things are queer

wty

2011-12-19T01:14:00.000-05:00

"You sometimes think about me, I sometimes think about something else."

December

2011-12-19T01:12:00.000-05:00

My year of magical thinking is almost over.
Life goes on, but with things and memories and people that I want to share with her.

RIP

Cloudless Snowfall by Franz Wright

2011-11-19T23:03:00.000-05:00

Great big flakes like white ashes
at nightfall descending
abruptly everywhere
and vanishing
in this hand like the host
on somebody’s put-out tongue, she
turns the crucifix over
to me, still warm
from her touch two years later
and thank you,
I say all alone—
Vast whisp-whisp of wingbeats
awakens me and I look up
at a minute-long string of black geese
following low past the moon the white
course of the snow-covered river and
by the way thank You for
keeping Your face hidden, I
can hardly bear the beauty of this world.

I Wed a Toy Bride by Yi Sang

2011-10-22T20:51:00.002-04:00

This is my favorite Korean poem translated by James Kimbrell.

October

2011-10-03T22:31:00.000-04:00

One of our favorite movies was Girl with a Pearl Earring. We both adored Vermeer; we read the novel by Tracy Chevalier together, and watched the movie one night after my cousin went to bed. She let me take sips of her coffee (3 teaspoons of cream, 2 teaspoons of sugar) and in the middle of the movie, she ran into her room and brought her pearl earrings out and I helped her put them on. She told me that if my ears were pierced, we could have worn one each and both be girls with a pearl earring.

My aunt, who died before I turned 22, was sad but beautiful like a sugar cube melting in lukewarm water.

The little one from Parma

2011-07-05T11:39:00.000-04:00

I'm not a fan of Parmigianino's most famous work, Madonna with the Long Neck, but I really love this self portrait by him. John Ashbery's epic poem, Self-portrait in a Convex Mirror, is named after this painting and I'm attaching a link to where you can read the award-winning poem (it won all three major Amercian poetry prizes.) It really is an extraordinary poem; I once had a dream about it.

You can find the full text here: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/self-portrait-in-a-convex-mirror/

What I'm into right now

2011-06-07T21:27:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking a lot in Korean lately, I don't know why, but it kind of feels nice.
Another interesting Korean word: 청춘 (which means 'blue spring' and often refers to one's early 20s).
I laugh and I grieve and I party and I think and I don't think and I say things I regret and I cry and I feel like dying but I feel young and alive more than ever. I spent this morning being naked in my apartment walking around drinking chai tea and thinking about "A la recherche de Gertrude Stein" by Frank O'Hara.

That's what I'm into right now: Being young and alive.

Blue spring cool.

SWINGIN' PARTY

2011-06-01T23:54:00.000-04:00

If being afraid is a crime, we hang side by side
at the swinging party down the line.

June

2011-06-01T21:39:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I get really sad.

I used to think that I want to be a sad and beautiful (sad because she's beautiful, beautiful because she's sad) person.
A girl
who can say, "He's in love with me." and "He goes to school for photography." in the same tone of voice.

I think that was because I was living with my aunt.
She smoked cigarettes during those two years I lived with her and the whole time I had absolutely no clue.
She never ate but drank five cups of coffee everyday. Even when she came to pick me up whenever I called, painted my toes in red every week("it's the only acceptable color on toes") and watched Project Runway with me on lazy afternoons, I could still picture her having affairs with really attractive men.
One day she asked for a picture of me and kept it in her wallet. I sometimes wonder where that picture is right now.

She hasn't been in a single dream since.

When she wanted to talk to me about something serious, her voice always brightened up. As if she's trying to be a clown; a clown who wears outlandish makeup and costumes and juggles, walks a tightrope, and does tricks gracefully on a flying trapeze to make his audience forget about gravity. We both knew we were never going to be real astronauts and be in space where there is no gravity, so we kept on being clowns. Trying to convince each other to forget about something.

I miss her. She became the 'gravity.' Except I don't ever want to forget about it.

Night (밤)

2011-05-26T03:18:00.000-04:00

In Korean, we often describe a very late and dark night simply as an 'ambitious night (야심한 밤.)'

So on this ambitious night, I'm sitting on my living room floor, watching Sex and the City, and occasionally dipping my right pinky into a jar of honey (I ran out of apples.)

Cheun-duk Pi, a Korean poet, described May as a fresh twenty-one year old's face right after being washed with cold water. I think about him on some mornings washing my face, and I feel like the month of May (and I blush.)

And I have a sudden urge to drive to the beach and write in the sand

得了愛情痛苦 (I have gained, the pain of affection)

失了愛情痛苦 (I have given up, the pain of affection),

lines from a poem by a Chinese poet who died very young. But I would drive back, still young and alive.

Takagi Masakatsu Love

2011-05-21T22:06:00.000-04:00

I hate modern art. I have a lot of issues with its concept and forms, but I'm going to keep my opinions to myself (for now). But when I saw Takagi Masakatsu's videos, I was overwhelmed by his talent, and realized the potential of multimodality of contemporary art. He is a multimedia artist who produces his own music and videos. In this interview for apple pro (it is an advertisement so you might roll your eyes when he's talking about how Macintosh helps him with his works but you can see his work process, which is pretty interesting), he talks about how the world is overflowing with colors and movements. He makes me want to be a delusional optimist (since there's no way I can be as talented as he is) and feel as if the world is full of beauty and grace.

Birthmark by Miranday July

2011-05-21T03:10:00.000-04:00

I decided that I'm going to use this blog to talk about things I like and want to share. Of course I'm still going to write and post my writings, but it's just that I rarely feel inspired to write.

This short story is by Miranda July who is probably the only contemporary female writer I really like.

-
On a scale of one to ten, with ten being childbirth, this will be a three.

A three? Really?

Yes. That's what they say.

What other things are a three?

Well, five is supposed to be having your jaw reset. So it's not as bad as that.

No.

What's two?

Having your foot run over by a car.

Wow, so it's worse than that?

Just a little worse, not much.

Okay, well, I'm ready. No - wait; let me adjust my sweater.

Okay, I'm ready.

Alright then.

Here goes a three.

Right. Here we go then.

The laser, which had been described as pure white light, was more like a fist slammed against a countertop, and her body was a cup on this counter, jumping with each slam. It turned out three was just a number. It didn't describe the pain any more than money describes the things it buys. Two thousand dollars for a port-wine stain removed. A kind of birthmark that seems messy and accidental, as if this red area covering one whole cheek were the careless result of too much fun. She spoke to her body like an animal at the vet, Shhh, it's okay, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry we have to do this to you. This is not unusual; most people feel that their bodies are innocent of their crimes, like animals or plants. Not that this was a crime. She had waited patiently from the time she was fourteen for aesthetic surgery to get cheap, like computers. Nineteen ninety-eight was the year lasers came to the people as good bread, eat and be full, be finally perfect. Oh yes, perfect. She didn't think she would have bothered if she hadn't been what people call "very beautiful except for." This is a special group of citizens living under special laws. Nobody knows what to do with them. We mostly want to stare at them like the optical illusion of a vase made out of the silhouette of two people kissing. Now it is vase ... now it could only be two people kissing ... oh but it is so completely a vase. It is both! Can the world sustain such a contradiction. Only this was better, because as the illusion of prettiness and horribleness flipped back and forth, we flipped with it. Now we were uglier than her, now we were lucky not to be her, oh but then again, at this angle she was too lovely to bear. She was both, we were both, and the world continued to spin.

