Don't look at me like that
I know what I'm saying.
I know how much I'm risking.
but isn't that the best part?
Monday, July 23, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
An Unapologetic Laugh (on your behalf)
And isn't this awkward
for you at least.
I'm doing okay.
Yeah, you rejected me.
Stood up.
Cancelled.
Ignored.
Full out.
Had me sitting by the phone
clicking hopelessly at my empty inbox,
"No, you do not have mail,
your self-worth is deminishing,
have a nice night."
And now, I can see it in your eyes
how uncomfortable this makes you
and my hands are shaking
my pulse is racing
but it's not because
I wish you were into me
as much as I was into you
was being the operative word
but rather
because I have this unreal sense
of self-reflected anger
that I let myself be hurt by you
that I lost sleep
over the sound of your voice
the false need for your touch
and when our hands bumped
I didn't feel butterflies
I felt bats and moths
and the same anger as when
I first saw Salvador Dali's
"the creation of flying things"
And right now
I'm happy
I'm crushing
and feeling butterflies
just thinking about his eyes
his touch
and seeing you
helped me remember who I am.
Resilient.
Beautiful.
Defying.
And most of all.
I am uneffected.
Thanks for the reminder,
and the unapologetic laugh
at your receding hairline.
LUV,
LS
for you at least.
I'm doing okay.
Yeah, you rejected me.
Stood up.
Cancelled.
Ignored.
Full out.
Had me sitting by the phone
clicking hopelessly at my empty inbox,
"No, you do not have mail,
your self-worth is deminishing,
have a nice night."
And now, I can see it in your eyes
how uncomfortable this makes you
and my hands are shaking
my pulse is racing
but it's not because
I wish you were into me
as much as I was into you
was being the operative word
but rather
because I have this unreal sense
of self-reflected anger
that I let myself be hurt by you
that I lost sleep
over the sound of your voice
the false need for your touch
and when our hands bumped
I didn't feel butterflies
I felt bats and moths
and the same anger as when
I first saw Salvador Dali's
"the creation of flying things"
And right now
I'm happy
I'm crushing
and feeling butterflies
just thinking about his eyes
his touch
and seeing you
helped me remember who I am.
Resilient.
Beautiful.
Defying.
And most of all.
I am uneffected.
Thanks for the reminder,
and the unapologetic laugh
at your receding hairline.
LUV,
LS
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Women Under the Influence
I don't feel pretty right now.
or Cute. or Attractive. or Beautiful.
In fact, I feel quite the opposite.
For some reason, and I am not entirely sure why,
I feel dejected.
Unsure of what happens next.
Questioning who I am, what I do or
how I say your name.
And it's not entirely a bad feeling.
Maybe I'm just hungry
for something more.
Ms. R. Jeehye and I had breakfast
at Broadway Cafe.
I forgot to be vegan
and she forgot to be a bad friend
(I don't think she has ever been a bad friend, so easily forgotten,
being vegan was a little less easily misplaced)
and we decided half way through our pancakes
that we wouldn't talk about boys anymore
and instead giggle about
diaries and hashbrowns.
I bought a painting at St Vincent de Paul.
it's yellow and red, with sequins glued to the canvas,
and a big wooden cross hot glued
on top of a wave of sparkles.
It was $5.00.
It makes me feel alive.
I wonder why nobody signed it.
I have big plans of altering it.
Creating some kind of love child
with the previous artist.
In hopes of dropping an atom bomb
of splotchy ink
and irreversible personality flaws
and sign my name
under the black spot of their own.
and we watched the Baby Sitters Club
the TV show, not the movie
and drank cherry soda.
At someone else's house.
And I felt dirty
after applying for a credit card
and desperate for a cause
there is nothing like
being told your self-worth
is greater than your yearly income
and sometimes that's just not enough.
and I don't NEED YOU
TO MAKE ME FEEL BAD ABOUT
THINGS THAT ARE OUT OF MY CONTROL
AND don't come to me
ASKING FOR FORGIVENESS
WHEN THE GUTTER OF MY HEART
IS ALREADY spilling over,
edited and absolute
and I don't know why I care so much
about things that don't really effect
the gravitational pull of my everyday.
and it doesn't even make me feel better
to say that as loudly as I can
because dude, I got a lot of shit going on
and I work 60 hours a week
I have nightmares
and sweat myself to sleep.
while I think about his eyes
and the fool that I so easily became, become,
after hours
long after I should have known better
but didn't think twice.
and just because we're friends
for a long time
doesn't mean that I am who you want me to be.
Raychie is sleeping on the floor
and a rerun of the newshour
or something
with a woman wearing an out-of-date suit
is playing on TV
and I'm thinking about sending myself postcards
from places I've never been
share secret I've never said outloud
and find true love in a 39 cent stamp.
I am a woman under the influence
of sleep deprivation
of out of state work
of infatuation overload
of future-shock, flashing lights and a song I can't remember the name of
of teenage angst
of miles away
of lack of need
of situation confirmation and an empty inbox.
Love to the 12 degree,
beca.
or Cute. or Attractive. or Beautiful.
In fact, I feel quite the opposite.
For some reason, and I am not entirely sure why,
I feel dejected.
Unsure of what happens next.
Questioning who I am, what I do or
how I say your name.
And it's not entirely a bad feeling.
Maybe I'm just hungry
for something more.
Ms. R. Jeehye and I had breakfast
at Broadway Cafe.
I forgot to be vegan
and she forgot to be a bad friend
(I don't think she has ever been a bad friend, so easily forgotten,
being vegan was a little less easily misplaced)
and we decided half way through our pancakes
that we wouldn't talk about boys anymore
and instead giggle about
diaries and hashbrowns.
I bought a painting at St Vincent de Paul.
it's yellow and red, with sequins glued to the canvas,
and a big wooden cross hot glued
on top of a wave of sparkles.
It was $5.00.
It makes me feel alive.
I wonder why nobody signed it.
I have big plans of altering it.
Creating some kind of love child
with the previous artist.
In hopes of dropping an atom bomb
of splotchy ink
and irreversible personality flaws
and sign my name
under the black spot of their own.
and we watched the Baby Sitters Club
the TV show, not the movie
and drank cherry soda.
At someone else's house.
And I felt dirty
after applying for a credit card
and desperate for a cause
there is nothing like
being told your self-worth
is greater than your yearly income
and sometimes that's just not enough.
and I don't NEED YOU
TO MAKE ME FEEL BAD ABOUT
THINGS THAT ARE OUT OF MY CONTROL
AND don't come to me
ASKING FOR FORGIVENESS
WHEN THE GUTTER OF MY HEART
IS ALREADY spilling over,
edited and absolute
and I don't know why I care so much
about things that don't really effect
the gravitational pull of my everyday.
and it doesn't even make me feel better
to say that as loudly as I can
because dude, I got a lot of shit going on
and I work 60 hours a week
I have nightmares
and sweat myself to sleep.
while I think about his eyes
and the fool that I so easily became, become,
after hours
long after I should have known better
but didn't think twice.
and just because we're friends
for a long time
doesn't mean that I am who you want me to be.
