed. I haven't been able to sleep since. I tried to sleep for about an hour or so, then got up and watched TV. I watched "Jeff's Collie," the predecessor to "Lassie." Jeff possesses the kind of common sense that Timmy does not, which is wonderful. When he and his friend were trapped in a forest fire, he had the sense to stay calm, find water, and sit in a river until a helicopter came by and rescued them. Huzzah! Then I watched half an episode of "Lassie," which was in color and strangely absent of little boys. I caught the last ten minutes of "Finding Forrester," which is a movie I'm told I should see. Then I switched back and forth between "Timmy and Lassie" and "Strictly Ballroom," which is a wonderful, wonderful movie. I love "Strictly Ballroom." I also saw something disturbing called "Skippy," which is apparently the Australian version of Lassie and features a kangaroo instead of a collie. I tried to go back to sleep about a half hour ago, but the birds were singing really loudly and I couldn't. So, maybe I'll try to go back to sleep for an hour or so. I'm going to be headachy later. Rar. And today's my FFX day! Saturday, June 15, 2002 [link] 08:46 p.m. listening to: "Landslide" - Fleetwood Mac I think I wrote something I'm proud of! I posted it on the srb, but I'm posting it here too because I think more people read this than the srb. But I may be wrong. where do memories go, when they're forgotten? i don't think they disappear. they're put away, maybe, in old boxes of hurt and despair and love and compassion. they gather dust, maybe, like old photo albums on a shelf. but sooner or later, someone takes down those photo albums again, and giggle and coo and cry over them. or maybe they're left out on the windowsill, to blow away like chaff in the wind. maybe they go up into the clouds and stay there, along with the lost kites and flown-away balloons. maybe there's a heaven for memories, where they are never forgotten, where they are cherished in the palms of little girls' hands and in golden lockets and heart-shaped pendants. maybe they ring silver bells for the angels or become the notes of harps. maybe they're dropped into fountains like wishing-pennies, flickering downwards and downwards, swaying and dipping until they land amongst a pile of other memories. maybe they whisper to each other like mice in the straw. were you forgotten, too? what are you? the first bicycle ride. the first birthday party. the first kiss. a shooting star. a grandmother's smile. maybe the bad memories are the loudest, the rudest, the noisiest. maybe that's why they're easier to remember. maybe there is an old man who comes along after hours and sweeps them all up. he can see them, left behind on old picnic tables and dry lawns and sun-baked sidewalks. he sweeps them up with an old push-broom the color of glass, so that they're glittering in a pile like the shards of broken bottles. and then what he does with them, i don't know. Saturday, June 15, 2002 [link] 08:27 p.m. listening to: "French Perfume" - Great Big Sea So, Winamp has pulled a Spike Spiegel skin on "French Perfume," and it occurs to me that wow, it's also a great theme song for Spike. I can definitely seem him laughing maniacally while smashing Swordfish II into an asteroid or something. Well, maybe not laughing maniacally. Grinning maniacally. And that's it, really. Saturday, June 15, 2002 [link] 04:24 p.m. listening to: "Drink With Me" - Les Miserables You should all be insanely jealous of me. I have wasabi mayonnaise. **maniacal laughter** Seriously now, the problem with wasabi mayonnaise is that you can't taste the rest of the sandwich unless you're eating, like, pastrami or something. With really strong cheese. I mean, I had two turkey sandwiches with muenster cheese just now, and I couldn't taste anything except the wasabi. Cleared my sinuses, though. Friday, June 14, 2002 [link] 04:23 p.m. listening to: ditto And now, it would seem that Charter is once again being a complete fucking ass. I don't like stealing memes from Technomancy (I always feel guilty and unoriginal), but I really, really want to use this one. Charter Pipeline, I hope you get ASS CANCER. Friday, June 14, 2002 [link] 03:27 p.m. listening to: "I Will Remember You"/"Hold On" - Sarah McLachlan Feels like the last day of school, but it isn't. Today was Senior Check-Out Day. Finals will start next week. I have decided to adopt a new philosophy regarding memories. In Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine, there is a chapter devoted to old Mrs. Helen Bentley, who is something of a pack rat. She keeps theater programs, ticket stubs, jewelry, childhood dresses, old photographs, everything that has any kind of sentimental value to it. When the neighborhood children accuse her of never having been young (as young children will do), they tries to prove to them that she was a little girl once, with old photographs and a hair comb and a tiny ring. But the children still disbelieve her and steal her things. However, later that night, Mrs. Bentley remembers a conversation with her late husband. “My dear, you never will understand time, will you? You’re always tying to be the things you were, instead of the person you are tonight. Why do you save those ticket stubs and theater programs? They’ll only hurt you later. Throw them away, my dear.” I have never once bought a yearbook in my high school career. I've looked at other people's yearbooks and I've signed them, but I've never wanted one of my own. To me, it seemed like a waste of money. I can spend sixty dollars on something else. If I were going to get one, I thought, I'd get it my senior year, when those memories will matter the most. But now, it seems to me that that's the reason I shouldn't buy a yearbook. It's not that I want to forget or repress these memories, it's just that I think they will somehow seem more important if they're not contained inside a hardbound book. I doubt I'd ever look at that yearbook ever again, anyway; it would remain gathering dust in a box somewhere. If the memories are that important to me, I think, I'll keep them in my head, in my heart. If I forget, then they were never that important anyway. So if I seem brusque or abrupt in these days where people are the most sentimental, please understand that I'm not trying to be rude. I feel just as mushy and sentimental as everyone else. I will miss the seniors just as much as everyone else. It's hard to believe the year is almost over, that there are so many people I won't be seeing ever again. It's just that, as Rikku said, I prefer to keep my memories inside. Thursday, June 13, 2002 [link] 10:25 p.m. listening to: "Call Me Call Me" - Yoko Kanno Look! Look! My entries have links now! You can link to individual entries now! Aren't I cool? Huh? Huh huh huh huh huh? Even though it required Gen pretty much walking me through the whole thing step by step because I Am An Idiot who should not be trusted with sharp objects by herself. But that's okay. Thursday, June 13, 2002 [link] 10:19 p.m. listening to: "Call Me Call Me" - Yoko Kanno This is a test. This is only a test. Ignore ignore ignore. |
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