Now began the part of her life where she was just very beautiful. Except for nothing. Only winners will know what this feels like. Have you ever wanted something very badly and then gotten it. Then you know that winning is many things, but it is never the thing you thought it would be. Poor people who win the lottery do not become rich people. They become poor people who won the lottery. She was a very beautiful person who was missing something very ugly. Her winnings were the absence of something, and this quality hung around her. There was so much potential in the imagined removal of the birthmark, any fool on the bus could play the game of guessing how perfect she would look without it. Now there was not this game to play, there was just a spent feeling. And she was not an idiot, she could sense it. In the first few months after the surgery she received many compliments, but they were always coupled with confusion.

Now you can wear your hair up and show off your face more.

Yeah, I'm going to try it that way.

Wait, say that again.

I'm going to try it that way. What?

Your little accent is gone.

What accent?

You know, the little Norwegian thing.

Norwegian?

Isn't your mom Norwegian?

She's from Denver.

But you have that little bit of an accent, that little way of saying things.

I do?

Well not anymore, it's gone now.

And she felt a real sense of loss. Even though she knew that she had never had an accent. It was just the birthmark, which in its density had lent color to even her voice. She didn't miss the birthmark, but she missed her Norwegian heritage, like learning of new relatives after they have died.

All in all though, this was minor, less disruptive than insomnia (but more severe than déja vu). Over time she knew more and more people who had never known her with the birthmark. And you would assume that these people didn't feel any haunting absence, because why should they. Her husband was one of these people. You could tell by looking at him. Not that he wouldn't have married a woman with a port-wine stain. But he wouldn't have. Most people don't and are none the worse for it. Of course sometimes it would happen that she would see a couple and one of them would have a port-wine stain and the other one would clearly be in love with this person, and she would hate her husband a little. Which was ridiculous because he was innocent. But he wasn't an idiot and so he would notice.

Are you being weird?

No.

You are.

Actually I'm not. I'm just eating my salad.

I can see them too you know. I saw them come in.

Hers is worse than mine was. Mine didn't go down on my neck like that.

Do you want to try this soup?

I bet he's an environmentalist. Doesn't he look like one?

Maybe you should go sit with them.

Maybe I will.

I don't see you moving.

Did you just finish the soup?

I thought we were splitting. I offered it to you.

Well you can't have any of this salad then.

It was a small thing, but it was a thing, and things have a way of either dying or growing, and it wasn't dying. Years went by. This thing grew, like a child, microscopically, every day. And since they were team, and all teams want to win, they continuously adjusted their vision to keep its growth invisible. They wordlessly excused each other for not loving each other as much as they had planned. There were empty rooms in the house where they had meant to put their love and they worked together to fill these rooms with high-end, consumer-grade equipment. It was a tight situation. The next sudden move would have to be through the wall. What happened was this. She was trying to get the lid off a new jar of jam and she was banging it on the counter. This is a well-known tip, a kitchen trick, a bang to loosen the lid. It's not witchery or black magic or anything, it's just a way to release the pressure under the lid. She banged it too hard and the jar broke. She screamed. Her husband came running when he heard the sound. There was red everywhere and in that instant he saw blood. Hallucinatory clarity: you know for sure. But in the next moment your mind relinquishes control, and gives you back to reality; it was jam. Everywhere. She was laughing, picking up the shards of glass out of the strawberry mash. She was laughing at the mess and her face was down, looking at the floor, and her hair was around her face like a curtain and then she looked up at him and said, Can you bring the trash can over here?

And it happened again. For a moment he thought he saw a port-wine stain on her cheek. It was fiercely red and bigger than he had ever imagined. It was bloodier than even blood, like sick blood, animal blood, the blood racist people think beats inside of people of other races: blood that shouldn't touch my own. And the next moment it was just jam and he laughed and rubbed the kitchen towel on her cheek. Her clean cheek. Her port-wine stain.

Honey.

Can you get the trashcan?

Honey.

What?

Go look in the mirror.

What?

Go look in the mirror.

Stop talking like that. Why are you talking like that? What?

He was looking at her cheek and she instinctively put her hand on the mark, and then she ran to bathroom.

She was in there for a long time. Maybe thirty minutes. You've never had thirty minutes like these. She stared at the port-wine stain and she breathed in and she breathed out.

It was like being twenty-three again, but she was thirty-eight now. Fifteen years without it, and now, here it was. In exactly the same place. She rubbed her finger around its edges. It came as high as her right eye, over to the edge of her nostril, across her whole cheek to the ear, ending at her jawbone. In purplish-red. She wasn't thinking anything, she wasn't afraid or disappointed or worried. She was just looking at the stain the way you would look at yourself fifteen years after your own death. Oh, you again. Now it was obvious that it had always been there, just around the corner. She had startled it forward, back into sight. She looked into its redness and breathed in and breathed out and found herself in a kind of trance. She thought: I am in a kind of trance. But she didn't try to shake out of it, instead she shallowed her breathing for fear of waking up. In the trance there was one sound and one smell and one sight and one sensation and it was the sound and smell and sight and sensation of her port-wine stain and this stain was her, it was her body. She didn't have to think because plants don't have to think about themselves and weather doesn't have to think about itself, it just blows around. It was this kind of trance, she was just blowing around. It's hard to describe it any more than that, except to say that it lasted about twenty-five minutes. That is a very, very long time just to be blowing around. Mostly you waft for a second or two, a half-second maybe. And then you spend the rest of your life trying to describe it, to regain the perspective. You say: It was like I was just blowing around, and you wave your arms in the air. But there were no arms like that and you know it. It's become this long story you tell about this half-second of your life. Only for her it was twenty-five minutes. Do you understand? Twenty. Five. Minutes. If it could have lasted forever, she would have gladly lived there, inside the stain, a red and limbless world. She came back like a plane taking off, she was no longer in the stain, but looking at it from above. It grew smaller and smaller until it was just a tiny region in a larger mass, one which this pilot favored, hovered above, but would not touch down on again. She pulled some toilet paper off the roll and blew her nose.

He found himself kneeling. He was waiting for her on his knees. He was worried she would not let him love her with the stain. He had already decided, long ago, twenty or thirty minutes ago, that the stain was fine. He had only seen it for a moment but he was already used to it. It was good. It somehow allowed them to have more. They could have a child now, he thought. There was a loose feeling in the air. The jam was still on the floor and that was okay. He would just kneel here and wait for her to come out and hope he would be able to tell her about the looseness in a loose way. He wanted to keep the feeling. He hoped she wasn't removing it somehow, the stain. She should keep it and they should have a kid. He could hear her blowing her nose, now she was opening the door. He would stay on his knees, just like this. She would see him this way and understand.

Le Corbusier's Notre Dame du Haut

2011-05-16T17:54:00.000-04:00

My favorite part about my favorite building by my favorite architect is that the building looks completely different from different angles and that the roof is slightly lifted from the walls, letting a beam of light (probably from heaven?) come in.

DFW

2011-05-15T22:07:00.000-04:00

If you're interested, here is a great David Foster Wallace interview. Long and exhausting, but refreshing and hopeful (maybe this should seem eerie since he was apparrently not very hopeful).
Things are queer.

May

2011-05-13T17:59:00.000-04:00

Annabelle Lee

Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love -
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me
Yes! that was the reason
(as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we
Of many far wiser than we
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In the sepulcher there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

I recited this poem at a school event when I was in middle school. The day my English teacher told me that she wanted me to do it, I cried on my way home. I really didn't want to do it. But my aunt really wanted me to, she loved this poem so dearly (of course she did, all the hopeless and miserable romantics do), and she came with my mom and I when we picked out a light pink gown for me to wear (light pink, what was I thinking!). I was haunted by this memory when I was at firestone, drinking a pepsi, and reading Harper's Bazaar. There was a piece by Annabelle Neilson on her friendship with Alexander McQueen. Annabelle Lee was the last poem she read to him. Annabelle Lee was the only poem I ever read to my aunt. I got very sad and cried on my way home.