Raychie is sleeping on the floor
and a rerun of the newshour
or something
with a woman wearing an out-of-date suit
is playing on TV
and I'm thinking about sending myself postcards
from places I've never been
share secret I've never said outloud
and find true love in a 39 cent stamp.
I am a woman under the influence
of sleep deprivation
of out of state work
of infatuation overload
of future-shock, flashing lights and a song I can't remember the name of
of teenage angst
of miles away
of lack of need
of situation confirmation and an empty inbox.
Love to the 12 degree,
beca.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Tracks and Trenches
My heart is a trainwreck.
The whistle blowing, screaming, conforming to the illusions of my imagination.
And I met you today & didn't really think much about our future.
I thought about my past.
About my tendency to fall into the canyons
of insecurity
and that sometimes
I forget how many band-aids cover up
the fleshy wounds
across my chest and under my skin.
I wonder if you can forgive
my skepticism.
And I'll call you in a couple of days.
Maybe.
And everytime I start to question my self worth, I peek under my shirt and catch a glance at my shoulder, and my heart fills with an undeniable warmth and I think of "Summertime."
Love ALWAYS,
yeo-dong-saeng!
The whistle blowing, screaming, conforming to the illusions of my imagination.
And I met you today & didn't really think much about our future.
I thought about my past.
About my tendency to fall into the canyons
of insecurity
and that sometimes
I forget how many band-aids cover up
the fleshy wounds
across my chest and under my skin.
I wonder if you can forgive
my skepticism.
And I'll call you in a couple of days.
Maybe.
And everytime I start to question my self worth, I peek under my shirt and catch a glance at my shoulder, and my heart fills with an undeniable warmth and I think of "Summertime."
Love ALWAYS,
yeo-dong-saeng!
Thursday, May 31, 2007
The Critics and Their Suffering
UA screens BFA films at the Loft
2007-05-17
Shipherd Reed
The year was 1984. A group of Chicano cub reporters at the LA Times pushed to provide a new perspective on California’s Latino population – something more than the poverty, gangs, and crime that the newspaper usually covered. Their reporting won the Pulitzer Prize for Public Service that year. That’s the engaging and affecting story told in Roberto Gudino’s short documentary “Below The Fold” as part of the UA Media Arts annual BFA program screening that goes by the name “I Dream In Widescreen.” Gudino’s film was one of the highlights of the screening this past Friday at the Loft Cinema.
Over the past year, an impressive crop of talented home-grown filmmakers and performers have sprouted in Tucson. And last year at the same UA Media Arts event I saw Jonathan Pulley’s astonishing short “Move Me” which made it to Sundance, and Nate Buchik’s irresistible “On Call Teddy” which just won the year-end grand prize for the Loft’s First Friday Shorts contest. So it was with high expectations that I sat down to watch this year’s “I Dream In Widescreen.” Alas, this year’s screening did not quite meet my hopes.
The screening kicked off with “Stuck” by director Elias Benavidez in which a lovely zaftig young Latina suffers a stuck zipper on the back of her dress as she prepares to go out for a night on the town. The film offered strong camera work from Kelli Dickinson and snappy editing, but it never built much dramatic tension and the twist at the end lacked bite – sweet but never sharp.
Next in line came “Sight” directed by Christafer Suddarth. Suddarth told the story of a shy teenage boy who meets an odd homeless woman under a bridge and she gives him a strange form of “sight.” Imagine being able to see people glow with auras of colored light, then combine that with special effects that look like the wispy spooks in “Ghostbusters,” and you have some idea. The effects were impressive, but the story never grabbed me.
“Below The Fold,” Gudino’s doc about Chicano journalists at the LA Times newspaper, followed. Gudino interviews the original reporters and conveys not only the dramatic tension inherent in their efforts to change reporting on the Latino community, and the courage required to push for that change, but also the profound validation the group felt when they won the Pulitzer Prize – a strong film.
The fourth film of the evening, “Hubris” by director Alex Lau, felt gimmicky. An entry in the well-worn genre of office drone fantasy, an average guy who works a ho-hum desk job saves a pretty woman from a mugger, and she gives him a thankful kiss. This experience proves so gratifying that he tries to do the same thing again by hiring a mugger so he can save the same woman. He ends up in the clink. Solid execution, but again it never hooked or surprised me.
The spirit award might go to the next film, “123 Smile” by Rebecca Skeels about a Latino brother and sister who cause mischievous mayhem at school on the day of the “school photo.” Playful camera work and plenty of color set this film apart even though the story never achieved much momentum or bite.
Another documentary, “We Don’t Eat Like Everyone Else,” followed. Directed by Cecilia Sewell, the film examines two vegetarian sisters and how their family members perceive their dietary restriction. There were a few funny moments, and much heartfelt commentary, but nothing unexpected.
Then we all watched “Lulee,” the tale of a pretty yet alienated college student who writes wise yet funny comments on Post-It notes that she leaves for strangers. Directed by Rachel Jeehye Thomas, the protagonist Lulee sports a black page-boy haircut, not unlike the enchanting Amelie in the charming French film of the same name. Lulee fields phone calls from her Japanese father and French mother and rejects the advances of a cute and savvy British boy as she scribbles her Post-Its. At last, when Brit boy sticks Lulee with a Post-It, she comes to her senses and agrees to a date. The film had a whimsical charm, but the polyglot Lulee felt more jaded than lovelorn and I never empathized with her plight.
In “Missing,” the next film to screen, director Kelli Dickinson focuses on a mother whose son very abruptly goes missing. Mom and a neighbor search desperately for the boy, and when at last they spot him, mom comes to her senses – in a mental hospital. It was all in her head. Dramatic thrillers are not easy to pull off without seeming forced, especially in such a short format. So while the directing was solid, the mother’s desperation did not pull me in. The ninth film of the evening, a film-noir ode to Philip K. Dick called “The Electric Sleep” by Matt Brailey, boasted some cool lighting and camera angles. A haggard Private Eye hero gets into some scrapes with some hard cases, pulls a gun, beds the femme fatale, and then finds out that he’s an android. More bewildering than twisty, although I give Brailey points for visual style.
