December 22, 2006
Today's several book store trips threw me into ecstasy. My father and sister wonder why I am drawn to every single book store in the mall (Today the one we went to is one of the biggest in the world, so there were at least four different book stores within - at the most - five minutes walking distance). I have no idea either. My new favorite is called "A Different Bookstore" (logo in Lucida Console, no caps. Charming.) because it stocks nothing but bestsellers and has possibly the widest (six, and the Fight Club publication was one I have never seen before, with a fist on the cover under a pattern of diagonal lines) selection of Chuck Palahniuk books in the country. It is small and cozy, it is quiet, no annoying salesclerks, every shelf has the small sign [paraphrased due to bad memory] "We encourage you to browse through our books. Feel free to tear off the plastic wrap if you wish.", all books are neat and alphabetized, the plastic wrap is not too tight that it bends the book (which I hate), on the counter are cute quotation magnets, and in another branch of the same bookstore I had a nice chat about contemporary literature with the nice salesman, who tried to convince me to buy The Kiterunner. Speaking of quotations, I found Bartlett's (!) but it is a heartbreaking 2415 pesos so all I did with it was read the synopsis (this was at Power Books, where they are cold and do not have kind encouragements of Tearing Off the Plastic) and then use it as a backing to write out this list: P2415 - Bartlett's Familiar Quotations - John Bartlett - Hardcover P0339 - The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold P1129 - A Spot of A Bother - Mark Haddon - Hardcover P0475 - The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger P0359 - Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim - David Sedaris P0359 - Me Talk Pretty One Day - David Sedaris P0375 - Haunted - Chuck Palahniuk P2089 - The Great LIFE Photographers - LIFE P1439 - In Focus: National Geographic's Greatest Portraits - National Geographic P0179 - Mrs Dalloway - Virginia Woolf (but I want the hardcover which is P0499 geez) P0315 - 1984 - George Orwell P1225 - Ariel - Sylvia Plath P0745 - The Amazing Adventured os Kavalier and Clay - Michael Chabon P0609 - The Virgin Suicides - Jeffrey Eugenides P0709 / P0359 - Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides P0515 - American Psycho - Bret Easton Ellis This is incomplete, and only from One book store. Oh yes, and I have found The One it was sitting in the journal section of Power Books and is a fucktastic P959 which I do not possess and my father will never in his life cough out for - and I quote - "just a notebook" (??!?!!?!!!! Just a notebook! Hardcover, magnet wrap, hardcover, magnet wrap, HARDCOVER, MAGNET WRAP. And note the design.) so maybe I can conspire an incident where in I will be squished by a whole bookshelf and they will Have to give me something for free so I don't file a lawsuit against them. (Also on the site is a Van Gogh one but it doesn't sell here :( ) Something interesting I actually typed out in my cellphone from this book: Journal entry of a SoHo resident September 9th, 2001 - I invited my friend John Mari Campbell, a meditation teacher and mentor, to Sunday dinner. He likes to describe himself as a guide to the interior. John arrives around 5 p.m., a bit more reserved than usual. "Well, I had a dream last night I will share with you, if you like. I dreamed that I was just north of that big beige building downtown by the World Trade Center. What is it called?" "You mean the Woolworth duilding? The Neo-Gothic one with the copper roof and the gargoyles?" "Yes, that's the one. Well, there I was in the neighborhood. I was looking downtown at the building. Suddenly, it began to crumble like an avalanche from the top down, crushing and killing mostly women on the sidewalk. It reminded me of the Tower Card in the Tarot. I especially remember a large black woman being crushed. The granite block was so big that I thought to myself, damn, she won't even be a stain on the sidewalk. "At this point I turned to a guy standing nearby and said, 'Hey, man, did you see that?' Then I looked up to where the building had stood and to my surprise, as we looked up, it was back where it was before. Restored to its original stature, perfect. Then it crumbled a second time, repeating the original sequence. And that was the end of the dream." Having known John for many years, I know that this is not a dream one should take lightly. Like me, he has a history of precognitive dreaming. At times our dreams have even been related to similar events. I am a bit startled by the violence of the imagery and I say, "Well, I hope your dream is personal and metaphorical and not precognitive or collective!" John says: "I don't know. It doesn't feel like personal material to me. I'm thinking it might mean that the stock market is going to crash or something dramatic like that." September 11th, 2001 I awake with a bit of a start and look over at the