Barcelona Pavilion

2011-04-23T15:41:00.001-04:00

I can't stop thinking about this building.

I always get really into modern & post-modern architecture around this time of the year. Free plans, floating rooms, less walls, elimination of ornaments, strong spaces built with only the essential elements. It gives me such comfort and hope.

April

2011-04-19T15:40:00.000-04:00

I think about the room

from time to time

like this morning when I walked outside and said to myself,

"What a lark, what a plunge!"

and I was in the room again with her.

It's April, you know, so I visit her more than usual.

Her body dangling like a heavy flower

her neck firmly attached to

the braided stem

waiting for the wind to blow,

an invisible pair of hands will come and take her down

the same ones that breed the lilacs out of the dead land.

They found her suicide note in her notepad

two weeks after she wore her rope burn around her neck like

halo

"I want to be cremated."

at first they thought it was a meaningless scribble that meant

"I want to get my make-up done."

(Korean words for cremation and make-up are spelled identically)

When I'm in the room

I usually lie on the floor and look up at her face

like how I used to, lying down on her couch with my head in her lap

while she plucked my eyebrows.

Something's wrong about this angle, with her being so high up

but I ask her a question anyways,

"Who did you last make love to?"

wishlist

2011-03-24T12:31:00.000-04:00

I want more

I want new

I want to stop wanting

please

2011-02-03T15:16:00.000-05:00

come back, and stay until my tears dry up.

You left me dreaming of a mermaid when the ocean is absent.

R.I.P.

the cruelest month is here early this year.

2011-01-09T15:08:00.001-05:00

Last time I talked to her she said her new favorite word is 'serendipity.'

R.I.P.

Even the saddest eyes will dry one day. I hope so.

Rhythm of loneliness

2010-12-08T11:20:00.001-05:00

I unlock the door and walk into my apartment.

Put down my purse and take off my rings and clothes, I do not bother hanging them in my closet.

I lie down (or lay myself down) on the living room floor,

my head and my body feels so heavy and distant

that I almost feel like I could convince myself that I'm dead.

But it doesn't go away.

I roll around-right, right, left, swing my legs and arms,

my eyelids up and down, atmosphere opens and closes

but it doesn't go away.

I walk over to the fridge and take out the orange juice and drink it right out of the carton.

A simple, mindless gesture becomes a

reassurance that I'm the only person who will ever drink this orange juice,

here we go again.

learning disability

2010-11-25T01:27:00.001-05:00

My aunt quoted 'April is the cruelest month' at least nine times that spring.

Every time, I wanted to tell her

"Days like these,

no matter who you call

no matter what music you listen to

no matter what you read and talk about

you should know that it would only be like choking yourself even more, old lady."

Thirteen

2010-11-25T01:06:00.001-05:00

When I first started painting my nails,

it used to remind me that I was only a little girl.

I would sit on our kitchen floor at night,

where my mom spent most of her time.

I wondered if that kitchen was like her doll house.

So many possibilities to organize things; by color, size and shape etc.
Everything waiting patiently behind closed doors, waiting for that peek-a-boo.

It would be really easy to think that everything
-your kids, your marriage, your alarm clock that wakes you up so you can make breakfast for your husband before he goes to work-is all fake.

There was this huge wooden case with glass doors

where my mom put her teacups she collected.

It might as well be called a sarcophagus.

I want to be like

2010-11-15T02:06:00.001-05:00

warm palms

touch touch touch

high tide

2010-10-15T02:54:00.001-04:00

your eyes were always moist and wet.

when I used to look at them I saw snow jumping into the winter beach,

I could almost hear the waves splashing.

some nights, I swam in that water, other nights, it drowned me, over and over.

why I look like I'm crying

2010-10-12T01:11:00.000-04:00

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,it's raining and I don't have an umbrella, , , , , , , , , , ,, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

night cap

2010-10-09T02:39:00.001-04:00

tonight

I was looking in the mirror for a long time

listening to the tv

fingertips swimming in the waves of the time

I spent remembering things

like when I was an insomniac at the age of 5

I woke my parents up every single night

one night my dad locked me in the bathroom

I told him that I would rather die

I listened to him cry outside

such a lullaby

oh that feeling of victory

and one evening

so, I chopped up some onions

of course I remembered couple of onion chopping tricks

but it wouldn't have helped

believe me

it wouldn't have helped

but at least I had an excuse

, when I was light watching

in her bedroom

she couldn't do anything knowing that the time is passing by regardless of what we are doing

things went out of control for her

for days she sat in her room with her lights off, light watching,

time watching,

staring right at her enemy's eyes,

defeated

I couldn't think of anything good to convince her,

so I just stopped thinking

sometimes you just have to stop thinking to stay alive

what was worse than the light

were shadows, busy busy busy

so I stood up and handed myself a pair of scissors

sharp enough, I thought.

my fingers danced back and forth, orbits

and what was part of me was not mine anymore

so easy so graceful

loss can be

sometimes

note to self

2010-10-04T00:26:00.001-04:00

The night is short. Walk, lady!

I have hands that smell like coffee,

gravity that is not strong enough to make walking too painful,

warm things or colder things to think about on this cold night,

and somewhere to be, or somewhere not to be!

3. freedom from want - Roosevelt

2010-09-27T02:55:00.001-04:00

It's not going to be okay.

But I will live.

Because no matter how tragic the situation might be,

we are always ready to cry.

I'm giving up

LAUGHING & CRYING & WRITING & WAITING

I want

WORDS FOR EVERYTHING

come to my afterlife party

2010-09-19T19:03:00.000-04:00

I live my life at a funeral,

writing obituaries when the death(s) is distant enough for me to talk about without crying.

I am always in mourning for recent and immediate losses while I am slowly shedding my parts away. One day I will be completely decomposed, and I'll only leave my obituary written by myself behind.

Hyuna Kim, 'dead' was a present continuous verb to her.

WHOA I just re-read this and GOD I am so melodramatic! I wish I was as half as depressed as I say I am.

sometimes I think only for you

2010-09-08T23:23:00.000-04:00

Teakettle was sitting on the stove, holding nothing but its emptiness. The red and room temperature emptiness, the kitchen, my mom's fragile body swifting, feet and flour swifting, the hollow teakettle sitting on the stove, carrying nothing but what it should, not even a teaspoon of the mysterious air of the house when dad is no longer here and mom became glass, ready to be broken or break itself and move onto a same density, blood. Red and empty.

I thought you knew that I was staring at the teakettle.

fourth night

2010-08-26T01:36:00.000-04:00

Loneliness is fair.

Everyone is awfully lonely.

In that, I feel a little less lonely.

We are all in this together.

Josee

2010-08-18T17:33:00.000-04:00

Josee, the tiger and the fish is the closest movie to my heart. I feel like I'm both Josee and Tsuneo at the same time. Ever since I saw this movie 4 years ago, this is the only representation of love that I can completely and fully relate to. It makes me feel okay about being in love and falling out of love. How to appreciate, how to grieve, and how to live. This is my favorite part of the movie, I hope you guys enjoy it.

kitchen

2010-08-12T19:33:00.000-04:00

The kitchen had an unpleasant smell-as if someone had been simmering desperation until it was thicken up into a bittersweet syrup. It reminded me of late spring, bloody streets covered in brown and muddy magnolia pedals, crushed and stepped on mercilessly. But it didn't take me too long to get used to it.