Following Brailey’s shadowy thriller, Ben Slamka’s short film “Tympanic,” was hard to watch, or hear, and that’s how Slamka wanted it. Using a restrained visual style, and brutal sonic dexterity (painfully effective sound design by Brandon Clay), the film brings us into a large grimy cell in an unknown institution with a straight-jacketed prisoner who has big white devices, presumably amplified speakers, on his ears. Every sound – especially that of a buzzing fly – is amplified for the prisoner to the level of torture, and the audience is occasionally treated to the uber-audio that the prisoner hears. Ouch. The guy ends up bleeding from the ears and dying. Not much story, and grim as it gets, but both visually and sonically memorable.
The final film of the evening, “Revolution TV” directed by Dan Hart, and written and acted by Hart and his buddy Adam Zolnierczyk, was funny. The film offered crass, rapid fire sketch comedy barely strung together by the idea of two rabble-rousers who hit the bar after they are fired from their public access TV show. Hart and Zolnierczyk have a giddy approach to mocking American popular culture, a sensibility closer to Will Farrell than Sacha Baron Cohen, and their humor sometimes hits the mark. They should bring their brand of comedy to the Loft’s First Friday Shorts and I hope they keep making shorts with their “Monkies United” production company.
There was no audience award, but the biggest cheers from the crowd went to “Lulee” and “The Electric Sleep.” Also, I have to chide the Loft because, just like last year, it was sweltering in the filled-to-capacity theater. Was the air conditioning simply overwhelmed? Congratulations to all the BFA filmmakers for their hard work and creativity, and best wishes in their future creative endeavors!
2007-05-17
Shipherd Reed
The year was 1984. A group of Chicano cub reporters at the LA Times pushed to provide a new perspective on California’s Latino population – something more than the poverty, gangs, and crime that the newspaper usually covered. Their reporting won the Pulitzer Prize for Public Service that year. That’s the engaging and affecting story told in Roberto Gudino’s short documentary “Below The Fold” as part of the UA Media Arts annual BFA program screening that goes by the name “I Dream In Widescreen.” Gudino’s film was one of the highlights of the screening this past Friday at the Loft Cinema.
Over the past year, an impressive crop of talented home-grown filmmakers and performers have sprouted in Tucson. And last year at the same UA Media Arts event I saw Jonathan Pulley’s astonishing short “Move Me” which made it to Sundance, and Nate Buchik’s irresistible “On Call Teddy” which just won the year-end grand prize for the Loft’s First Friday Shorts contest. So it was with high expectations that I sat down to watch this year’s “I Dream In Widescreen.” Alas, this year’s screening did not quite meet my hopes.
The screening kicked off with “Stuck” by director Elias Benavidez in which a lovely zaftig young Latina suffers a stuck zipper on the back of her dress as she prepares to go out for a night on the town. The film offered strong camera work from Kelli Dickinson and snappy editing, but it never built much dramatic tension and the twist at the end lacked bite – sweet but never sharp.
Next in line came “Sight” directed by Christafer Suddarth. Suddarth told the story of a shy teenage boy who meets an odd homeless woman under a bridge and she gives him a strange form of “sight.” Imagine being able to see people glow with auras of colored light, then combine that with special effects that look like the wispy spooks in “Ghostbusters,” and you have some idea. The effects were impressive, but the story never grabbed me.
“Below The Fold,” Gudino’s doc about Chicano journalists at the LA Times newspaper, followed. Gudino interviews the original reporters and conveys not only the dramatic tension inherent in their efforts to change reporting on the Latino community, and the courage required to push for that change, but also the profound validation the group felt when they won the Pulitzer Prize – a strong film.
The fourth film of the evening, “Hubris” by director Alex Lau, felt gimmicky. An entry in the well-worn genre of office drone fantasy, an average guy who works a ho-hum desk job saves a pretty woman from a mugger, and she gives him a thankful kiss. This experience proves so gratifying that he tries to do the same thing again by hiring a mugger so he can save the same woman. He ends up in the clink. Solid execution, but again it never hooked or surprised me.
The spirit award might go to the next film, “123 Smile” by Rebecca Skeels about a Latino brother and sister who cause mischievous mayhem at school on the day of the “school photo.” Playful camera work and plenty of color set this film apart even though the story never achieved much momentum or bite.
Another documentary, “We Don’t Eat Like Everyone Else,” followed. Directed by Cecilia Sewell, the film examines two vegetarian sisters and how their family members perceive their dietary restriction. There were a few funny moments, and much heartfelt commentary, but nothing unexpected.
Then we all watched “Lulee,” the tale of a pretty yet alienated college student who writes wise yet funny comments on Post-It notes that she leaves for strangers. Directed by Rachel Jeehye Thomas, the protagonist Lulee sports a black page-boy haircut, not unlike the enchanting Amelie in the charming French film of the same name. Lulee fields phone calls from her Japanese father and French mother and rejects the advances of a cute and savvy British boy as she scribbles her Post-Its. At last, when Brit boy sticks Lulee with a Post-It, she comes to her senses and agrees to a date. The film had a whimsical charm, but the polyglot Lulee felt more jaded than lovelorn and I never empathized with her plight.
In “Missing,” the next film to screen, director Kelli Dickinson focuses on a mother whose son very abruptly goes missing. Mom and a neighbor search desperately for the boy, and when at last they spot him, mom comes to her senses – in a mental hospital. It was all in her head. Dramatic thrillers are not easy to pull off without seeming forced, especially in such a short format. So while the directing was solid, the mother’s desperation did not pull me in. The ninth film of the evening, a film-noir ode to Philip K. Dick called “The Electric Sleep” by Matt Brailey, boasted some cool lighting and camera angles. A haggard Private Eye hero gets into some scrapes with some hard cases, pulls a gun, beds the femme fatale, and then finds out that he’s an android. More bewildering than twisty, although I give Brailey points for visual style.
Following Brailey’s shadowy thriller, Ben Slamka’s short film “Tympanic,” was hard to watch, or hear, and that’s how Slamka wanted it. Using a restrained visual style, and brutal sonic dexterity (painfully effective sound design by Brandon Clay), the film brings us into a large grimy cell in an unknown institution with a straight-jacketed prisoner who has big white devices, presumably amplified speakers, on his ears. Every sound – especially that of a buzzing fly – is amplified for the prisoner to the level of torture, and the audience is occasionally treated to the uber-audio that the prisoner hears. Ouch. The guy ends up bleeding from the ears and dying. Not much story, and grim as it gets, but both visually and sonically memorable.
The final film of the evening, “Revolution TV” directed by Dan Hart, and written and acted by Hart and his buddy Adam Zolnierczyk, was funny. The film offered crass, rapid fire sketch comedy barely strung together by the idea of two rabble-rousers who hit the bar after they are fired from their public access TV show. Hart and Zolnierczyk have a giddy approach to mocking American popular culture, a sensibility closer to Will Farrell than Sacha Baron Cohen, and their humor sometimes hits the mark. They should bring their brand of comedy to the Loft’s First Friday Shorts and I hope they keep making shorts with their “Monkies United” production company.