big red numbers on my digital alarm clock. It is 8:43 a.m. The alarm is set for 8:45. The phone rings. I look at the clock. It's 8:55. I pick it up. "Hello, it's Steve calling from San Francisco. Turn on your TV. A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center. I thought I should call and make sure you are OK." What is the one film you never get sick of? Anything new happening to you next year? Do you ever notice a person's eyelashes? Have you ever marvelled at the contrast between the green leaves of trees and the bright blue sky? Striped socks or polkadotted socks (I prefer striped ones, because polkadotted ones become ugly once circles are distorted by the contours of the foot)? Do you like massages? If you see a lot of hands for a long time, do they suddenly appear jelly and weird-shaped and downright creepy? Has a stranger ever asked if they could take your photo? Since a few weeks ago I have been feeling weird and different. On crying Weakness? Hardly. It means you are human. This may or may not be a good thing, depending on how you view life, but if you can read this then obviously you are human and we pathetic living creatures have to deal. Feeling weird and different includes not crying despite insane amount of upsetting happenings. Not that I am not upset about things that used to upset me, but now I just react differently and it's worse than just fucking crying my eyes out. On Little Miss Sunshine Adorable! Charming! I don't know whether to laugh or cry at it, it is a beautiful movie. Although, I felt that the lead wasn't very dominating. Little Olive who brought about the whole story by qualifying for the Little Miss Sunshine pageant did what was an inch far from a *t**p***s* (avoiding spoilers) for her performance was the big climax of the film, but other than that she was pretty much out of it. Dwayne stole the show, in my opinion. Dwayne the quiet and - when we find out later in the film - c*****l**d. On karaoke singing/karaoke machines Why was it even invented? On writing "So have you decided whether to take journalism in college?" (wrong use of "whether", sir) "Oh, sir, I decided on that a long time ago." Liar! On time/life management I am Adrienne's pain in the ass procrastinating mechanism. For years I have successfully made her postpone and eventually eradicate the pathetic little plans she enumerates in this pathetic little space on the Internet. Right now, she has some serious penwork to do for her friends, her lousy way of justifying her existence, but I say, Look! A book to read! You can't work during the day, you have all night to do it, who needs sleep? Even though I see she has already written so much over here in her head, it's nuts, she is fucking pathetic, why does she even bother, really. Oh, I must mention, my buddy in charge of the paranoia department next door does a beautiful job making her fiddle with her phone all day, debating in her head that she should Not send that text message because she is, in fact, an anti-social loser who can only communicate best non-verbally and deserves this slow tragic dissolving out of people's lives. He is also the brainchild of the brilliant "Your Side of the Court" - a short film that was released in the dream realm about five months ago. Fantastic work using just a tennis court and backs turned away (courtesy of memories). His rival couldn't outdo this one. Hope's been pretty much a silent, abandoned place these days, I pass by there a couple of times a week. You didn't hear it from me, but Paranoia is probably going to take over Rationality completely, everyone thinks so. His motto? "Her reality is what I make it to be." December 23, 2006 I think I am OK now. This morning I had to wake up at four in the freaking morning and I had one of my unexplainable I-want-to-sit-with-the-pipe-under-the-sink-and-hug-my-towel phases, and since my barely-awake self was dragged to church and then a 6AM breakfast that lasted a very long hour of staring at the surface of a EDD794-colored table, I sought refuge behind my hair where I kept out of sight whatever needed to be. Back to normal. Today Will be the beginning of exposure to Christmas Cheer. I bet you just scan through these entries. Come summer break I will convince my dad to dye his hair (the little stubs of it) black so I can get either red or white. He says green is pushing it too far. I was at Café Cartel once last year, and I saw this man at the next table writing in his journal, fantastic shit of writing his lines in perfect spirals, it was like print, I couldn't read it but could tell it was uniform. He had shoulder-length, wavy brown and blonde hair. His journal was leather-covered hardbound, the typical Diary Planner you get in bookstores. The paper was the Typical Diary Planner beige. He used a Mont Blanc pen. His back faced me so I could not see his face. There was a Top 5 Accomplishments of 2006 survey on Radiant and I saw the lists of other people getting things done and then I clicked the X on the tab because I couldn't think of anything to list down. I need ideas on what to submit for the school paper. Every time I write something that I know my form teacher will see I need to squeeze my brain dry because he makes me feel like I have a writing reputation to protect. Later I will stay up and walk around with my camera and tripod to catch some fireworks. I can actually hear a few bangs of fireworks right now, 10:54 in the morning. I caught some outside the mall on the 22nd and promised myself to get better shots tonight. I sincerely hope you are having a better one than I am. |
