Hear/Say » angst

On that note

admin — Tue, 08 Jun 2010 23:00:58 +0000

by Colourmusic | Yes!

Colourmusic – Yes! from memphis industries on Vimeo.

Hey Loser Have More Fun

admin — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 17:57:44 +0000

via sabino.tumblr

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.

Graceee

Staging Self-Consciousness vs. Self-Conscious Stage

admin — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 20:34:58 +0000

H. Blau

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.

As an accomplished and historically relevant figure in the explosion of avant-garde theatre during the ’60′s (Beckett’s Waiting for Godot production at the San Quentin Prison), Prof. Blau is perhaps smaller in stature, mild in appearance, but his presence as a lecturer is explosive. I’m terrified; but then I see myself being terrified, and then I’m just skittishly bamboozled.

Miley knows how contemplative we can be

It’s a good thing, though: the topic is so interesting to me. Because I am a creepy and mostly introverted person, I spend a lot of the time contemplating life (someone accused this of being an Asiatic trait; quiet and contemplative) and mostly, the existence of people’s lives on same, different, or parallel planes. What makes us run? What makes us click? What happens when spheres of realities collide? And, of course: the subjectivity of any “TRUTH”–! We just read Pirandello’s It is So! (If You Think So) for Wednesday’s homework (Oh gosh, today’s Tuesday– good to know–) and it’s clear that realities are subjected to people’s personal beliefs. Whatever intentions a message may have, the interpretations are completely dependent on the rules of the receiver’s reality.

Mars Hill Church... Sunday Night Live

For example, Mars Hill Church sends me Facebook invites to their services every week, and while they might be thinking of friendly gestures to include me in their group, I have an absolute repulsion for persistence in trying to spread religious beliefs onto others. Which is why I’ve deleted them. The update to do with how Heaven has not gotten very good PR was my last straw. In any case, their consistent agenda (really? I say no EVERY WEEK) makes hostile feelings resurface, and I find myself with thinning patience. But I’m pretty sure they don’t mean it like that. They probably have no idea that I feel so strongly against these invitations. The fact is, their rules and reality– the involvement of religion in their every-day lives and interaction, for example– is on a completely different plane. And no one’s more wrong or right, in my opinion– as for them, I have no clue as to their stance on religious tolerance. On a different note, religion itself is a more obvious of performance of beliefs; otherwise, daily interactions, explicated structures of feelings and thought are more subtle examples of personal performances.

One shade of this concept: the self-conscious stage :: has to do with performance outside the theater. Social cues prompt certain social customs– is that not a performance? Is the way you behave with family more truthfully “YOU” then they way you behave with a certain circle of friends? But on the other hand, if everything is a performance, then is anything a performance? Would it all become just… “life”? Is performance in theater just a deliberate re-play of our lives, or our multifaceted performances *of* life?

Performance or life as phony?

Mostly, why does this matter?Is this what drove Sylvia Plath, Holden Caulfield, Franny, and Zooey mad?

There was a moment on the Spanish Steps, when I was watching tourists from all over the world mill and mix about, I realized that they Whys and Wants of the world are too much for any one person to handle, and to try to puzzle out an endless riddle must be a silly thing to do. Rather, we make a nonsensical riddle of things before us through the delusions and poetically romantic aspirations for life to be more than just life! But an unwavering truth, like the myth of unwavering true love, something that surpasses taxes, homework, waking up every day, the angst and conflict of existence, the need to check Facebook for useless information, and the reason for looking twice before crossing a street. The simple quiet struggle of returning home to loved ones after a long day. Professor Blau pronounced this :: “I don’t care if there isn’t a truth, I’ve GOT to have it!” — it’s what propels Mars Hill to spread the Gospel through incredible viral marketing that utilizes young, college social networks and fresh m inds to mold; it’s what pushes students at the University of Washington to be ontime to their 8:30 AM class Monday through Friday, it’s what justifies the weariness of tired parents when they sign another check for their children’s increasing tuition. It’s what makes us explore the world in so many lights– for whom is this alley darkened or brightly lit with welcoming doors of opportunity…?

Thus, life continues to infuriate me. Reasons and nonreasons ravage at my rationality and tie knots in my stomach, until I vomit words onto a blog post that perhaps 10 people will glance at for an average of 48 seconds.

Excellent; carry on– in fact, click HERE for some nice distractions to forget whatever I’m trying to say– for artist Kumi Yamashita does a great job in deceptive distractions with fantastic shadow art…

Graciousss

Count Them

admin — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 20:46:50 +0000

What Would Aslan Do

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

eee

GUYS

admin — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 11:59:24 +0000

I’m totally going to Rome in like, 9 hours.

Filthy sik.

I will try very hard not to look like this

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

On this Night of a Thousand Stars

admin — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 03:02:04 +0000

… 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.

Ok, I confess my bitterness: I never get presents during Christmas. Not never, perhaps, but nothing… special. And believe me, I’m not *that* hard to please… at least, I don’t think I am. I’ll try to focus on the good things. After all, I do have it pretty lucky.

Some intriguing pictures to distract us from gloom and doom (or maybe to help us abstract through the gloom and doom!):

via boooooooom! .com. Kelly Allen.

The things I would do for Paul Rudd would incriminate me... via planettampon.tumblr

: omg imagine!!! via planettampon.tumblr

I really like this. via merricat.tumblr

My WEAKNESS for awkward cute boys.... o michael cera <3 via velveteendream.tumblr

Listening to: Belle and Sebastian, “Take Me Away From Here, I’m Dying”

Stay dry, my little cabbages.

Graceee

Of Course

admin — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 21:29:13 +0000

If I agree with this ironically, the joke is no longer ironic and therefore obsolete

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

Fruits.

admin — Tue, 12 May 2009 20:59:52 +0000

“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