There was no audience award, but the biggest cheers from the crowd went to “Lulee” and “The Electric Sleep.” Also, I have to chide the Loft because, just like last year, it was sweltering in the filled-to-capacity theater. Was the air conditioning simply overwhelmed? Congratulations to all the BFA filmmakers for their hard work and creativity, and best wishes in their future creative endeavors!
Monday, May 28, 2007
Friday, May 18, 2007
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Purgatory
I am obligated
I am bound
to a respective fate
one that meets the expectations of success
and happiness.
It's much too hard to say 'this is it; the beginning of the end and vice versus.'
I can't fathom the idea that in so many ways, I can't possibly be the same person I was 3 years ago, 3 months ago, 3 weeks ago, and to be perfectly honest, 3 days ago.
I am in a state of perpetual mourning.
I break all of my own rules.
Love always,
YDS
I am bound
to a respective fate
one that meets the expectations of success
and happiness.
It's much too hard to say 'this is it; the beginning of the end and vice versus.'
I can't fathom the idea that in so many ways, I can't possibly be the same person I was 3 years ago, 3 months ago, 3 weeks ago, and to be perfectly honest, 3 days ago.
I am in a state of perpetual mourning.
I break all of my own rules.
Love always,
YDS
Sunday, May 6, 2007
ctr-z
Life is a little like that defining moment before you're about to do a cartwheel, or that pressure heavy jump before you do a flip on a trampoline. Do you pause, wait one more second and maybe miss the momentum to carry you into the cartwheel or do you leap into the air and forget everything you know, forget everything that you've ever been told and face the concequences of you actions?
What if life had a ctr-z button. or sleep mode. or F9. Would it make life easier or more difficult? Would we ever learn from our mistakes? Would be move on?
Retrospective and crisis-free. Happy bird. Happy bee. I have Korean to practice.
Love always (and forvever)
LS
What if life had a ctr-z button. or sleep mode. or F9. Would it make life easier or more difficult? Would we ever learn from our mistakes? Would be move on?
Retrospective and crisis-free. Happy bird. Happy bee. I have Korean to practice.
Love always (and forvever)
LS
Saturday, May 5, 2007
typo[st]s; a written apology for my last post & it's abundance of misprints
"Typos are very important to all written form. It gives the reader something to look for so they aren't distracted by the total lack of content in your writing." Randy K. Milholland, Something Positive Comic, 07-03-05
I didn't know who Randy Milholland was, so I did what any girl would do at 4:23 in the morning. I wikepedia-ed him. Here is some trivia.
"In June 2003 Milholland was stranded overnight at the airport in Seattle. Unprepared and bored, he asked a friend to mention his predicament on his webcomic and ask for someone to come hang out with him. Within 20 minutes of the post someone found him at the airport and whisked him away from certain boredom. (Many others appeared before the post was removed an hour later.) This was when it became clear that celebrity was coming."
I still don't know who Randy Milholland is, but his quote about typos makes me happy and I'm glad he wasn't bored at an airport. That's what gameboys are for.
Love always,
LS (because I can!)
I didn't know who Randy Milholland was, so I did what any girl would do at 4:23 in the morning. I wikepedia-ed him. Here is some trivia.
"In June 2003 Milholland was stranded overnight at the airport in Seattle. Unprepared and bored, he asked a friend to mention his predicament on his webcomic and ask for someone to come hang out with him. Within 20 minutes of the post someone found him at the airport and whisked him away from certain boredom. (Many others appeared before the post was removed an hour later.) This was when it became clear that celebrity was coming."
I still don't know who Randy Milholland is, but his quote about typos makes me happy and I'm glad he wasn't bored at an airport. That's what gameboys are for.
Love always,
LS (because I can!)
2:21am MST (because of your extraordinary effort, we we're all made to be laughed at)
I just spent about 15 minutes making photo-copies of my Korean homework (숙제) and in the process, did one of my favorite things ever in the entire world..oh yes, I dug through the recycling bin. I found a photo-copy of a passport, a powerpoint about china, a chapter from a novel in French, a nats 101 lab exam (Kellen Hope got an 83%) a photo-copy of someone's hand and a collection of ancient pottery photos. Maybe you'll be lucky enough to get one of my watercolor-found art collages??? Maybe???
I am very disinterested in finished my work right now. I am much more interested in translating very random words, like holler (고함,) and writing cryptic poetry and chain smoking (very kerouac-esque I suppose) except it is very hard to chain smoke in the MLL Zone...I have to keep going outside, and I'm in much too much of a lazy mood to do that as often as I would like.
I just took a quick nap under the editing station desk. It was not comfortable. It smelled like boy sweat and gym shoes. I dreamed a little, about nice things that I want to keep in my head for a little while.
it starts with the alphabet
and three letters later
you're more tired than you we're before.
we're not used to the indecision
the rawness is leaving open wounds
it's creol
potato pancakes
shirts that don't really fit
and the emptiness gas tank after a necessary trip
to the grocery store
that ends with the alphabet
and 12 letters later
we feel full.
It all starts with the case of delerium. It all works out.
Love always,
LS (because sometimes I forget important information)
I am very disinterested in finished my work right now. I am much more interested in translating very random words, like holler (고함,) and writing cryptic poetry and chain smoking (very kerouac-esque I suppose) except it is very hard to chain smoke in the MLL Zone...I have to keep going outside, and I'm in much too much of a lazy mood to do that as often as I would like.
I just took a quick nap under the editing station desk. It was not comfortable. It smelled like boy sweat and gym shoes. I dreamed a little, about nice things that I want to keep in my head for a little while.
it starts with the alphabet
and three letters later
you're more tired than you we're before.
we're not used to the indecision
the rawness is leaving open wounds
it's creol
potato pancakes
shirts that don't really fit
and the emptiness gas tank after a necessary trip
to the grocery store
that ends with the alphabet
and 12 letters later
we feel full.
It all starts with the case of delerium. It all works out.
Love always,
LS (because sometimes I forget important information)
Friday, May 4, 2007
after a long time gone
In an overwhelming, understated realm of absolutes
what is the business that will get us through
the hot days
long nights
dreams of apples and oranges
and whistling rock and roll songs that are out of circulation
while we ask ourselves
what we're doing
to understand the bigger pictures
forests and trees
clarity
or rather
do we even care
if these feelings are real
or if we all just faking it
and clinging to things that feel like forever
I haven't practiced my Korean all week, and I didn't do my homework. There is nothing like babysitting to give me time to write the korean alphabet a thousand times!
These are the words that I have learned:
아기 - baby
나무 - tree
아기 나무 - baby tree
and a few others, but I can't remember now.