To speak. Toothpick. Fucking classic. And, if you're in the mood, download "A Conversation With Jim Carrey And Michel Gondry" as well and marvel at Michel's genius. |
December 13, 2006
Have I mentioned how much I love this anonymity schmazz?! (Note the two punctuation marks) It is like having strangers come up to me on a street or at a café just for pure, honest conversation, because of an unexplainable obsession with strangers, as I do. Love, what an awful word. What an awful thing to never have and possess and hold and squeeze until it bursts in your greedy fist, beating hard in the afterglow. Not to mention an outrageously overused word (refer to previous long entry). Did you mean "never have AND possess," meaning both not have and have (opposites); or "never have and possess," meaning you just put in a couple of same-meaning verbs for emphasis? Either way. Why awful? I think the only reason people abhor love is because it has failed them, abandoned them, didn't turn out to be what they expected (why do people expect things from it anyway?). Cheesy as it may sound, I think it actually never goes away, no one person escapes from it, there will always be at least one person who cares, the tragedy is usually the person is not who they want to care. Someone they don't Already have (this supports your phrase "greedy fist"). She is right in front of him and she is screaming and he is doing everything but say or do something that will make her heart stop (Pronouns used only to keep me from making it too long. Do not interpret this as some cryptic message of me being in love with some boy, because I am not). I do not say this because I am so extremely profoundly experienced in the Romantic Love Department, by the way, I do not have any sort of benefit (or not so) of hindsight, I just observe and generalize. There is this saying that goes, "love is not selfish" and it is so incredibly weird to take a side against or for that saying. You Want to agree because it is Moral and you believe in the world of strawberry fields and ten thousand cupcakes and an immaculate, golden kitchen a la Stepford Wives.. but the voice inside your head taunts, Ha, REE-ally, You're not selfish? You really don't need that someone to return it to you? You don't want to possess, hold and squeeze it until it bursts in your fucking greedy fist? Today I was attacked by a fifteen-year-old preacher, no joke. Everyday this boy walks around the school and hangs around in the school Prayer Room and preaches to whoever is in proximity. Unfortunately for me, a girl-who-I-really-don't-like-but-ended-up-sitting-with-Monica-and-I-anyway-because-she-is-a-nosy-loser just HAD to bring him to our table because she claimed, "I'm scared that I'm turning bisexual. What should I do?" (Cue muffled outburts of snorts and sniggers, cue rolling of eyes, cue guffaws) What is this! Some kind of Christian Seventeen Magazine?! All that was missing was she sign off as "confusedgal". At any rate, I listened, to this boy say how having his personal relationship with God stopped him from Masturbating and Looking at FHM magazines. And the girl just gobbled everything up like a baby and a cup of chocolate pudding, contents of cup smeared all over mouth. The thing these people do not see is that in extreme generalization, this relationship is nothing but another preoccupation, so basically you could start doing absolutely anything with your fingers except letting it play with your vagina or penis and all will be fine and dandy! The girl, Paula, said, "well at least I'm not gay." How horrific a statement, not to mention so contradicting, but she refused to understand when I told her being bisexual is still being attracted to the same sex and that is, so plainly, being gay. After several debates and myself being labeled "too liberated", preacher boy decided to try and "save" me from "eternal damnation" by "praying the salvation prayer". Really, Adrienne, the things you get yourself into! I would have been polite and let him talk if he were a real preacher, but no, this boy had been a Cathechist and is now under the Protestant church, so, what the fuck? "Where do learn all these things you're preaching?" "My own meditation and exposure to both sides of Christianity!" Ha, yeah right. December 15, 2006 !Adrienne One of the few people I've ever truly respected. Who I will never lie to. Who I will always feel like I can be myself around. Someone whose laughter is hilarious. Whose random shrieking makes me smile