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Posted by YOURNAME on January 19th, 2004 @ 6:20pm
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as nomadic as i can be, i have moved to a different space. i am here.
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| sequence |
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Posted by YOURNAME on January 2nd, 2004 @ 6:33pm
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opening
this was the opening sentence to my novella to which i gave birth to in the middle of last year but had i abandoned my child due to my lackadaisical nerves:
"the dragonfly in front of him is ghostly mobile"
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| resolution |
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Posted by YOURNAME on January 1st, 2004 @ 8:54pm
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broken
as i mentioned in my other journal, new year resolutions breathe nothingness and they breed monotonous shades. like an empty glass. like a vacant box. like an abandoned mansion with its hollow windows as eyes. i would like to break one of my resolutions. i thought of not destroying any length of my chemical-covered hair by not cutting even a centimetre off. i will break that resolution now. sliced an inch by 8:59. done.
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| pyramids |
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Posted by YOURNAME on December 23rd, 2003 @ 9:46pm
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sand
i will walk on the cold sand. the land of pyramids await. i will bring with me my lonely heart. and by next year, this journal will be benrik-based: the intriguing diary that might change my life. i will see you soon.
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| haemorrhage |
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Posted by YOURNAME on December 7th, 2003 @ 1:09pm
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spine
i did not bleed. but i felt the pain. abstract elements can be very wonderful- it makes you think- why is it that i can feel yet i can never see? i have dark-colored photographs of my insides. my spine curving like a serpent. and swirling together with my spine is a metal. i want to show them that- how it feels like to have such a substance bolted in my spine. how it feels like to be jeered as a hunchback. but the end of it- i feel nothing but glad. i have something to tell, my life is not that pointless.
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| alcohol |
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Posted by YOURNAME on November 30th, 2003 @ 1:47pm
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wishes
i wish to be away for the sake of my work.
i wish i could be vicious in front of him.
i wish to hide underneath the books.
i wish i could stop a psychotic man from haunting me.
i wish to burn the punk books he gave to me as a gift.
i wish to understand a different language.
i wish i have the money to purchase a distorted sampler.
i wish she could leave me alone for a few minutes.
i wish bottles of vodka, cognac and cheap red wine to be sent in a box for me tonight. cheers.
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| americaland |
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Posted by YOURNAME on November 26th, 2003 @ 5:36am
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reasons
i have done this in the kitchen. i came up with three. i hid one secretly inside me. mother would be upset if she knows the third key. but i am young and i am bound to make mistakes- why bother? because i am still the girl who worries on the rights and wrongs in concluding my choices. i will always bother myself with the questions i create. sometimes i wish for no answer, but at least an ear to listen to my inquiries attentively- but why bother? because no one listens to me. every other person is so curled up in their own virtual hiding places but still wishing to project their problems through my eyes. i cannot help them but i can hear them. i wish to listen to them. sometimes i think i listen too much to other beings that i stopped listening to myself. until recently when i started to keep myself silent and away from most people and start to crosstitch the questions. i do this frequently when i am at his apartment together with his presence. because he makes me think of myself and all the questions would emerge from deep within me. maybe they had been planted years before, maybe i had just given birth to them. but i had only lived for 18 naivete years- i have yet to taste depression or pain. i had just approached vulnerability. who knows why? i just feel susceptible. this is not meant to be a letter streaked with bipolar-phases. it can be read in a happy mode or a sombre tone- whichever but who would read this? i should be able to answer this myself: me
( key )
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| maternal |
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Posted by YOURNAME on November 24th, 2003 @ 2:17am
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anatomy
it was biological. anyone who knows my heart very well would know that i have no space of affection for little humans. i would usually run away from children- they scare me. my principle was nothing intricate: if there are two creatures- a baby and a kitten- drowning in a violent river, i would dive in and rescue the feline, not the human. my idea was that the baby would grow up to be an adult and as a human, he would develop most unpleasant characteristics. animals, on the other hand, do not matter. but i think i am trying to change my perspective on children. i think i should be more tolerant. after learning that my beloved visal is expecting his child and is soon to be a young father, i realized how important it is for me to learn to love young beings. he spoke to me of bringing up his child with me [though i doubt i would be a good godmother]. the idea is distorted: i am in love with a young man who is expecting a child while his impregnated girlfriend is planning on leaving their child with him in michigan while she searches for a better job in phnom penh. i, on the other hand, will be the bitter godmother learning the art of being maternal in between my studies.
i found my newborn cousin in his cloth cradle, blinking his eyes slowly at me- half asleep, half awake. i was enthralled at the first sight. he did not cry so i swung th cradle while scrutinizing every features of him- his slit eyes, tiny fingers, tiny legs. it was magical. i never thought how wonderful it was to look at the anatomy of a young human. every single part of him was so mini. that was only i realized how amazing it would be for a mother to bear her own child and count every little fingers and toes that matter. shamine kept on smiling at my reaction on being close with a newborn. she must have knew that i was doing that for the first time, and that i was motivated in doing so because of my love for an expecting father. still, i was engrossed in every moment studying my little cousin. his breathing excited me. every other blinking he made was warm.
though sometimes i wish that visal's child was never to be produced at the first place or born for that matter, deep inside me, i actually wish to see and greet the child. whatever that is revolving around us, i am still a close friend of visal's and that position triggers me to meet his child, despite of what is going on between me and the father. i have no intention in becoming the child's substitute of a mother. i am just elated of the idea of seeing my friend's product of a lustful activity. i do not think i have to put on a motherly mask when the time comes for me to meet his child. i have learnt something new: i just have to appreciate nature- the birth of a human- and learn to love.