So. I'm done with college. More on this later.
what is the business that will get us through
the hot days
long nights
dreams of apples and oranges
and whistling rock and roll songs that are out of circulation
while we ask ourselves
what we're doing
to understand the bigger pictures
forests and trees
clarity
or rather
do we even care
if these feelings are real
or if we all just faking it
and clinging to things that feel like forever
I haven't practiced my Korean all week, and I didn't do my homework. There is nothing like babysitting to give me time to write the korean alphabet a thousand times!
These are the words that I have learned:
아기 - baby
나무 - tree
아기 나무 - baby tree
and a few others, but I can't remember now.
So. I'm done with college. More on this later.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
All Growed Up
I am extremely overwhelmed with life.
I am so over being a grown-up.
I need a nap and a more impressive checking account.
Love Always,
(maybe not so much today)
LS
I am so over being a grown-up.
I need a nap and a more impressive checking account.
Love Always,
(maybe not so much today)
LS
Friday, March 16, 2007
Mid-Night Crisis
I am a little unclear.
These games.
I am frustrated.
With change.
I am angry.
I don't know why.
but maybe hurt
and confused is more accurate.
and I am ready.
I think.
Ask me tomorrow.
Love Always,
LS
These games.
I am frustrated.
With change.
I am angry.
I don't know why.
but maybe hurt
and confused is more accurate.
and I am ready.
I think.
Ask me tomorrow.
Love Always,
LS
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
To My Sister by Forough Farrokhzad
Sister, rise up after your freedom,
why are you quiet?
rise up because henceforth
you have to imbibe the blood of tyrannical men.
Seek your rights, Sister,
from those who keep you weak,
from those whose myriad tricks and schemes
keep you seated in a corner of the house.
How long will you be the object of pleasure
In the harem of men's lust?
how long will you bow your proud head at his feet
like a benighted servant?
How long for the sake of a morsel of bread,
will you keep becoming an aged haji's temporary wife,
seeing second and third rival wives.
oppression and cruelty, my sister, for how long?
This angry moan of yours
must surly become a clamorous scream.
you must tear apart this heavy bond
so that your life might be free.
Rise up and uproot the roots of oppression.
give comfort to your bleeding heart.
for the sake of your freedom, strive
to change the law, rise up.
Love Always,
LS
why are you quiet?
rise up because henceforth
you have to imbibe the blood of tyrannical men.
Seek your rights, Sister,
from those who keep you weak,
from those whose myriad tricks and schemes
keep you seated in a corner of the house.
How long will you be the object of pleasure
In the harem of men's lust?
how long will you bow your proud head at his feet
like a benighted servant?
How long for the sake of a morsel of bread,
will you keep becoming an aged haji's temporary wife,
seeing second and third rival wives.
oppression and cruelty, my sister, for how long?
This angry moan of yours
must surly become a clamorous scream.
you must tear apart this heavy bond
so that your life might be free.
Rise up and uproot the roots of oppression.
give comfort to your bleeding heart.
for the sake of your freedom, strive
to change the law, rise up.
Love Always,
LS
Relocation Nation
Clarity, Em-r and I have been looking for a place to move into for the past few months. As you may know, I am not very good with money and even when I'm working 2+ jobs, I am still always b-r-o-k-e, so it's been pretty rough trying to find a house that can fit three girls and all their shoes for a price that we can all afford. Today just happened to be our lucky day. Actually, to be perfectly honest, today was probably the best day I have had in a really long time. We found our dream house and will hopefully be moving in April 1st.
The front door is red. It has a gated front porch, with an old-fashioned bell and a cute little mail-box. There is a hanging swing outside the livingroom window. The living room/open dining room is rust (orange) with wood everything. (The entire house has hard-wood floors.) There is a fireplace, and a china (alcohol) cabinet and a bookshelf!
The kitchen is eggplant purple! The wood floors are painted black and white check. The tile of the sink is bright green. It has a huge window nook with window seats for a table. There is storage everywhere. Washer, dryer, dish-washer, over, fridge, etc!
The Arizona room (ie 4th bedroom) is lavender and stone. Windows everywhere. It is fantastic. Party room.
My bedroom is acidic lime green. It's very small, but I don't need a lot of room. I don't have a lot of stuff. Shoes, clothes, books, records, etc. I don't even own any furniture at this point. My BB is going to give me some of his old furniture and kitchen stuff. We're open to donations! I have three doors in my bedroom. It's brilliant.
Em-r's room is deep navy blue. It's connected to my room by french doors. It has three, yes three (3) closets! She's going to love it.
The bathroom is straight out of a 1940's film noir. All black and white tile checks. A sunken bathtub, a shaving mirror on the wall, crazy sink. It's amazing.
Clarity's room is bright, bright turquiose with clouds on the ceiling. It has the most plugs and a door to the front porch. It's the biggest, which she needs for all her junk.
We opened the door to the basement, and Clarity and mi tia walked down the stairs and I started to follow them, until I hit my head on the doorway. I guess I am too tall for some doorways! But I eventually made it down stairs and it is scary and probably haunted and would make for a great little studio or maybe a creepy make-out spot!
The backyard is huge, and it has a coi-pond and a place for a garden, and great little place to barbeque!
I am in love. I am in love with every nook and cranny and everything, even the ugly splotchy paint on the ceilings that are supposed to be artsy, especially the zillions of windows and millions of doors and even more closet space, shelves and hiding places. Did someone say house-warming party? Yes, yes I think someone did.
Love Always,
LS
Friday, March 9, 2007
0014
Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off...but it's better if you do.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Truth and Consequences and 652 Reasons to Believe in Magic
I am reading four books right now.
1. Soy la Avon Lady and Other Stories by Lorraine Lopez
Because I've read it before and I can't remember when or why or what it's all about, but the familiarity of the stories are driving me insane and reminding me of something lost. "Dear Virgin," You pray to the Virgin because you don't believe in God, never really have, but you don't dare ignore La virgen "make me skinny! Please, oh please!"
2. The Dirty Girls Social Club by Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez
Or rather Buena Sucia Social Club. I don't know how much I like it yet. I like that the book is bright yellow. It's a hardcover. You know how I feel.
3. Nonzero; The Logic of Human Destiny by Robert Wright
Because I can't check out a book from the library, even if it isn't for me, and not read it. I feel cheated. I also haven't decided how I feel about a book that claims to change your view on life and begins every chapter with a quote. I do appreciate chapters entitled "Non Crazy Questions" and "Why Life is So Complex" and the following quote - We don't know what the hell it is, except that it's very large and it has a purpose. —Dr. Heywood Floyd in the movie 2010
4. Harry potter and the Half Blood Prince by JK Rowling
I've read this book about 6000 times, but obviously the next book is coming out soon and I enjoy having a fun, comfortable book to read when I don't feel like doing anything else.