no matter how blue I am. Someone whose thought processes remind me of myself, but with humour. Whether sarcastic or unintentional. Someone who will always rock my world, no matter how far away she is. You will never be forgotten Adrienne. Sweet, you are, thank you so much for that. - ^ that was so sweet. and I share the exact sentiments. that aside, a question that may or may not make known my identity: If you were to be killed, which animal was the one that killed you? I've gotten many dumb answers to this one, I just wanted to see what Wise Adrienne would say :) ( *animal would be the one to kill ) Again I express my dislike towards that adjective before my name. It makes me feel like I'm sitting in a rocking chair pushing up my glasses while you sit at my feet. Not pretty, not pretty! Plus this obliges me to come up with something Confuciousesque and I am afraid I will fail terribly. Of all the ways I have thought how my death (the Killed section) would be like, an animal had never crossed my mind. When I was nine years old I took the elephant ride in the Singapore Zoo and thought I was going to meet my death in the elephant-litter-box a few feet below because I couldn't blance myself on its back, but that doesn't really count, does it? Neither does the incident I had when I was five, when a big brown bulldog chased me for about two blocks while I was walking home with my nanny, from kindergarten. Picture a tiny being dashing across your front lawn, screaming, shiny red lunchbox swinging wildly from her hand. Actually, I have always wondered how it would feel to be swallowed by a snake. Y'know, see how the bones dislocate to make way for dinner. (Don't say I didn't warn you of inadequacy) I have never been one for animals. I enjoy watching documentaries on the Discovery Channel et al but I am not the I-Love-Dogs type (First of all, I really hate the smell of dogs when one doesn't bathe it every twelve hours.) unless it gives me a good photograph. In kindergarten when having a Favorite Animal (and for girls to want to be Ballerinas and Ice-Skaters and Princesses when they were All Growed Up) was Cool, though, and in kindergarten you always have to be Cool because you don't have much of a brain yet, I chose the horse. Maybe a whale could swallow me. I could live for a few days, carve my life story into its bowel walls with a stray fishbone and give it terrible diarrhoea, and then eventually rot with the krill and whatever else a whale eats. Hopefully my life story will encourage the next swallowed human to Hang In There and climb up its tongue (oozing Finding Nemo!) and make me posthumously famous. How about you? Maybe some sort of gigantic bird that will rudely nick me from an empty field, bring me up a few thousand feet, and let go. I have always wanted to experience freefalling and the moment in the atmosphere when the air will carry me. Or something unexpected, like a cat. A couple of months ago, I sang to this stray cat and it stared before completely showing that it was not interested by running away. I would have rathered it stared, I thought I was singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow quite well, and cats are the only animals that have intrigued me because of how they stare (Dogs do not because they have a tendency to pounce on you, which I do not like very much). It makes me wonder if an animal's brain contains more than crude animal instinct. Today A Christmas Party in school, Class-WasteOfLife. Brand new Faber Castell colored pencils from Miguel, yay. Pizza delivery man handing me a compliment that I fumbled over, dropped and broke into pieces. An assignment to write something for the school paper, by - gasp, shock, die - recommendation. Kate Winslet and Michel Gondry x 20. Two weeks of holiday ahead! The To-Do List: 01) Christmas letters 02) Deny the fact that I ever got my hopes up for a holiday visitor slash savior from the 26th to the 29th 03) Read a. Everything Is Illuminated - Jonathan Safran Foer b. White Teeth - Zadie Smith c. The Corrections - Jonathan Franzen d. et al x 928350235 04) Decide on Christmas Investment (Will probably go to a.) a. Literature b. Music c. 30GB iPod Video d. Plane ticket to Anywhere But Here 05) Get youtube account and drown several people into embarrassment 06) Grey's Anatomy reruns 07) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind reruns 08) Pirates of the 09) Throw with dad for possible softball tryouts in January 10) E-mail if anything miraculously appears in inbox 11) Watch flims a. Little Miss Sunshine (FINALLY) b. An Inconvenient Truth 12) Search for Eternal Sunshine Collector's Edition (Must. See. Deleted. Scenes.) 13) Quality time with Camera 14) Quest for The Notebook (not the movie), a hardcover spiral-bound blank white paper Dream and Ultimate Companion for the year 2007 ... can't think of any more right now. Yes, obviously, I do not have a big fat social life to feed every day. |
Have it ever crossed your mind for a moment that you're a pessimist? That, if you tried, you could be
happy?