So I sat on the kitchen floor next to a chair made of four crackers. Small and pretty, but a chair that noone can sit on. I felt like a goldfish in a small bucket waiting for a winner to scoop me up with a tiny paper net at a night festival, my eyes fixed on my sides, not even allowing a glimpse of the night sky. There I was, waiting for some assurance that there is an exit. A ghost would have been fine. But only the refrigerator made a noise making ice.

Dad

2010-07-07T14:45:00.000-04:00

My dad is a great story teller.

One time, he told to me about his ex girlfriends, and how one of them wrote the worst love letters, and that he couldn't stand being with her anymore. I told him that mom isn't a good writer either, and he said, that was okay, because she never attempted to write him letters to begin with.

When I was in middle school, I wrote a poem about my dad. My dad cried over it, which wasn't a big deal, because he is a man who is not afraid of crying, but still, I felt like that was a sign of approval.

I want to write good stories and poems with easy and honest words.

Virginia Woolf and I have something in common. We are addicted to tragedy.

2010-07-06T22:43:00.000-04:00

Because I like reading sad stories in the bath tub,

knowing that someone could easily pull three or four yards of rosy red silk out of their wrist.

But she was an observer who writes, I am an observer who reads.

I don't have pocketful of heavy stones pulling me down with ever lasting love,

or a nice scenery -like a bridge where little boys stop by to look at the fish- that I would like to look from below for hours and days and years,

so I keep on reading, my eyes and hands still dry.

When the water gets too hot for me, I do not hesitate,

I drain all the water out,

I watch my own body -once drowned- resurface, clean and safe.

I return to bed and set my alarm because

I must wake up,

from dream of endless kisses or dream of people I admire exposing my fraudulence.

Because she was a dreamer whose eyes forever shut

and I am a dreamer who blinks.

scissors

2010-06-05T23:04:00.000-04:00

watching the people i love float away, nothing but a piece of string keeping us together.

"fucking asshole, didn't return my tug."

-n

hard-boiled hard-rock

2010-06-03T15:19:00.000-04:00

maybe I should go back to the moon,

this air is too thick for me,

this gravity is too heavy for me.

Ringo

to a daffodil

2010-05-17T20:12:00.000-04:00

I had this poem written on my desk my freshman year in highschool. My teacher made me erase it, saying "no wonder you're such a depressing little girl." I tried to translate, but I want to respect the words, it's so strange how languages carry different weight. I've been reading a lot of Korean poems.

정호승-「수선화에게」

울지 마라

외로우니까 사람이다

살아간다는 것은 외로움을 견디는 일이다

공연히 오지 않는 전화를 기다리지 마라

눈이 오면 눈길을 걸어가고

비가 오면 빗길을 걸어가라

갈대숲에서 가슴검은도요새도 너를 보고 있다

가끔은 하느님도 외로워서 눈물을 흘리신다

새들이 나뭇가지에 앉아 있는 것도 외로움 때문이고

네가 물가에 앉아 있는 것도 외로움 때문이다

산 그림자도 외로워서 하루에 한 번씩 마을로 내려온다

종소리도 외로워서 울려퍼진다

hi(bye)

2010-05-16T00:23:00.001-04:00

원태연 '안녕'

사랑해 처음부터 그랬었고
지금도 난 그래
그래서 미안하고 감사하고 그래

우린 아마
기억하지 않아도
늘 생각나는 사람들이 될 거야
그때 마다 난 니가 힘들지 않았으면 좋겠고
내가 이렇게 웃고 있었으면 좋겠어

사랑하는 사람들은 왜
그렇잖아
생각하면 웃고 있거나 울게되거나...
그래서 미안하고 감사하고 그래

사랑해
처음부터 그랬었고 지금도 그래

"people kill themselves on this bridge. it's romantic, isn't it?"

2010-05-06T16:35:00.000-04:00

last night i felt more joy than i had ever felt as a child.

we sat on the floor, drinking and laughing, listening to the Peter and the Wolf musical record, making disfigured shadow puppets on the wall to go along.

it's hard to believe romance can exist when there is no love to be found.

-n

blue moon

2010-05-06T16:21:00.000-04:00

beautiful little flowers, dropping left and right.

such beautiful things. wilting.

i can't help but think that just the slightest bit of selfishness would have saved her life.

-n

first cry

2010-04-25T16:27:00.000-04:00

When I was born, you were still hungover,

There was no this and that to me,

there was no seperation between me and the universe,

there was no you and I, so I stomached your hangover myself,

drinking good beer and listening to good music did not mean anything,

temptation is not even a bother, and your clever fingers meticulously reading the surface of a girl's skin

but they are not clever enough to read her nights alone,

when she lies on her stomach and listen to her parents talk and cars rushing by outside

and you writing your will with borrowed words, and you humming the songs of others, thinking that that is enough

I suffer your lightness with the universe's weight,

I was born to save you, I was born to be you, but soon I'll be old enough to be your lover,

and we will still be hungover together.

Ringo

aluminum

2010-04-13T23:31:00.000-04:00

half together, double apart.

don't think 'til you have to.

-n

thank you Regina Spektor,

2010-03-18T02:35:00.000-04:00

Ringo

shocker and strawberries

2010-03-17T00:09:00.000-04:00

have you ever kissed and shocked?

kissed and shocked and kissed and shocked?

one time i kissed a boy in a car and as we went in for a kiss, we shocked each other and we both jumped and oh my god i would kiss and shock a hundred times a day if i could because in that instant and thereafter, fog was no longer in my head, in fact there was no longer anything in my head except more desire to kiss this boy.

and what's even better is that the ingredients are really very simple, all you need is metal in your nose and keys in the ignition.

-n

effarig

2010-03-15T23:33:00.000-04:00

I dropped out of highschool when I was sixteen, and my mom wasn't happy about it.

So I spent most of my days at the library, reading Japanese novels, usually written by Kaori Ekuni and Yoshimoto Banana. I spent that summer living the lives of an alcoholic woman who's married to a gay doctor who has a boyfriend, a woman who stays in the house she and her ex boyfriend lived in because she couldn't admit that it was over, a mistress who thinks of a chair made of 4 crackers when she thinks about happiness.

Summer past by and by fall, I was a thirty five year old woman. And everything I did, I did with extreme care, like holding pencils, walking down the stairs, bending down half way to pour milk in my glass cup, or lying on newspapers thinking I was a sweet potato and it was even worse when it was rainy. But I was just sixteen who was in love with another sixteen year old. I guess that's what I wanted to say.

Ringo

smiling with your eyelids shut

2010-03-15T14:19:00.000-04:00

just as i was learning how to be alone without being lonely, i am no longer alone.

-n

they say depression is the greatest source of inspiration

2010-03-07T22:36:00.000-05:00

and I'm getting ready for winter,

and I don't know if I should start packing or throw things away,

sometimes I wonder if I want to be

Boys with dirty socks, who grow their nails to play the guitar, and write songs about

restless radio stations, the endless loop of sound waves, it's sad, so why not?

Women,

who can't think of anything else but to cry, and drink to cry some more.

Ringo

soy

2010-02-23T00:20:00.000-05:00

when you miss someone

your sad ears open,

so I listen. and I write and write.

Ringo

polar

2010-02-22T03:27:00.001-05:00

we wake up with our backs to each other, facing opposite directions.

as if over the course of the night we get pissed at each other in our dreams; i steal the sheets, you try to steal them back but it doesn't work so we agree to disagree.

communication is key.