Love Always,
LS
1. Soy la Avon Lady and Other Stories by Lorraine Lopez
Because I've read it before and I can't remember when or why or what it's all about, but the familiarity of the stories are driving me insane and reminding me of something lost. "Dear Virgin," You pray to the Virgin because you don't believe in God, never really have, but you don't dare ignore La virgen "make me skinny! Please, oh please!"
2. The Dirty Girls Social Club by Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez
Or rather Buena Sucia Social Club. I don't know how much I like it yet. I like that the book is bright yellow. It's a hardcover. You know how I feel.
3. Nonzero; The Logic of Human Destiny by Robert Wright
Because I can't check out a book from the library, even if it isn't for me, and not read it. I feel cheated. I also haven't decided how I feel about a book that claims to change your view on life and begins every chapter with a quote. I do appreciate chapters entitled "Non Crazy Questions" and "Why Life is So Complex" and the following quote - We don't know what the hell it is, except that it's very large and it has a purpose. —Dr. Heywood Floyd in the movie 2010
4. Harry potter and the Half Blood Prince by JK Rowling
I've read this book about 6000 times, but obviously the next book is coming out soon and I enjoy having a fun, comfortable book to read when I don't feel like doing anything else.
Love Always,
LS
Sunday, March 4, 2007
The Science of Getting to Know You
Four (4) things that you wouldn't know unless you asked:
1. I prefer to read paperbacks more than hardcovers.
2. My favorite prime-time flavor is Raspberry.
3. I often dream about the ocean.
4. I can write your name in Arabic, seriously.
I am getting restless.
Love Always,
LS
1. I prefer to read paperbacks more than hardcovers.
2. My favorite prime-time flavor is Raspberry.
3. I often dream about the ocean.
4. I can write your name in Arabic, seriously.
I am getting restless.
Love Always,
LS
Ode to Tyra Banks; 30 lbs later
You fucking goddamned dreamer
Lounging in a bloodbath paradise.
Cuddling up with this rock and roll dream
And signing rent checks with x’s and o’s.
You get lost in a heat-wave of
Strippers and high class hookers
and toilet-bowls and heartaches
and some of these girls need to eat
and you know it
baby, you know better
You are glued to the TV set
and wonder why it’s so frustrating
because every girl wants to be a model
and an actress and a singer too
and you just want to be a size 5
You have everything
But a car crash
And you’ll fake it till you make it
In swap-meet frauda and Mossimo from Target
And you can’t stop wanting to turn sideways
Until you disappear completely.
Love Always,
LS
Lounging in a bloodbath paradise.
Cuddling up with this rock and roll dream
And signing rent checks with x’s and o’s.
You get lost in a heat-wave of
Strippers and high class hookers
and toilet-bowls and heartaches
and some of these girls need to eat
and you know it
baby, you know better
You are glued to the TV set
and wonder why it’s so frustrating
because every girl wants to be a model
and an actress and a singer too
and you just want to be a size 5
You have everything
But a car crash
And you’ll fake it till you make it
In swap-meet frauda and Mossimo from Target
And you can’t stop wanting to turn sideways
Until you disappear completely.
Love Always,
LS
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
sum-eul jam-kkan-man meom-chwo bo-se-yo
"hold your breath"
i think i need a hobby
because if you are always doing what you love
i don't think i will love it anymore
and going from 1st to 3rd
is not only confusing
but an inconsequential truth of life
i have a new obsession. It is going to KINKOS at midnightish and while my BFF makes copies of her comic book, i dig through the recycle bin and collect all of the copies that were tossed for a variety of reasons. Tonight I got a poster of Adolph Hitler and a chapter from a text book about gender and sex.
I wrote this tonight. It seems about as meaningful as a sock drawer. Necessary but often forgotten.
Her name was Salvation.
and she bore her own crosses
of sorrow and guilt and the pressure of being born
on any other day
that mattered just as much.
Her fingers bled of honesty
and she lost touch with the world outside
when everything that mattered
happened in the plastic pink house
that was nestled in the corner of her perfect life
She never said a word
and nobody questioned her brilliance
she was the bee
the golden seal
the blue ribbon
and the trophies sealed in glass
that sat on the fireplace mantle
echoing the hum of a broken home
Something happened that changed
and you'd think
that by the way she told it
in a mirage of crayola and oil based vibrations
that she was caught in a tundra
of accidentals
but that wasn't it
She was haphazard around sticky linoleum
and roller skate wheels
the kind that only turn a certain way
for a certain kind of girl
and icecream bars shaped like power puff girls
and it's okay when the bubblegum eyes
roll down the drive way
because they hurt her teeth anyways.
Everything became apparent
to everyone around her
but her face turned purple with the thought
that she wouldn't be allowed
to watch staticy Disney on ice
and eat an entire bowl of potato chips
inside her bedroom closet anymore
And it is so simple
it is so relevant
how much it hurts to stop believing.
The fucking end.
"You are condemned to me."
-Shakira
love always,
LS
i think i need a hobby
because if you are always doing what you love
i don't think i will love it anymore
and going from 1st to 3rd
is not only confusing
but an inconsequential truth of life
i have a new obsession. It is going to KINKOS at midnightish and while my BFF makes copies of her comic book, i dig through the recycle bin and collect all of the copies that were tossed for a variety of reasons. Tonight I got a poster of Adolph Hitler and a chapter from a text book about gender and sex.
I wrote this tonight. It seems about as meaningful as a sock drawer. Necessary but often forgotten.
Her name was Salvation.
and she bore her own crosses
of sorrow and guilt and the pressure of being born
on any other day
that mattered just as much.
Her fingers bled of honesty
and she lost touch with the world outside
when everything that mattered
happened in the plastic pink house
that was nestled in the corner of her perfect life
She never said a word
and nobody questioned her brilliance
she was the bee
the golden seal
the blue ribbon
and the trophies sealed in glass
that sat on the fireplace mantle
echoing the hum of a broken home
Something happened that changed
and you'd think
that by the way she told it
in a mirage of crayola and oil based vibrations
that she was caught in a tundra
of accidentals
but that wasn't it
She was haphazard around sticky linoleum
and roller skate wheels
the kind that only turn a certain way
for a certain kind of girl
and icecream bars shaped like power puff girls
and it's okay when the bubblegum eyes
roll down the drive way
because they hurt her teeth anyways.
Everything became apparent
to everyone around her
but her face turned purple with the thought
that she wouldn't be allowed
to watch staticy Disney on ice
and eat an entire bowl of potato chips
inside her bedroom closet anymore
And it is so simple
it is so relevant
how much it hurts to stop believing.
The fucking end.
"You are condemned to me."
-Shakira
love always,
LS
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Leave Room for the Holy Spirit X 3
1.
