On that note
Tuesday, June 8th, 2010by Colourmusic | Yes!
Colourmusic – Yes! from memphis industries on Vimeo.
by Colourmusic | Yes!
Colourmusic – Yes! from memphis industries on Vimeo.
So,,, fml, even my brother makes fun of me because he thinks I don’t have any lovers.
Well, I don’t, but he shouldn’t truly know that, and above all he shouldn’t feel like he’s in *any* place to commentary… 13-year-old scrawny Asian boy doesn’t boast any pimping experience either.
I’ve been “busy”; I “just don’t have time” to “fit another person into my lifestyle”; “I don’t like anyone”. Spin this spinster business away. Whatever! I have crushes… I swear… I think people are cute. I’m just very particular. In a terrible, haunting way: and judgements really don’t help. I also hang out with dominating social butterflies (this is a diplomatic way of saying: others who demand and will fight for attention) and am an ordinary wallflower. I thought I’d be more of a free spirit, but I’m such a stick in the mud.
Most of my problem is just that I don’t meet a lot of people. I work in an office full of women, and then I do homework, and then I feel like the straightedge loser in the corner sipping on my classy ginger ale.
But petty complaints are for suckers; I suppose I really should give others more of a chance: …
Maybe not Cyrus, the boy who wastes no time in asking for numbers after half-a-block, or Marco, who picks Asian tourists up at the Spanish Steps during his lunchbreak and romances them silly from the view of the Pincio (or his own little yacht); and this might eliminate most of my recent choices, but I’m sort of okay with that.
Which brings me back to where I was.
And I’m okay with that. Except, I hope I’m semi-talented at making out. Doesn’t everybody? (I used to be worried about this– being out-of-practice and all). And I’m glad to be independent from that strange need for validation by the opposite sex. No weird Daddy-issues here.
<3
Graceee
I’m in a class with Professor Herbert Blau this quarter. I’m not quite the academic sponge– I don’t know who’s so well known in “circles”, or who’s done what, or whatevers. I barely have my schools of thought down (let’s just say, I have no idea. No. Idea. what this means.), but apparently he’s pretty accomplished. And when I say pretty, I mean very.
He’s my teacher for the dreaded senior capstone us Engrish majors have to take before we gradroolamate, and the class is named: DRAMATIC LITERATURE: THE SELF-CONSCIOUS STAGE.
Imagine the possibilities.
You have ten people, randomly chosen from anywhere, everywhere in the world.
It’s the scene from The Magician’s Nephew.You’re in an ancient, crumbling building, with large, tomb-like columns; a large hallway leads your curious cat-mind into a chamber of echoes, tall, distant ceilings, and a faint, flat light.
The ten people stand before you. Still as statues. Yet life-like; eerily poised;
Their expressions are surprisingly vivid, and their eyes are pools of thought. You can look and peer into them, and discover their most intimate emotions:
; what it felt like for them to climb a tree in crisp, fall weather; their callouses rubbing against the bark, the smell of leaves as they crackle and crumble; the strength of their grip as they reached for the skies;
; the smell of their dusty luggage;
; the texture and pull when they’re combing their hair;
; how the person they admire makes them feel when they approach each other, cautiously– in an empty hallway;
; the turmoil of their first kiss;
; how it feels when they smile;
; the depths of their thoughts when they become keen of their mortality;
And you realize how similar everyone is, how the boundaries of individuality are gently erased by the smallest, most humane moments (the catch in your throat as you step out into a windy day), and that nothing in between is formidable enough to remind us of our collective humanity.
Imagine the possibilities of someone else’s life. The knots in their stomach, or their greatest happiness swelling in their chest. Is it so hard to forgive anyone? It’s not so hard as it seems.
, , ,
Gra
ce
eee
I’m totally going to Rome in like, 9 hours.
Filthy sik.
To my dear family and roommates: do not fear, for I have tattooed my face into the insides of your eyelids. You will never forget the asymmetry of my face.
To my dear friends and/or co-workers: I will return 100 fold stronger and greater than ever before; but also 100 times as merciful. Be excited. Be wary. But be excited.
To my facebook friends: I will be deleting some of you soon. 2010 calls for a purge.
To Elliott Smith, Michael Cera, endearingly awkward darlings, and Seattle: I love you–! Marry me!
Love,
Gracious
PS: keep u posted
… Let me take you to Heaven’s doors/ Where the music/ Of Love’s guitars/ Plays forever more” – song from Evita.
The haste of fall quarter has me in a dizzy tizzy. Who knew the holidays could run and punch so hard?
Couples will absorb themselves in cozy cush of marshmallows and hot chocolate. WELL PFFT! I say; let them sink into each others’ oblivious-osity. I will be venturing the streets to collect the humiliation of The Singles, and seep myself in their doleful hope. NO– I will be to busy to mope; I’ll throw myself into work as per usual, and wait for seconds during the feasts (pumpkin pie? Bread pudding? Leftovers?) only to gorge myself gleeful. And may no one ever care how plump I get.
For all misfortunes that fall upon my life and besmirch any good cheer or attitude for the day’s progression, I blame the grand Disillusionment of Life.
I refuse to believe that This Is The Way It Goes. I think it’d be better to accept Life As It Is and embrace the Looming Gloom of Daily Problems and Mishaps. It’d certainly be easier; but that’s why people have religion.
I wonder what Mario thinks when the B button digs his heels into the ground and makes him spurt out fireballs; I wonder what he thinks as he massacres levels of goons only to have a cute mushroom stooge tell him that the Princess is in another fucking castle. Yes, I’m drawing a parallel with life as a game. How original, you say. What else is a blog for, than to bemoan self-wrapped loathes and loves in textual eruption?
Anyway–
via rushofblood.tumblr
And I stumbled upon an artful erotic photo blog (oh I know, some of you will shriek PORN) chagrin.tumblr.com– quite interesting to take a look at– if you’re checking to see what part of your body is normal, but more interestingly, how people feel perceive sexuality and its nuances.
via cacaococoa.tumblr.com
Also, we established this fabulous labor day weekend that Onch (Paris Hilton’s New BFF) shits /farts glitter:
That’s all I want to say for now.
Gracieee
“Im the Chiquita Banana, and I’ve come to say/ I offer good nutrition in a simple way!”
F*** the weather. After checking it several times, because my wardrobe is a garbage bag (See: bugs attack Grace), the weather has pwn’d me again. I dress for rainy and wet, of course Seattle rebels with a punch of sun in the overcast skies. Damn thy fickleness!!! Curses!!! I’d rather have reliable misery– all this undecided sun/cloud nonsense has me in menopausal hot and cold flashes.
On a better note– One of out Many programs/jobs I have applied to has found it in their grace (HA) to accept me. ROME WINTER 2010 or BUST.
All i need now is that internship, a free car, a very cute typewriter, and a cat that doesn’t shed, puke, eat, or defecate, but loves me unconditionally.
And a cornucopia of delicious foods.
And for this bug nonsense to stop.

And Where is My Tuxedo Mask?
Gracie