-n

I can't help it

2010-02-17T13:57:00.000-05:00

it's the only thing I know how to fold,

so I'm sorry if my paper planes keep on flying through your window.

Ringo

"new batteries in the flashlight in the emergency kit in the hall closet"

2010-01-21T14:55:00.000-05:00

very often the knowledge of love is all we want.

and very often i catch a glimpse of all of the different spices in the pantry as i'm looking for the salt.

and i think,

good.

-n

warm and powerful

2009-12-12T17:07:00.000-05:00

crying like cats and dogs

heart like twinkling stars

low frequency, but from the roots of my heart,

things I see before tears blind my eyes,
the way my heart beats when I'm having a good dream,
soaking wet brain after reading a sad book,
cruelty like that of a child,

pieces of what I see and hear

I want to send these kind of things

antenna up in the sky,

The next song is by Fionn Regan.

Ringo

two hours

2009-12-10T18:02:00.000-05:00

i don't think the first two boyfriends that i said "i love you" to, knew that i was intoxicated and would have waited at least another two months before soberly admitting it.

have you ever lied about being "in love"?

i have.

have you ever lied about loving someone?

i've done that too.

though i know just because you aren't in love now, doesn't mean that feeling never existed.

but i am quite sure it wasn't real, just the closest thing to it.

kind of like driving over roadkill that you didn't kill.

you still flinch.

-N

the time i had a staring contest with sylvia plath

2009-12-09T02:53:00.000-05:00

in my comfort zone.

in but out.

out but in.

not sure where the exit signs are...

one would think i'm running in circles.

-N

salt life

2009-12-08T04:10:00.000-05:00

I fell in love when I was fifteen

and when he broke my heart

I turned into a seashell

everytime someone picked me up and held me close to their ears,

they heard you.

Ringo

the unpleasant complexity of having no-strings attached

2009-12-06T02:03:00.000-05:00

i hate waking up in another bed feeling anxious and uncomfortable and having to pee and feeling like i should throw up but not wanting to physically get up because i'm still naked from last night's drunken fumbling (did we even do anything?) and your room is filled with morning light and i don't like how that light exposes every inch of my body and i remember last time we talked about how you don't have curtains and you hate that morning light because you can't sleep in as long as you'd like and so i continue to stare at your clock, each minute feeling like the longest hour of my life, hoping you will wake up to go to the bathroom or get a glass of water so i can quickly put some clothes on (even though i don't know where my clothes are, despite my unsuccessful and discreet attempts at searching for my underwear in the crack between your wall and bed) while you are out of the room and then go on to relieve myself, but instead i begin shifting my stares from the clock to my unfinished beer on your bedside table and i am suddenly reminded of how upsettingly dehydrated i am and i consider reaching for a sip of that disgusting beer for a brief second but then i close my eyes...

and think about how much i hate you for not being able to read my mind.

-N

pens and tape and walls and rubbish

2009-12-05T18:25:00.001-05:00

the other night, at about 3:30am, i felt a euphoric lift from my year long "creative" rut.

i spent about 2 hours sketching, ideas flooding my mind from each ear.

last night i tried again but i said fuck it after crumbling up three unsatisfying attempts.

i don't know how to re-enter that state of understanding and fluidness but what i would give to feel like that more often.

for the first time in so long, i understood things. i understood my ideas. i understood the execution of those ideas and how all i needed was a pen and some paper. i didn't feel intimidated by the word "artist" and i didn't feel intimidated by the fact that people younger than me are doing more than i am. instead i felt motivated and let my hand release the cathartic execution of all of those feelings.

never in my life have i felt such a high.

-N

I hope your affair was a good one

2009-10-20T15:44:00.001-04:00

I am alone but not lonely.
Are you not alone but lonely?

Ringo

holy garden

2009-10-05T18:45:00.000-04:00

It left his hand.

Touched the bathroom floor.

Could not handle the pressure.

Spilled everything it was carrying.

Shattered all over the floor in pieces.

The sudden emptiness and the warmth and shape of the interaction were still there, lingering, that he felt as if he had just committed a murder. He collected the pieces and threw in on the floor, smashed them into tiny pieces, and washed it away with water.

But he found fragments of the broken mug every other day, haunting him like recurring nightmare.

He got out of the shower one day and he felt an acute pain under his left foot. He collapsed, on his knees, picked it up and squeezed it until his hands were bleeding. Crying like a wounded animal, he wondered if it was relief that he was feeling.

Ringo

twinkle twinkle little star

2009-10-05T18:19:00.000-04:00

How people react to things is always something that the (one's) world has never experienced before,

so it's always surprisingly serious and dramatic.

Like, when going through sadness, even if the sorrow was completely unexpected, she or he is always ready to cry.

To lose something, one must own something, and no doubtful mind that it is there.

Ringo

I saw it coming

2009-09-24T14:34:00.001-04:00

Let's go fox hunting

with your fingers between my fingers

tightly,

and

picnic basket,

filled with flowers and smell of the grass and air and water and bubbles

on our way back.
But just one thing, we have to wear white,

no exceptions, we have to wear white.

Once we get to the end of the world,

we look at each other in the eyes and remember not to say anything

just clean eyes with no lies

If we can't hold back

our tears and hearts bursting out

we share the final kiss of the world.

But just one thing, swallow those three words

we can't ruin it, not at the end of the world.

When the moon comes up, we'll head back home,

when we get brave, drunk on moonlights, we would miss the ocean terribly,

holding hands, jumping into the water, would sound so lovely.

But no, we can't die, Please, darling, don't die.

Because tomorrow morning

we'll wake up like nothing happened

"I love you"

the moment the words leave our mouth

we'll come back to earth, with a loud thud,

but we can be happy

for a little while.

Ringo

they don't swim cause they're all dead

2009-09-24T03:41:00.000-04:00

when we were hanging out i didn't like you.

i wanted you to introduce me to people i would like better, new places i could go without you, maybe places i could bring someone else.

distance made me adore you.

well... shit.

now that i don't have someone to guide me around town, i leave cupcakes on the doorsteps of people that i do not know but would like to, and drive and park in the parking lots of places i would like to go into but then do not get out of my car and just end up leaving the parking lot.

i don't think i ever learned the proper way of making friends on my own.

is there a proper way?

who doesn't like cupcakes?

oh right, the same people who answer "dolphin" and "dog" to the animal question.

alright.

-N

sunday evening

2009-09-06T14:59:00.000-04:00

a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one's life.

Would it be wrong if I'm feeling like this this evening?

Listening to Book written for girls, and reading Miranda July, taking breaks after stories, breaks are neccessary, looking at Duane Michals photographs, How can one not be nostalgic, how can one not be melancholy.

The light in my room is too warm, too warm for me to read a book. All I want is to feel the exact amount of weight words carry, so I turn all the lights off.

I would like to think that I put myself into the middle of this, only because I wanted to. But you were in my dreams last night, and in my dream, we hadn't seen each in 3 years, and I gave you a handjob. I want you back.

Ringo

phineas

2009-09-02T02:06:00.000-04:00

swallow me wHole

2009-09-02T01:42:00.000-04:00

you're spending too much time digging graves and sharpening your knives.

HEY...

...grow some balls.

love,

lets not get physical

2009-09-01T17:13:00.000-04:00

I want to grow.

I'm on a little boat in the middle of the ocean.

Rowing and rowing but the water never lets me go.

So, I tried to fall in love with the ocean.

But I could never drown myself, I could never fill my lungs and hearts and brains with salt water the whale breathed out.

So, I must keep rowing. The water never lets me go.

But it cannot stop me from rowing.