Talk about the weather
because the less space between
the mistakes we make
the closer we become
to insignificant truthfulness
and I can't remember the last time
I felt so vulnerable
so much like skipping past the terror
and laughing about how silly it all feels
2.
We talked on the phone for 36 minutes
And even when I lost service
I called you back
and we talked some more
and you told me you didn't know why
and I was okay with it
because it wasn't about you
even though it was
it was dark out
and you laugh at my bad jokes
and I don't feel bad when you confirm
that I'm not that funny
because you still laugh, whole heartedly
and it reminds me of that one time
I painted you a bunch of little red flowers
and you put it on your wall
and we drank spiced chai near midnight
and I chain smoked in your car
and it was okay
even when it wasn't and you had no idea
but it's okay, it's okay.
3.
I was sitting in the 8th row last Sunday evening
Usually we slouch in the back, sleepy eyed and giggly
behind smiling babies and confirming pre-teens
I wore a black dress and ripped jeans
it was first communion at 10am
so we were among the few who didn't attend morning mass
Gustavo plays an electric keyboard organ
that reminds me of the poor girls quinceanera
and Father Jose Luis invites us to be joyous
and I can't help the tugging on the corners of my mouth
and that guy, I forget his name,
from Casa Maria,
is telling us to spit out our gum
and turn our cell phones off
and for a second I can't remember how to make the sign of the cross
and I can't find the right song in the book
it's in English and it's supposed to be in Spanish
but I don't know the words
and I'm so happy
I hold their hands for longer than we are required to
and tia is singing louder than anyone else
and I can't stop the reminder of dashes of ash that are approaching
and the smell of egg dye that makes my face itch
when I close my eyes
it also reminds me of home
love always,
LS
Talk about the weather
because the less space between
the mistakes we make
the closer we become
to insignificant truthfulness
and I can't remember the last time
I felt so vulnerable
so much like skipping past the terror
and laughing about how silly it all feels
2.
We talked on the phone for 36 minutes
And even when I lost service
I called you back
and we talked some more
and you told me you didn't know why
and I was okay with it
because it wasn't about you
even though it was
it was dark out
and you laugh at my bad jokes
and I don't feel bad when you confirm
that I'm not that funny
because you still laugh, whole heartedly
and it reminds me of that one time
I painted you a bunch of little red flowers
and you put it on your wall
and we drank spiced chai near midnight
and I chain smoked in your car
and it was okay
even when it wasn't and you had no idea
but it's okay, it's okay.
3.
I was sitting in the 8th row last Sunday evening
Usually we slouch in the back, sleepy eyed and giggly
behind smiling babies and confirming pre-teens
I wore a black dress and ripped jeans
it was first communion at 10am
so we were among the few who didn't attend morning mass
Gustavo plays an electric keyboard organ
that reminds me of the poor girls quinceanera
and Father Jose Luis invites us to be joyous
and I can't help the tugging on the corners of my mouth
and that guy, I forget his name,
from Casa Maria,
is telling us to spit out our gum
and turn our cell phones off
and for a second I can't remember how to make the sign of the cross
and I can't find the right song in the book
it's in English and it's supposed to be in Spanish
but I don't know the words
and I'm so happy
I hold their hands for longer than we are required to
and tia is singing louder than anyone else
and I can't stop the reminder of dashes of ash that are approaching
and the smell of egg dye that makes my face itch
when I close my eyes
it also reminds me of home
love always,
LS
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Erotas vs. Korean Black Day
Because sometimes I do just want to put up the yellow flag and say things like "forever"
and nothing really feels as much like love as hand rolled cigarettes or the comfortable silence of two postcoital lovers
but somethings seem to make sense in all the ways they should,
and I don't like it
I mean what I just said
because I read you like a cryptic anthology of Neruda poems,
translated from the Spanish to simplified Chinese
and I can't read Chinese, the hanzi stabbing lines into the paper
gives me a headache
turning an ode to everything into an ode to nothing
and it is constant
these methods of interpretation
I am awkward, yet familiar with the area
but I tend to stumble
when I turn out the lights
and you wouldn't believe how uncomfortable this makes me
Good morning.
Love always,
LS
and nothing really feels as much like love as hand rolled cigarettes or the comfortable silence of two postcoital lovers
but somethings seem to make sense in all the ways they should,
and I don't like it
I mean what I just said
because I read you like a cryptic anthology of Neruda poems,
translated from the Spanish to simplified Chinese
and I can't read Chinese, the hanzi stabbing lines into the paper
gives me a headache
turning an ode to everything into an ode to nothing
and it is constant
these methods of interpretation
I am awkward, yet familiar with the area
but I tend to stumble
when I turn out the lights
and you wouldn't believe how uncomfortable this makes me
Good morning.
Love always,
LS
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Best Friends Forever
The luckiest people in the world are those with BFFs, mine is named Claire
Her patron saint is Saint Claire - Patron Saint of Sore Eyes, also know as the Patron Saint of Television
Here are ten reasons why she is my best friend:
1. Everyone thinks she is quiet, but I know the truth and I love it. It's algebraic!
2. She says things like "Let's get a pint of Guiness before class"
3. She always eats my onions and green olives and cabbage and other foods I can't or don't eat when we go out
4. We have the same appreciation for energy drinks and expensive shoes
5. She lets me smoke in her truck, which is, by the way, a Aqua 1961 Chevy Apache
6. We listen to Shakira and she always laughs at my horrible jokes
Buddha says "An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind." Through it all, I have had Clarity, and it's kept me alive.
7. We can pretty much have a serious conversation with out saying a single word
8. I respect her more than anyone else (next to my mami) for her determination, creativity and democratic friendships
9. She actually wears the bracelets I make her, even if they're big and ugly and look like they were made by a five year old
10. We made a myspace for her cat, enough said
Freddie Mercury means it most.
"Ooh you're the best friend that I ever had
I've been with you such a long time
You're my sunshine and I want you to know
That my feelings are true
I really love you
Oh you're my best friend"
I even love her when she yells at me during a heated argument about Harry Potter, and when she forgets to turn off her alarm at 3:47am. That's what best friends are for. I know that when I am old, really old, and wearing tacky tracksuits and chain-smoking 100's and power walking at the mall, I know that we'll still be best friends, forever.
Love Always,
LS
Her patron saint is Saint Claire - Patron Saint of Sore Eyes, also know as the Patron Saint of Television
Here are ten reasons why she is my best friend:
1. Everyone thinks she is quiet, but I know the truth and I love it. It's algebraic!
2. She says things like "Let's get a pint of Guiness before class"
3. She always eats my onions and green olives and cabbage and other foods I can't or don't eat when we go out
4. We have the same appreciation for energy drinks and expensive shoes
5. She lets me smoke in her truck, which is, by the way, a Aqua 1961 Chevy Apache
6. We listen to Shakira and she always laughs at my horrible jokes
Buddha says "An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind." Through it all, I have had Clarity, and it's kept me alive.