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| screenplay |
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Posted by YOURNAME on November 23rd, 2003 @ 4:13am
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box
i had my story on jack and jill constructed but as far as i am concerned, my intuition tells me not to pass it on to that particular pop junkie channel. i should know better: jack and jill are not supposed to be portrayed on that kind of tube. i would rather see them both choking on valium on a murky dark-set stage or on an amateur blinding video. i had mathiau and heather before- but these necrophiliacs got out of hand. as a writer, i sometimes feel incredibly godlike each time i create a certain persona out of my very own brain and pen. but god should not be afraid of his own creation! i became terrified of what mathiau and heather have become: deliciously devouring flesh of the dead, notoriously slaughtering children of their own blood, fucking each other in the end. should a character be a part of the writer's personality? i am in a puzzle- am i psychologically stable? once, i told my beloved friend of my fiendish passion on writing. as i mentioned, creating a story is creating a universe for me. similar to god, i create abstract humans, locations and reality plots. still, i love my characters so much- elizabeth, mathiau, heather, jacques and jillian- that i usually end up murdering them. i take away their lives though i love them. sometimes i could just see them as my friends but that is the strangest part, i murder them. does that mean that i have thoughts of murdering any platonic relationships that i come across? i need to know if there is an interconnection. no one will bother to answer these questions and never would i utter these set of questions to any shrinks. this came to me as a random thought and thoughts- who knows where they come from. i also need to make it clear to myself that i would never allow jack and jill to appear on a junkie television channel. they are bleak- they do not belong there. they belong in my heart.
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| tuesday |
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Posted by YOURNAME on November 21st, 2003 @ 1:08pm
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dateless
i do not understand why ed seems to be so interested in me. i hate his usage of english, though- his flaws are claws to me. "because you are a fucking weirdo and a rock and roller!" he needs a psychiatrict to treat his heart, not a weirdo. a weirdo does nothing but to rub salt on his wounded heart. in my case, i would smear acid. rock and roller? it reminds me of a poetry i used to read during thoughts in writing class- a particular rhyming work on prostitutes luring policemen listening to jazzy records. he wanted this to be a date, a special one for i was his dream girl. i wanted it to be a mutual meeting- 100% platonic inclination in order to exchange the books we promised. i brought along occult murders and walked in the rain towards the pyramid. as i was soaking myself, i wondered why i would go all the way for this pathetic being just for a book on andy warhol. apparently, ed appeared to be a darker and younger version of comic warhol himself. until i came up closer to him to actually know that he must be a complete chimney- a sucker for cigarettes like i used to be. awkward at first, i asked him whether he wanted to dine. he said yes and preferred mcdonald's. i brought him along to that place and he quickly grabbed a seat. i stood beside him, waiting for him to actually get up and line up for the orders. he smiled at me instead.
"so what do you want?" i asked, still in an awkward manner.
ed stated so-and-so. i stood there like a statuette, still wanting him to at least get up and run for the queue. he sat down silently still. i sighed and said: "fine then. i'll take up the orders for us." i marched down for the line, muttering a single fine word: "jerk" all over and over again. food aside, he showed me the books he brought along- the andy warhol biography, the roots of punk and burrough's naked lunch. he also gave me his sonic youth cd. our conversation was very monotonous and dry- he went on telling me about his inclination in using drugs without getting addicted [yeah right], his passion for electronic music and such. when he mentioned the german electronic band that came to town a few years ago having similarities to depeche mode, i quickly pointed out:
"depeche mode? i love depeche mode."
"really? which album do you prefer?"
"not exciter. i like their 80s shit."
"right on. the era when they had that particular haircut, eh?"
"exactly. you know the frontman? david gahan?"
"that's his name? yeah, i know him. why?"
"he looks like my boyfriend. i really feel good walking with my boyfriend because i keep on thinking that i'm actually walking with david gahan himself. it's a very nice feeling, you know."
ed did not answer anything. he kept on smiling but it was somewhat plastic. i quickly told him that i needed to go home for my assignments are waiting to be done. he nodded and we walked off. we shook hands, i took a cab and boy, was i relieved to back in my bedroom soon after- not having to look or converse anything with such a person. but not for long. soon after he sent me messages indicating his interest in me, how he wanted a second date and such. i told him "no" since i would be sticking with sensible visal, not a dude who does not even care to fill his brain up with some quality education but instead fucks his neurons with more hallucinogen substances. ugh. i started to hate him as i went to sleep. his messages had been so mushy, i deleted every single one of them with pure elation. fuck you, ed- hyperpathetica being.
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