I write waves of love letters, using oars as my pen.

Hoping, they would reach the very bottom of your heart,

"I love you.

p.s. Please let me go."

I want to grow.

I want gills.

I want to breathe you in and out, you circulating through my body.

I want to love whales and corals, and speak their language, only to be closer to you.

No more love letters. I am one.

"I love you.

p.s. Please don't ever let me go."

Ringo

throwing pebbles at my own window

2009-08-19T12:47:00.000-04:00

it's getting worse.

I'm losing everything.

too many things that are missing, and are missed.

is slowly drowning me but I've learned to breathe underwater.

it gets hard sometimes, I have to constantly think about breathing to breathe.

I used to sleep with my hands across my chest, thinking that I'm Juliet, pretending to be dead, for the love of my life. and yes, indeed, I was almost fourteen.

and I starved myself for 2 whole days that summer, because I had a date with my first boyfriend. I read a lot of romance novels, and it made me become a woman. Being able to picture myself making out with a boy, isn't that what becoming a woman is all about?

oh Romeo, please find my keys, bones, shoe, (yes, just one) and old fashion romance and bake me cupcakes.

Ringo

raccoon

2009-08-18T03:20:00.000-04:00

why is it so hard for me to fall asleep in my own company?

i'm too lonely to sleep,

and i need to get over it.

my lullaby has become the birds chirping

and the sun creeping through my bedroom blinds.

fuck

tylenol pm,

every night i have to take one more pill in order for it to work.

fuck

sleeping,

i wish more people were nocturnal so i could have some company right now.

whatever.

-N

You hardly ever squeak

2009-08-16T22:10:00.000-04:00

I'm a little drama queen.
Fire alarm went off while I was trying to bake cupcakes.
I was laughing out loud, on a stool, fanning air across the detector with Steve Martin's book. And then I made a salad for myself listening to the brunettes - These things take time.
I shouldn't be alone in the kitchen. Kitchen can make me awfully lonely.

Ringo

why you are there and I am here

2009-08-15T12:48:00.000-04:00

things I want to say

things I shouldn't say

things you would want me to say

things you shouldn't want me to say but want me to say

things I'll never say

Ringo

I want to take you down

2009-08-02T18:58:00.001-04:00

We decided to skip 3rd and 4th period.
Gracefully drove out of the school parking lot, sharing kisses, laughs, and each others breath.
There were constructions going on, and unusual looking trees loaded on the trucks. And I asked, where do you think those trees came from?
You said, I don't know. You were that lame.
I said, Kokomo, and started singing.

Off the florida keys, there's a place called kokomo,

And you started singing along,
That's where we want to go, to get away from it all.

We were walking on bayshore, near the sun, near the water, near each other.
I took off my green cardigan, and I asked if you can see my nipples through my white t-shirt.
You said, yes.
And I said, well, good.

When I said, goodbye, but not outloud, you gave me a hug, and you made me cry. And I said I'm sorry. You said, it's okay, I saw it coming. You were that lame.
You did? I asked,
Yes, for about 2 weeks.

And I cried some more, because I do not know what it's like to wait for someone you care about to say goodbye for 2 weeks.
You said, it's okay, when you were the only one not okay.

Ringo

things are queer 2.

2009-07-28T04:11:00.000-04:00

I picture myself throwing up water, the river, oh the ocean, every night I go to bed.

It helps me sleep well with good thoughts and I sing myself a lullaby.

I try to picture the lullaby Elephant singing it to me, with his ears constantly flopping in the air, and he would always sing with my mom's voice. And he gets stuck in the same part, because as a child, there was a word in the lyrics that I didn't know and I never figured out what the exact word is or what it meant.

And I picture birds and the baby lambs sleeping under a tree on a hill peacefully, but only the moon busy, leading gold and silver beads to the east.

Good night.

Ringo

things are queer.

2009-07-22T21:30:00.000-04:00

Stick your tongue out,

with your eyes closed,

tip-toed,

your tastebuds react,

your heart beats faster,

kiss the rain.

because it's the Cloud's tears in your mouth.

Once apon a time,

there was a cloud and a fox.

They were very much in love.

But the Fox was supposed to marry the tiger, the king of the forest.

The day finally came.

The Cloud tried to smile as much as he can, seeing the Fox, getting married to another man,

but he couldn't.

So he hid behind the sun and cried,

and that's why it sometimes rains while the sun is shining.

Ringo

h-o-n-e-y

2009-06-23T14:57:00.000-04:00

I'm in a hurry. I might lose it before I finish writing this.

I was in borders, ordered iced chai latte, but I almost got hot chai if I hadn't change my mind. I couldn't find the lid that would fit my cup, a little frustrated because I was scared that dust and sparkly things in the air might land in my tea. The old lady, her voice full of charm and excitement, complimented my dress and my mint color nail polish. I said, thank you, and wondered if my mom would be that charming when she gets old. But she is too uptight, she would freak out when I wear AA's deep v neck shirt without wearing a white tank top underneath it. I wore that shirt without wearing a bra the other day.

They were in the elevator and he was looking around the people who were there, and started wondering who they missed and what they've lost . And that was when a man sitting next to me, asked, "Excuse me, can you tell me how to spell 'honey' as in, um, what bears like to eat?" My heart started beating fast, it really did, and butterflies hatched out of their cocoons. I do not know why, he wasn't even attractive, the only thing that caught my attention was his red hair, but I couldn't do anthing for while but feel the wings of dozens of butterflies tickling my stomache.

My dad never called me pretty. He once told me that I'm an attractive girl, but never used the word 'pretty' to describe me. It sometimes made me sad, but I believed that he was being honest when he called me attractive (and made me self-conscious when someone told me that I was pretty). And it was okay. Because my dad is a wise man; he knows million other ways to show his love than telling me how pretty I was.

I had to leave the bookstore before the mailman came so I can get the package mom sent from Korea. I was so close to buying the book, but I liked the book almost too much and I did not want it to be too accessable. That is what ruins most relationships. I do not have the key to my mailbox, so the only way to get my mail is a (planned) casual run-in with the mailman. I need to get my mail, he has my mailbox key. It would work out perfectly if we get married. And we would tell our grandchildren how fortunate I was not to have my mailbox key, and how I wrote a letter(with "Please marry me!" written on it) to my address, but addressed to the mailman, and that we got married 3 months later. If it really is going to happen, we are on the right track. I couldn't be more sad that I missed him today.

Ringo (it's a heart today instead of an apple)

p.s.

2009-06-14T21:57:00.001-04:00

take it easy. take pictures of pj sandwich you ate this morning and post it on your blog. Or lets write about what million other people already wrote about. Like love and fashion. Because there are enough tasteless people who might think that's cool. Yes, I'm very angry right now.

Ringo

diving bell and the butterfly

2009-06-05T17:48:00.001-04:00

I go to the pool. It's pointless to bring a towel when it's raining. Walk to the pool in my bathing suit and my keys in my hand in the rain. Run into a guy who probably lives in 100 ft radius to me. Wonder what he thought of me. A girl full of anger, fighting, without even knowing what she's fighting against? Bullshit. He probably was staring at my butt. Dad always said that I have an unyeilding spirit. It was a mere insult to me. I was always well aware of how selfish and stubborn I was. It made me upset, and I refused to change, I stayed the way I was as long as possible. Unyielding spirit.

I hold my breath. Go underwater. Listen to the rain in the water. It's like a secret between me and the water trapped in the pool embracing me gently. Excitement. I love secrets.