( *Has it ever ) Well, has it ever crossed your mind for a moment that I in fact have some sort of mental disorder? Anyway. The second sentence has, over and over, long before you asked, long before Eshita scolded me for not even bothering to try, kept me up all night. I don't know if you would understand the situation, but I will try my best to explain. How does the spectre of unrequited love (personification credit to whoever wrote the synopsis of If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things by Jon McGregor) make its presence known? The words If and Could Be. In this situation, it means the person wants to be somwhere else. Be around other people. Why settle for anything less than the portrait of the world painted by If and Could Be? So you settle for the impossible If and Could Be, dwelling on every wispy thought, each vivid dream, all possibilities of impossible. Click, drag, drop in chair beside me. Animate. It's a bit difficult not to sound selfish and snobby about this, although I have no intention to be. Rhetorical essay short, I do not want to alter myself to be happy. Why do people try to be happy anyway? Let alone "try so hard" ? Isn't this feeling supposed to find you to be genuine, and not themselves conjuring it out of a black top hat? Will a lion cut off its mane and paint itself white to fit in with the polar bears at the other end of the zoo? Will it actually be happy without its majestic glory of a mane and gold-brown hair? What makes a lion a lion? The fucking mane. On a lighter note, I don't think I have a completely anti-social disposition, I do talk to people and make them laugh, I say Hi and Hello when needed, act normal when needed, and I have a few nice friends - which I just realized after a chat with suetwa - because I had forgotten about the other meaning of "friend", because I used to associate it with the people I was always around before, who were people very close to me. I forgot about the prolonged-acquaintance side of the word friend. What an annoying word. If I could I would strip the English language of that word, like I would shave all my hair off if I were as hot as Natalie Portman. Hair has proved to be incredibly irritating, what with the strong wind and each strand of hair's aerodynamic tendencies. |
I think that sometimes it's no point ranting on and on because the world IS unfair and no one is ever happy. haha. And I really love Adrienne, my dearest dearest friend cause she's so wise, like a old owl! heh and because she's Adrienne and I like her just the way she is, so huggable and cute! I LOVE ADRIENNE AND GUESS WHO I DON'T MAKE SENSE BUT NVM(:
I would rather see it as Narrative Therapy (Wikipedia it (This is me neck-deep in my research paper on depression) :D), to make me seem less of a whiny killjoy. But, of course there is no point. And of course the world is unfair. If it weren't, it wouldn't be fair either! Opposites exist to define each other. Thank you, I know who you are, I love you too and please don't call me an old owl, it makes me feel like my grandfather. And my grandfather drives me nuts sometimes. (Then again, I drive myself nuts all the time so maybe it is justified...) - I know Adrienne pretends to be nice to me but she's laughing at me behind my back and I forgive her. That is paranoia talking, pretending to be nice doesn't exist in my books. I can't say I don't know how that feels though, I'm probably as paranoid as you are, if not worse. Nonetheless, it bothers me that you assume like that, you should talk to me, okay, it doesn't matter if you confront or stay hidden behind the anonymity of the commenter. I would really like that. |
December 7, 2006. 2321 hrs.