7. We can pretty much have a serious conversation with out saying a single word
8. I respect her more than anyone else (next to my mami) for her determination, creativity and democratic friendships
9. She actually wears the bracelets I make her, even if they're big and ugly and look like they were made by a five year old
10. We made a myspace for her cat, enough said
Freddie Mercury means it most.
"Ooh you're the best friend that I ever had
I've been with you such a long time
You're my sunshine and I want you to know
That my feelings are true
I really love you
Oh you're my best friend"
I even love her when she yells at me during a heated argument about Harry Potter, and when she forgets to turn off her alarm at 3:47am. That's what best friends are for. I know that when I am old, really old, and wearing tacky tracksuits and chain-smoking 100's and power walking at the mall, I know that we'll still be best friends, forever.
Love Always,
LS
Monday, February 5, 2007
Underneath Your Clothes
I don't really sleep very often
I have artificial and minutely neccessary means to keep me from falling into my own dreams.
The other night though,
in a state of puro exhustion,
we went to prom
and I had two dresses, one was teal and didn't fit well
it made me think of "I adore you because you have made me a whore"
and I didn't like the way it stretched my skin
the second was pink and beautiful and perfect
and fell in curtains around my feet
I wore the later, over a fantastic bodice of lime and black lace
you watched me as I watched you get ready
in front of a thousand mirrors
my skin itched
anticipation
you looked back at me, and smiled
and I could hardly bear my heartbeat echoing behind my ribcage
I woke up feeling sad
because you were beautiful and perfect
the next time I saw you
I blinked, I know only for a fraction of a second
but I saw you, beautiful and perfect
and I remembered why I don't sleep
yet I couldn't help questioning why I don't sleep more
I was unfortunatly inspired to watch "Prom Night in Kansas City" after all was said and done. It wasn't good. It addressed and validified my contempt for humans between the ages of 13 and 19.
Is it okay that I am okay with you seeing me as I am rather than you seeing me as I want to be seen?
Love always,
LS (which come to find out, happens to also be 2/3 of my initials!)
I have artificial and minutely neccessary means to keep me from falling into my own dreams.
The other night though,
in a state of puro exhustion,
we went to prom
and I had two dresses, one was teal and didn't fit well
it made me think of "I adore you because you have made me a whore"
and I didn't like the way it stretched my skin
the second was pink and beautiful and perfect
and fell in curtains around my feet
I wore the later, over a fantastic bodice of lime and black lace
you watched me as I watched you get ready
in front of a thousand mirrors
my skin itched
anticipation
you looked back at me, and smiled
and I could hardly bear my heartbeat echoing behind my ribcage
I woke up feeling sad
because you were beautiful and perfect
the next time I saw you
I blinked, I know only for a fraction of a second
but I saw you, beautiful and perfect
and I remembered why I don't sleep
yet I couldn't help questioning why I don't sleep more
I was unfortunatly inspired to watch "Prom Night in Kansas City" after all was said and done. It wasn't good. It addressed and validified my contempt for humans between the ages of 13 and 19.
Is it okay that I am okay with you seeing me as I am rather than you seeing me as I want to be seen?
Love always,
LS (which come to find out, happens to also be 2/3 of my initials!)
El amor más fuerte y más puro no es el que sube desde la impresión, sino el que desciende desde la admiración
Somewhere lost in systematic irreverence
I found this innevitable reason to improve my penmanship
and use words that give everything away
It isn't accidental;
by chance or maybe-kinda-sort of
I am overwhelmed by the inability to complete an everyday reality
& it reminds me of that Sarah Vaughan song, I can't remember the name
"I've heard it said
that the thrill of romance
can be like a heavenly dream.
I go to bed
with the prayer that you'll make love to me
sad as it seems"
and here goes nothing
everything is unpredictable,
like a few summers ago I went to the Salvador Dali museam in St. Petersburg
it's near the ocean, Bayboro coast
and I stood in front of "One Second Before Awakening from a Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate"
I've almost forgotten if that was the painting because I was terrified and intrigued at the same time
it could have even been a memory from my painting class
and I could have just been standing in front of "El Matador"
it's hard to say
but all I could thinks was "Salvador loved Gala best, then she ate his heart right from his chest"
and this morning, the relevance of unintelligable infatuaton
led me to a 12 hour dialogue about skin-walkers, generation 911 and the art of saying goodnight
and so finally, I've been thinking about kissing
for another day
And I quote the single girls visual bible, Sex and the City, "There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous!"
I can't stop listening to Le Tigre's "Eau D' Bedroom Dancing" - to you i wanna say, youre my thing.
I don't want to write about filmmaking anymore, or being in college, or what-happens next. I want to write about mixing Rockstar Juiced and Naked Green Machine and naming the drink OMG!. I want to write about the holes in my jeans and the current state of my hair. I want to write about cupcakes and dancing; wearing summer clothes and books that make me feel alive. Most of all, I want to write about love; being and becoming.
Goodnight, in all the wrong ways.
Love always,
LS
I found this innevitable reason to improve my penmanship
and use words that give everything away
It isn't accidental;
by chance or maybe-kinda-sort of
I am overwhelmed by the inability to complete an everyday reality
& it reminds me of that Sarah Vaughan song, I can't remember the name
"I've heard it said
that the thrill of romance
can be like a heavenly dream.
I go to bed
with the prayer that you'll make love to me
sad as it seems"
and here goes nothing
everything is unpredictable,
like a few summers ago I went to the Salvador Dali museam in St. Petersburg
it's near the ocean, Bayboro coast
and I stood in front of "One Second Before Awakening from a Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate"
I've almost forgotten if that was the painting because I was terrified and intrigued at the same time
it could have even been a memory from my painting class
and I could have just been standing in front of "El Matador"
it's hard to say
but all I could thinks was "Salvador loved Gala best, then she ate his heart right from his chest"
and this morning, the relevance of unintelligable infatuaton
led me to a 12 hour dialogue about skin-walkers, generation 911 and the art of saying goodnight
and so finally, I've been thinking about kissing
for another day
And I quote the single girls visual bible, Sex and the City, "There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous!"
I can't stop listening to Le Tigre's "Eau D' Bedroom Dancing" - to you i wanna say, youre my thing.
I don't want to write about filmmaking anymore, or being in college, or what-happens next. I want to write about mixing Rockstar Juiced and Naked Green Machine and naming the drink OMG!. I want to write about the holes in my jeans and the current state of my hair. I want to write about cupcakes and dancing; wearing summer clothes and books that make me feel alive. Most of all, I want to write about love; being and becoming.
Goodnight, in all the wrong ways.
Love always,
LS
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