I went to the beach, in cold December, so cold I never wanted to take my mittens off. I picked up a stick and wrote our names on the sand. The sea, soon swallowed our names. I heard that the sea will remember your names forever that way. How romantic and full of shit. (that's exactly how we were at the time) My mittens were dirty and I felt bad holding your bare hands.

The weather needs to make up its mind and stop bitching. I left the pool as soon as the rain stopped and the sun came out. Rain was cold and I was shivering. And I did not have a towel.

Ringo

let me sleep, please.

2009-06-02T00:05:00.001-04:00

I've been having trouble sleeping at night for quite a while now. Last night, I went to bed at 3, had 3 nightmares, woke up at 5, called mom crying, took a shower, watched tv, and went to class at 9:30. I don't need anyone to save me. Only I can save myself from my own despair. I miss my ex boyfriend who used to sing me Rolling Stones- She's a rainbow as a lullaby.

Ringo

2009-06-01T03:37:00.000-04:00

I have met the most enchanting person, but I want to keep it a secret I find them enchanting. It's more fun to keep secrets. Only silly ones though.
It's so easy for me to fall into a dream state of "likeness". Whatever, it's better than any other state I've ever been to. Especially after this drought of mine.

P.S-I miss the excitement of growing. No one measures my height anymore.
P.S.S-I thought I saw a lady with four toes today. False alarm.

<3>

wake up, your cat pissed on you

2009-05-27T15:58:00.000-04:00

Okay, I had it all wrong.

All I want for now are drugs, sex, & bagels with hummus.

love,

josee, the tiger and the fish.

2009-05-26T23:42:00.000-04:00

If the trees bend tonight and if the light,

the light goes off by now, would you cuddle me and pretend to be?

and if the wolves never show up and neither bark all night to keep you up

you should go out and walk barefoot

you should measure your longest tooth

Asleep while everything gets dark

I can feel your eyes and see your heart

the blanket's a paradise, one morning sent to rise

and if the wolves never show up and neither bark all night to keep you up

you should teach them a brand new song and how to whistle

Your heart is so tiny sometimes

I wish you were a wolf sometimes

what if sometimes was now?

and oh, your hand is so clever sometimes

I wish you were a wolf sometimes

what if sometimes was now?

-Tender Forever, Tiny heart and Clever hand.

I have crushes on so many people right now. I listen and see and feel what they're doing, and it gets overwhelming sometimes that I have to take a deep breathe and bake an apple pie for myself.

Ringo

playtime

2009-05-20T21:11:00.000-04:00

It has been raining for about 3 days straight, give or take 5 minutes of stopping. It's crazy how much the weather can affect your mood. All I want to do is cuddle and lay and just eat and think about all these things that I never think about when I'm in the company of others. I like having silent conversations in my mind sometimes. I don't judge myself. It's quite nice really. I'm more creative when I'm by myself. I do like the smell and cool air that the rain brings though. So refreshing and revitalizing.

Sometimes I think about how nice it would be to have someone to make shark-shaped pancakes for. A reason to pick up two slurpees on the way home, instead of one. A reason to sleep on my side of the bed, instead of in the middle. It can be nice having a significant other to care for. I get so bored of only taking care of myself that I just don't sometimes.

Maybe all I want is someone to play in the rain with and laugh and splash and not give a damn that our clothes are wet and that it's thundering outside. Someone to remind myself I'm still so young and that I should wake up and stop worrying so much because I have the rest of my life to worry and in 20 years I probably won't appreciate the fun in the same things.

Maybe that's all I want for now.

love,

heart shaped ice

2009-05-19T00:39:00.000-04:00

it's 12:57 AM. I had to go back in and grab a cardigan because it was too cold. I just drove to CVS and got bed head hair wax, black tights, 99 cent gummy bears, and a pack of blow pops. I was standing in line staring at his back and his blonde hair. He had beer, milk, gum, ice cream, contact lens solution and some other stuff I couldn't see. There is an artist I know who collects receipts. It could be quite interesting, like mine. I could be a mysterious girl who came to buy hair product, black tights and candies after midnight. He told the cashier that one of the cabinets is open, even though I didn't know what kind of cabinet it was. He paid with debit card. He was someone I would never in a million years have sex with. Not that anything was wrong with him, but what would we talk about? Open cabinets until they are all closed? Nevermind, I guess we could have sex without a conversation. But still, I didn't like his t-shirt. Or shoes. He probably had no idea a girl behind him was thinking about all this. Idiot.
This morning, I missed my 9:30 class because I woke up at exactly 9:30. Then my brother Jae called, I played the keyboard for him. It felt quite weird, because it was more like, playing the keyboard for the telephone. On the other side of the phone, (and on the other side of the globe) my brother was listening to a melody his sister was playing for him, while wondering why she was naked last night in the parking lot.
I want my frozen dreams to melt, and soak me.

Ringo

lick it off

2009-05-10T12:57:00.000-04:00

Apple(Kim(Ringo)) speaking.
I think I like walking around the empty campus on a Sunday morning.
I think. For now.
Sun is too hot for me and my converses are too dirty and my glasses are missing.
I heard that there's a world of lost things. Everything that everyone has ever lost.
The other night me and Brittany went to starbucks on howard and everyone was staring at Britt's cat eye nipples.
I wonder if I would be happier with someone who thinks of me constantly, like when they are eating dinner with their families or tying their shoelaces to go running or watching dishwasher commercials and listening to their dog barking outside. But right now, I do not need anyone, unless you are a communication department adviser.
I am quite excited about this month and a half I have. Anthropology and play time with myself. Read more, think more, play the keyboard more, do laundry before I run out of towels, keep my apartment always clean, cook more, and feel better about myself.
Happy summer.

quiet things that no one ever knows

2009-05-09T05:40:00.000-04:00

i need to stop thinking about thinking.

-N

winter lullaby

2009-04-26T15:43:00.000-04:00

hey you,

where have you been

who did you love

what did you eat

what did you do on lazy sunday evenings

what is your parents like

how many siblings do you have

as if I'm talking to my brother(who is 14)'s imaginary fiance,

after meeting this one boy,

I really started wondering all these things that was quite surprising to myself.

ah how long has it been since I genuinely wanted to know

littlest things about someone,

who looks like he's living in his own shell yet so loud and vulnerable,

clearly, you

who's shaking me entirely

almost scary,

you would make me laugh

and you

could

probably

hurt me,

one day.

April 26th, 2006.

I am haunted by my old diaries this evening. I almost, said morning, I woke up not too long ago. I wrote on my old Korean blog, and there was a new 'today history' link where I can see my old entries from April 26ths. Last year, I wrote about 'Norwegian wood', the part about the springbear and clover-covered hill.

I wonder what he was thinking when I sent him that message two winters ago. Nothing but hurt pride, everything but honesty. (but I think I wished that he could see it, somehow.)

When I think about it, I'm probably not so different from the girl I was three years ago. Still so obstinate; Nothing but hurt pride, everything but honesty.(but I wish that you could see it, somehow.)

I told him, I want to die at the peak of my life,

What does that mean? Peak of your life?

Hmm.. you know, when I'm perfectly happy with everything in my life.

Then, die, right now.

I couldn't say anything but laugh like a silly girl, a little embarrassed, because he was so right. I was happy. Genuinely.

And I did not want to die.

am i really all the things that are outside of me?