Rufus Wainwright is crooning Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I've always liked this song and liked the many covers I've heard, but this one, it's just the piano and his rich wonderful drawl of his voice and it beats everything else. This would have been a happy moment if I weren't with Lonesome. And Mehmet's stories. Communication is a funny thing. |
December 1, 16:00
I also write the date and time because there are instances when I am only permitted to publish entries a day or several later, what with the examination-period curfews, what with the nightly curfews, what with the fucking overload of incessant curfews. A few notes I wrote in my head while taking a walk with the post-storm wind this afternoon: Dear post-storm wind, I hope you are not ephermal, you are beautiful. Dear parents, Yes, it was more important to me that I talked to the person I was talking to yesterday than your happiness. I didn't tell you that because you don't try to see things from down here where I am. Dear Eshita, Thank you for talking to me yesterday, I appreciate it very much although I still do not agree with you. We are different, you do well in this kind of thing, I not so. In that way you remind me of Cristina from Grey's Anatomy, whom I love. Dear ex-teacher slash friend who is now in Thailand, I would like to know how you do it. How you Don't feel. How you can say "emotion is for pansies". How do you think? What do you think of? What do you not think of? I do not want to be completely void of emotion because I don't really mind the misery, I believe I need it to be able to appreciate and love, which I Do want to be able to do, because I suck like that, but right now I just need a little help with this transition, it's taking me abnormally long, what with it just being Migration and only being a year and only being sixteen years old without a kid or husband or anything. And by the way being a photographer I think you can call yourself creative. Dear pipe under the sink, Thank you for keeping me company this morning. One day I will visit you down there again to take a photo of your interesting texture. Dear pink towel, Thank you for stifling my rigorous sobs and being big enough to bundle up and hug. Dear vent in the bathroom, Thank you for being loud enough to prevent anyone else from hearing me. Also you did a good job, with the air and stuff. Dear Mehmet Erdogan, You are a fantastic, fantabulous writer. Dear topics to be studied for examinations, Please stop bothering me, I will get to you tomorrow. Dear Scissor Sisters, What an energetic show in Trafalgar Square. Jake - I thought your gold glittery spandex suit was hilariously awesome. You guys made me smile with the dancing and upbeat songs, thank you, I needed it. Your live cover of Franz Ferdinand's Take Me Out is also equally happifying (?). Dear Scarlett Johansson, I think you did a great job in Scoop, what a great character you conjured, you were very adorable. Dear Hugh Jackman, You were lavishly good-looking in Scoop, I reveled in each bit you appeared on screen. Please consider keeping your hair like so, and the beautiful English accent, for every film you do. Dear loved-s, I need to talk to you. I feel like I am losing you, I miss you so much, Eshita says it will never be the same and I need to find replacements but this is what I have been trying to avoid all along, so, how? Am I? I don't want this to be inevitable, also you will be receiving letters in the post this year. I am sorry if I ask stupid irritating questions but I just need to know some things. I hope you are well. Dear awesome people I have not met, Bump into me soon, okay, I need distraction. Dear you, I am putting a link to a commenter under the tagboard. You may recognize the instruction from Livejournal, because that is where I stole it from, great place, that is. Please do not let it capitulate into paucity. I will appreciate it, truly, and will reply. Love, Adrienne 23:02 I sat down and braced myself for World Trade Center a few hours ago. At the end of the film, which was just now, I could not think of anything else but telling some people that I love them, unnerving it was, to say the least - wake up in the morning for an ordinary uneventful day and two hours later you are under about thirty feet or debris, numb, knees crushed together, falling in and out of consciousness, having hallucinations of your wife, scared to death of falling asleep for fear of not waking up. This is fucking scary, I could die now, or later, or tomorrow, or a hundred days later, I have wasted a whole year of my life, I want to lie on the frozen Charles River and talk to you all through the night, I have books to read, shows to watch, things to feel, things to capture on camera, paper to draw on, words to write, people to meet, places to visit - Then again sometimes you want to be in that state where you have nothing to lose, where you do not have to hold back, you have ten months to live because of cancer and so you fly to Europe, get photos printed, go to Africa and feed children, lie down in the middle of a vast field looking at the stars all night, you say things you vowed never to, shout secrets, "I'm dying of