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[04 Aug 2008|12:13am] |
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the ice is getting thinner, under me and you.
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[18 Jul 2008|01:33pm] |
Only you can pull me from midnight and make me write in the middle of the day
It's a light that never goes out
My love for you is an invisible giant, with tiny bare feet. It lives in a world where the sky is always a clear ocean shade of blue, and the trees--great, green, and ancient--are never in danger. I know how you like the drums and the electric guitars, but my love for you, if it were an instrument--it would be a bell, or a tambourine. It's timid, and blushes at the sound of it's own name--love. It's unassuming, and unimportant, and is happy to live in the corner of your eye. It isn't like a war or a cathedral or a skyscraper. It is made up of a thousand whispers sewn together--a thousand little useless things, and bright summer days with moist grass, mango shakes, and inviting crystal swimming pools. It's light and airy and simple; but all around me, and you, and everything between us--the houses that line our streets, parents who'll never understand, all the people who could quite possibly capture your heart. My love is raw, like fist-fights in dusty side streets, your worn-in sneakers, a rickety teenage garage band. If it were a person, it'd probably be in kindergarten, but it'll always be the quiet kid in the back who lends you the sharpest, brightest crayons when you leave your box at home. It never really knows what to do with itself, to be honest. I guess it just really wants to be that single little shanty standing when a monster typhoon eats up an entire town.
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[15 Jun 2008|08:17pm] |
as heavy as poison smoke
teach me how to forget
we may speak different languages, wear different clothes, eat different things. you may be a girl who likes boys or a girl who likes girls; or a boy who likes girls or a boy who likes boys; or an everything who likes everything. you might be 15, 19, or 47.
but in heartbreak, we're all the same.
i'm so sorry i know what this feels like.
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[12 Jun 2008|11:05pm] |
4 3373783 76 6824 6673 8426 8447.
a suitcase, my passport, and a one-way ticket to anywhere but here
how could i have been so wrong about something, someone, for so long? people are all the same. whether they plan to or not, all they do in the end is fuck you over. i'm sorry if you disagree.
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[10 Jun 2008|12:19am] |
i left my heart
on the boeing 747 in the middle of the pacific ocean
and i am the theory of evolution. but i hope it's really the theory of revolution, because i want it back. even if it'll take 365 days, and retracing our steps back to the start. it'll be exactly the same, but completely different.
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[26 May 2008|09:41pm] |
love>sex.
the great advantage of the slut generation is that they'll never have their hearts broken.
it was a humid evening, and we climbed under the stale metal breath of the old station wagon to escape from the mayflies. in hiding, we talked about weight gain and grass stains and lesbians. we fit so perfectly under that ancient mobile contraption that we were convinced cars were made for laying under, and that we were made for each other. maybe it's because the universe (or the conservatives) didn't want us together, or maybe cars were really just made for leaking diesel and humming noises, but december arrived before her time, and there was no more excuse to disappear under old station wagons. we slid out through the sides, unaccustomed to the fresh oil-free air and the differences between mays and decembers. you ran home, and so did i, retracing the summer steps we took months before. everyone thought it was a sexual hibernation, and we never met again. but all we really did was talk, and inhale the cool dew and musky scents of the soil below us. you were meant for me, and i was meant for you, at least in that moment, in those months. don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. and all we really did was talk. don't you remember?
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[05 Mar 2008|12:02am] |
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mood |
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music |
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Piazza, New York Catcher - Belle and Sebastian |
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The Pigeon Legion Detectives
Seawhores and Whoreses and Whore-angutans
1. Pick 15 of your favourite movies.
2. Go to IMDb and find a quote from each movie.
3. Post them here for everyone to guess.
4. Fill in the film title once it's guessed.
5. NO GOOGLING/using IMDb search functions.
( I wish that you were here with me to pass the dull weekend )
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[20 Feb 2008|12:41am] |
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i knew it. no one's prefect. not even close. disappointment.
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[14 Feb 2008|11:25pm] |
HAPPY V(AGINA) DAY!
4 5683 72743
seahorses
and seashores
you can find them in each other.
which probably means
there are seahorses buried in seashores
because there are seashores buried in seahorses.
it's only logical.
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[29 Jan 2008|12:44am] |
the pigeon legion and other tales
mindfuck has meaning
what do i do with all these hands? asked the octopus. i'm running out of skin to cover them up. i'm running out of people to hold and touch, but there are many other things one can do with her hands. she can bake a cake or build a bridge. i think that's what i'll do. i'll build a bridge with all my hands and hold you on top of it, at night. and i won't need skin to cover them up.. why cover up such beautiful things?
what do we do with all these hearts? asked the artichokes. we're running out of people to love. what's love? asked the other vegetables. something you don't need a heart to do. said the artichokes. and a priest heard them and scolded, of course you need a heart to love! one cannot fall in love with a place or a tree or an idea! but we have, said the artichokes. then that is idolatry, said priest. so we can only love fellow artichokes? they asked. no! no! that is homosexuality.