2009-04-20T17:43:00.000-04:00

P.S.
"There is no use trying," said Alice; "one can't believe impossible things." "I dare say you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

-N

gross

2009-04-20T17:07:00.001-04:00

Growing up as a product of two non-American citizens, there was nothing I wanted more than to be American. I refused to listen to the Farsi tapes my dad would play for me. I refused to spell according to the British dictionary. I had a Briterican accent until age 7. "Mummyyyyy but I just want McDonald's (Mc-DAWN-alds)!" After that, every summer when I would return from England I would have a fully believable British accent until 2 months had passed, and everyone at school had mocked me. As a young child, I used to argue with my grandmother that the American way was the "correct" way to spell things.

What the fuck was I so proud of? Why did I feel so ashamed for not being as "American" as my classmates? How disgusting.

-N

double yous

2009-04-19T01:05:00.000-04:00

Being with an abstract air been fiddling these days away. Tylenol has been on my desk for a week now. My headache is following me everywhere, even in my dreams, dreams of cabbages and kings.

I'm listening to my best friend talking about this girl he's been liking for more than a year. Last month, he talked about how he doesn't respect her as friend, how he doesn't understand why he liked her in the first place, that he's ready to move on. He worked with her today, and enjoyed seeing her. He thinks he sucks.

I'm lonely,

I answered honestly, then added,

more like, I don't know what to do.

I can't wake up when I'm not sleeping.

laughing out loud

2009-04-14T00:41:00.000-04:00

whatcha talkin 'bout natasha?
we're da baddest bitches in da town~*
hahahahahahaha

-Kim(Apple(Ringo))

i just want four walls and adobe slabs for ya'll

2009-04-13T21:51:00.000-04:00

Dear gurlz,

Love ya lots. Based on two (extremely laughable) accounts this past weekend, I've realized how psychotic girls can really get at times.. You're all beautiful, rational human beings that I am very thankful to know in this town which I suppose is our home-away-from-home.

Thxxxx for being sweet and not being little bitches, like... ever.

Love,
N

March 15th, 2006

2009-04-08T01:38:00.000-04:00

Switching tv channels without even acknowledging it

just messes up with my head

NFC orange juice is pretty delicious

but its sour taste on my tongue won't go away,

because I drank few cups of it in a row-

As I'm standing on the balcony

people in the park are leaving one by one.

Anolog radio than tv,

Cold water than orange juice

and it was the moment when I desired earnestly to be a part of it

than being a watcher from the balcony.

Oh, yes my dear, I still have moments when I feel that way. Lovely night, everyone.

-Apple

Freja Beha

2009-04-08T01:07:00.000-04:00

I'm pretty sure- almost positive that if this woman was ever in my presence I would completely dismantle. Basically my dream girl/supermodel/whatever.

Luv,
Brittany

longing

2009-04-08T00:25:00.000-04:00

Cold air. I breathe in and my fingertips turn pink.

That night. I remember clearly. I started crying and started scribbling down words, sentences, my heart on my leather notebook I got myself on my birthday. I turned the lights off, stared at the dark space between me and the ceiling. I thought I was going mad.

Even when he wasn't the person I thought he was,

why the hell did I think that he was that person,

and how queer it is that I'm going down the memory lane habitually

and I question my intentions and think how sly I am in tricking myself and others

and I think and think, and memories, glipse of you would haunt me, no it's myself bringing, dragging it out,

I put those memories in an expensive handmade frame

and fancy it than anything else, trust and believe that it's the truth

when it's just a piece of shit fucking good at pretending and nicely manipulated
and I hope and wish and think that those memories, and my passion back in the time would never leave me, would keep on strangling me and linger, and linger, and linger.

No, this is not the note from that night, but I remember reading this. I wrote that after watching Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind. And depression, my dear old friend, tapped on my shoulder gently, like always, and hey, how have you been?

I planted some sunflowers and zinnias in my tiny cute pots. I can smell the soil and I wish you are still alive. I have no way to find out, so to me, you're no different than my dead grandmother who never loved me.

Thank you for setting me free. I missed the rain this morning unbearably, then I got sick. I was in my bed and I thought about that night and the notes I read and the music I was listening to,

crushin~*

2009-04-07T14:22:00.000-04:00

"Well, one day. One day I'll live in Thornton Park, shop at this Publix, take my dog for a stroll on these streets."

The second I started re-envisioning the details of our last night together to help me fall into a happy sleep, you texted me just to say hi.

I like you.

I don't think I'm supposed to because of silly circumstances, but I really, really like you.

xo,

2009-04-07T11:39:00.000-04:00

It's mornings like these when there is still a glow about the room coming from the blue numbers on the clock and the dawn breaking outside that I wish I was a child again. When I was young, on early mornings before school my father would gently wake me by carefully carrying me to the warm couch in the living room. He'd turn on the news and make breakfast as I slowly woke to the sound of the weatherman listing the weeks predicted highs and lows. This morning, for a split second at least, I could almost feel as if I was there. I imagined my father slowly creeping in, reciting his slow " gooooood mooooorning" and saying " there she is." when I slightly opened my eyes. I could smell the pancakes and eggs, and feel my dogs warm breath on my cheek as she waits by the edge of the couch for me to pat her and say "hello, Chloe."
These thoughts pull at my mind and my heart till I get a lump in my throat. It's hard to think of my dad waking up every morning inside that lonely house with the cold tile and old dog. I beat myself up over the awful things I say when we argue. " I've left the nest, dad, and it's very unlikely I will return." I can almost taste the same metallic taste in his mouth, and feel the sadness weigh upon his shoulders as the words sink in. He remembers those early mornings as much as I do. I don't mean it, dad.
It's these days in particular that waves of great nostalgia wash over me. I become very nostalgic when a thin glaze of depression coats me. It's a form of escape, I suppose. Not uncommon. It was just last weekend when I wanted to drop everything, and drive to Georgia and the places I hold so close to me. So many of my most precious childhood memories are tied and rooted in Georgia's soft orange clay, and cool rushing rapids. I always want to return to those days of my uncle filling my brain with Civil War facts, and leading me down Cherokee trials laced with arrowheads and ancient graves. I want to return to winters huddled in that little cottage covered in snow and gray clouds, with my family telling off-colored jokes around a little fire and a tin full of my grandmother's fudge. Georgia holds a large portion of my innocence, and that's possibly the main reason I guard it so strongly.

I never wanted to grow up, get a car, wear make-up, or get married. One Christmas my cousin, Amanda and I were given a costume wedding dress. I looked at my grandmother in complete confusion when I ripped open the box. Even when I was small I never understood the importance of marriage. I still don't, nor wish to. Maybe my idea of marriage is attached to my idea of losing my childhood. I'm willing to hold on as long as I can to whatever innocence I have left. This is possibly why I feel so ashamed coming home reeking of cigarettes and alcohol after a night out. I've grown bored of it, and so has my body.

The more I think about it, the more I realize I need more mental stimulation, and drive. When I was more anti-social than now, I spent a lot of time alone. In some ways (a lot of ways) I miss it. I feel myself slowly slipping back into being antisocial again. I'm not too sure if I'm sad about. It's comforting and warm.

What a ramble,
Brittany

more Duane Michals

2009-04-05T12:15:00.000-04:00

click on the images.

Genius. They sometimes make my world too much for me to take in.

Duane Michals

2009-03-29T16:46:00.000-04:00

Ok, I tried not to comment, but I can't help it. For my final assignment in my photography class, we have to create sequential images and I have been doing some research on Duane Michals sequential photography. I want to post more photos by him, great works. His talent overwhelms me. Beautiful man. He is famous for "Things are queer" the first image, but I think his sequential photography is what he should be known for. Very clever in a very sophisticated manner. I think I am in love.

2009-03-20T21:41:00.001-04:00

LOOKING FOR TRENDY
CUTE BLACK GUYS WH
O WANT TO BE OUR FR
IENDS