cancer, so, you know, - " you have an excuse to everything and anything and nothing, you don't have to sleep. Why sleep? Sleep can wait, you will have your eyes closed for ever in ten months, you can catch up then. I do not want mine to end in a white, abnormally clean hospital, I want live music playing, people laughing, I want the smell of rain, the touch of people, the sound of bona fide laughs, I would just feel like I am leaving a party early because I am too tired. This is the problem. I keep thinking "there will be later," I will save this for later, I will do it tomorrow because right now I want to lie in bed and read, I will do this when I have more time. More time when? Time will never be in a larger quantity than it is now, or it was yesterday, or will be tomorrow, or two hours from now. Yet time is different in other places, if I run out of time here can I fly to New York and gain a whole twenty-five hours? And I quote: "it really kills my brian though, because you know.. TIME... is such a horrible thing and it fucks with my mind." (If you were to see my brain through some sort of diagram, there would probably, actually be a whole section devoted to Letters/Email/Conversations.) This brings me to my quest for the book The Time Traveller's Wife, which I have been told an ode about, which I want to read (like several handfuls of other books), which I cannot find here (like several handfuls of other books), which I regret not picking up years ago when I had access to a library and better bookstores like Borders and Books Kinokuniya. Do we race against it, or ride on its back, it sill exists in the smallest possible cranny of what our predecessors have justified - a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a millisecond. It is not even the numbers; numbers and o'clocks were just the most feeble of attempts mankind could make to tame this, this cycle, creation and destruction, live die live die in out hello goodbye. Back to the problem, I also keep thinking, "I will not say it now because I just said it yesterday and it will lose its meaning." This I do not know the remedy for, it is not procrastination. Please tell me if you have any ideas. Oskar, instead of that ambulance, how about a hat you wear that will enumerate your emotion? Or measure it like a thermometer? That way one would not have to think so much about getting the right message across. It can never lie because it can detect denial. December 2, 14:02 Amusing report of the week: Monday, lingering in classroom after classes were ended early. Staff meeting. The I-Own-The-School Barkada (clique) making decibels of noise by the 3295823-pound-bag. Sound waves bounce everywhere. Ears and brain fail to thwart. I shout out displeasure (unheard) and walk out to regain sense of hearing. Afterwards - Adrienne: *walks back into classroom, finds Kevin sitting on my chair and playing with sketchbook* A: Uh. What are you doing with that? Kevin: *turns around, eyes grow wide at sight of me, stands up* K: *shaking my hand* Oh my god idol na talaga kita ang galing mo grabe sobra (You are my idol you're so great really super (Bad translation)) A: Um, okay, ha ha, thank you K: Look at this (referring to Jude drawing), and this (unfinished Holly Cole) - A: That isn't even finished, that's barely an outline K: AND this (referring to failed George Clooney), ESPECIALLY this (referring to previous Friendster proflie. The "If.....", I had composed it in that book.), oh my god, this is beautiful - A: That's just my Friendster profile thingy, I actually don't like it.. K: :O you have Friendster? Why didn't you add me?! A: Uh, because I don't search for people. K: And this, it's so like modern, the lines are so straight; what's that? A: "Music is for the sad man". Lyric. The song is called Forever Young. K: You're so good at drawing, and writing, and singing - A: O_________O Where have you heard me sing?! K: AND I HAVEN'T EVEN SEEN YOU DANCE! A: Oh. I can't dance, trust me, I have two left feet. K: Really? A: Really. K: Okay. *stares* A: Um, okay, thank you. K: *stares at my hand holding a pen playing around the paper I am working doodles on* A: Uh, I can't do anything with you watching. That was me not knowing how to react. I thought, okay, polite is always OK. The next day: K: Can I see your sketchbook again? A: Ah... *hands it over* A few minutes later A: There really isn't much to see there, everything's unfinished, can I work now? K: *sits beside me* Can you teach me? A: Um no, because I can't explain. How do you explain this? Here is a wheel of a car, distorted and turned into design. Here is a girl's hair tied in a bun, again distorted and turned into design. Turning it into design simplifies the actual subject and further shows how I was Just Lucky with my Jude Law drawing, because I have no talent in sketching like that. Here is a piece of striped ribbon. Here is a striped plane. Here are more patterns. Do you notice I do a lot of patterns? It fills up the page, that's why. A thick curved line. Here are wavy ones with the words "eternal" and "sunshine" written in the spaces in between, occupying them completely, under the impression of something you would write on a hippie cult's Volkswagen van. What else is there to explain? What you see is what you get, I wish it were otherwise but it is not, I wish I could be a lyricist or poet, so what you read is not what you get, and people will be trying to decipher what I write, interpreting it in ways I never would have thought; I envy the poet just like Sylvia Plath envies the novelist (an essay of hers, "A Comparison", it is brilliant and I will share it with you one day when my diary entry is not as long as this one already is). K: Can you draw something on my hand for me? Please? A: Sorry, that's kind of weird (I just did not like him. It's a reflex I have towards obnoxious people. Extremely judgemental but cannot be helped. In fifth grade I had to put a hand on the shoulder of another boy, equally obnoxious, genuinely repulsive; and I just could not bring myself to because I was certain that I would dissolve completely, or meet a horrible death. It was his character. The way he laughed at me when I didn't want to and said "come onnnnn" with seductive eyes and the wiggling eyebrows. How he was so sweaty and grimy-looking and wore a shirt a size too small for him, and how the shirt was yellow-ish, and how his fat jiggled when he made sudden movements. Traumatizing. I teared up. Seriously. Stupid, I know, but really. If Santa existed I would not be on the Nice List.) I caved in the end, he would not leave until I set my pen on his flesh. I drew while I was thinking of something else, like writing, and so the inked product on the back of his hand looked mediocre but he thought it was the shit so I succeeded in keeping him quiet. For two minutes. K: Can you sign it? Here, on the side? There's lots of space. A: OK, enough, no, that's too weird. I am not a rockstar. K: But you made this! I am going to show it to everyone! A: I'm not signing it. K: Why? *looks as if going to cry* A: BECAUSE. Ok. Please. Maybe I just don't know how to handle this kind of situation? Soon he showed me something he drew on his thumb, I was like, OK, and then he copied the leaf-ish thing I drew, and I didn't say anything. This is bad, you know, it feels like you are being emptied of any sense of being, this fucker just copied what I drew; in another comversation he tried to define me without saying the word "weird", but that's beside the point, I find comfort in not using full-stops (I have learned that this is the original term, goodbye Period) and throwing commas and colons and parentheses everywhere, with the occasional exclamation mark! That was again beside the point, but I suddenly don't feel like explaining anymore. December 5, 23:03 Today Airplane count: 11 (!!!!) Incessant-calories count: 0 (!!!) Failed-test-presentiment count: 2 Birthday-card count: 1 Christmas-letter count: 0 The Film count: 1 (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) New-word count: 7 Further Examination days to go until Christmas Break: 3 Days to go until next examination period: 9 Number of unmastered Chemistry concepts: 15 Liana's friend, he had asked me about myself before, I mentioned random things including The Film (and proceeded to whine how I could not find it here), and he actually went out to find it for me, and he did, it is a pirated copy but The Film all the same (this does not alter my Christmas Wishlist in any way, I am greedy and I like Special Features and hunting for easter eggs.), and would not let me pay. How sweet. Ever since it was handed to me yesterday my hands felt that it needed to be holding the rectangular prism of pirated brilliance at all times, and so a lot of other people saw it. At one point Miguel hid it under his jacket and I went on a rampage filling the air with verbal pollution and when I found it in the end he said "hahahahahaha I love you Adrienne!!" in that disgusting glib, I was revolted but did not show it ("bah!!"). People need to stop using that phrase in a glib, they need to stop saying it when you fulfill their need of school stationery, or teaching them that a cylinder is actually a rolled up rectangle, or other things as arid as that. It makes me want to fucking SCREAM. Anyway, I have watched it tonight, I have a deep, deep, deep unexplainable admiration for Kate Winslet, and Clementine Kruzcynski, what with her impulsiveness, green hair, red hair, orange hair, blue hair, what with the fucking lying on the frozen Charles River (I have to do that, okay, I just do, and I need someone to go with.) for a night picnic (no food involved). I would not erase memories. Again, I do not feel like explaining. This is much too long anyway, my musings over The Film I will pen down another day. One more thing: And when all at once he is "pfired" from his tech job at Pfizer and invited to a rendezvous with the girl of his long-ago prep-school dreams, he finds himself on the brink of a new life. A sentence from the synopsis of Benjamin Kunkel's Indecision (another one on the list of books to read). I just HAD to share what made me snigger like an idiot alone at a bookstore for five minutes today. Pfired. Pfizer. Classic. For some reason reminds me of the Mc series in Grey's Anatomy. McDreamy is McMarried. Meredith and McDreamy have a McDog. Fun! |