alive=overwhelmed with the different combinations of variables (what, who, where, when, WHY) that could prove each day valid or invalid. try him in the mall with a candlestick. a crime of betrayal. wrong. her in a field with a broomstick? crime of passion? wrong. maybe tomorrow. a happy sunny day with the smell of detergent in the air and the quality of sunlight in the movies. a walk through quiapo, a ride on the train, laughing through the streets. with a mixed tape and a fruit shake? with her. right. yes, i got the answer finally. :)
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| let's throw a party in the middle of the street. |
[16 Jan 2008|11:45pm] |
dimsum
best friends
i wish i could spend every second of my life like that: in line at the train station looking down at the cars (their lights, their wheels) on the highway, the night-wind blowing against my hair and my face. happy is all around me, in the concrete and in the air and in the sky. the city means so much more because of us. :)
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[04 Jan 2008|11:49pm] |
not even the rain has such small hands
fuck the loud music and the bright bright lights
i'm home with the disease, playing mindjolt games on facebook. i'm starting to see everything in the context of crazy taxi, froggers, and bricks breaking. isn't that so utterly sad and nauseating, especially on a cold friday night like this one? it's times like these i want to get away the most. all i need is one other person to drive away with, in an old pick up filled to the brim with the random things we love. good music, good lit, a polaroid, the ocean, maybe a few kegs of fruit juice, and the heart of christmas. it'll be the roadtrip of the century, of the fucking millenium, and we'll both get to sit up front for it. we'll talk about everything, sing and scream at the tops of our lungs, go to sleep in the middle of a field and wake up in a forest. we'll live in a world without war or labels, or stupid political parties. we'll drive away; speeding through the carless freeways, pissing by the roads, breathing in our freedom from people who think they love us. maybe we'll never come back (for supplies). after all, wouldn't the ocean be enough?
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| an ode to my hyperacidity |
[27 Dec 2007|08:48pm] |
as small as a world
and as large as alone
ultimately, i don't want much. but in this here and now, i'll never get it. this is like my virus, and i'll never get to sleep with anyone ever again, figuratively. all i want is someone who'll stay up with me while the rest of the city goes to vodka-sleep or carrot-sleep, or promiscu-sleep, because i am the teenage insomniac and i can never meet you in your dreams because i am an acid that can never rest its eyes. all i want is someone like me, to know, to be with, to run with, to laugh with, and i will not waste another chilly evening all the way up to midnight and morning. i will belong to our legotown, but i will not watch anymore, i will have someone to be part of. all i want is someone who will stay awake with me. picking up paper cups, throwing them into great black gleaming trash bags, mopping up the slippery puke floor, driving them home, laying them on their beds and their friends on their couches. and on our way home from the last house, we'll drive to the early morning air, race against the sun climbing behind the mountains, and sing our lungs out to cheesy nineties ballads. all i want is someone funny, someone who knows her constellations--"that's the big dipper" "that's andromeda"--and i cut in, "and that's orion's belt!" because it's the only one i know. all i want is someone who is lovely, and calm, and isn't rushing off to be somewhere else. we'll hold hands in the middle of the road and tell the crazy drivers to fuck off for driving too fast. they don't understand, no one ever does. we're acidic and this is our only drug, this is our only thrill, living on the edge and in the middle of the road. our bodies will never tire, our eyes will never close, we're not allowed to fall asleep like the others. it's up up up! did you see him? did you see that? is our alcohol. giggling is our drunken stupor, and silence is our waste. all our trips will be on rooftops, imagining ourselves as the people we see in the city below: sleeping, waking, dressing, fucking, making love, making babies. life will be a riot and every night we'll pick a fight. we'll never run out of things to talk about or things to do. we'll walk every street in the city, always dressed to kill. every curb and sidewalk will know who we are, as we watch the lights go out to every party we can't be in. all i want is someone who is lovely and calm. we'll talk to the air and ask the world why it's still around. all i want is someone who is like me. we'll talk about ourselves endlessly. and dress up and look like a million bucks and then some. we'll argue and fight and scream and fall into each others friendly arms. at the end of the day, we'll be laughing and ranting on the rooftops again. all i want is someone who isn't afraid of cemeteries. we'll lie on the grass and stare at the sky through the branches of the giant giant trees. we'll laugh scream and run at the littlest sound and feel the cold wind icing up, tightening our lungs. everything will be simple, because we'll always be awake. i wish i could be part of the global party, the universal experience. but i am acidic and my life is different. all i want is someone funny, someone who knows her constellations.
In this context: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gastric_reflux
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| tears under sheets |
[05 Dec 2007|11:07pm] |
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i've never wanted to die as much as i do right now. i just want to leave everything behind. why is it that we never meet on the same side of the street? here it goes again, i guess.
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[13 Nov 2007|06:47pm] |
i wait in 4/4 time
count yellow highway lines
it's the smell of december, and this year's november, and the smell of my panic and the blurriness of the christmas lights through sad eyes. it's the musty, papery, wooden smell of nostalgia and of adolescence and of you and me, and it's wonderful, but such a pity i only smell it when i'm sad. it's an invisible smell no one else can smell, and sometimes i think i'm just making it up in a desperate attempt to connect the dots with the crayons we shared.
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[06 Jun 2007|09:10pm] |
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music |
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coughing colors : tilly and the wall |
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siberian tigers
beyond steeple and the choir
"and all this apathy," she said, "all this mediocrity, is dangerous. all of us--the artists, the dreamers, the magically vulnerable--we're all slowly putting each other to sleep."
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[28 May 2007|05:37pm] |
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mood |
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 like the weather |
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music |
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sun kil moon - ocean breathes salty |
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i'll tell you what you missed
when the ocean met the sky
i guess, a lot of the time, it's not the advice that matters (because people have been saying the same things over and over again for centuries), it's the people who give it to us. we just have to hear the right thing from the right person. just a random thought.
p.s. i'll be eighteen tomorrow! i never thought the day would come.
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[11 May 2007|12:05am] |
11:29
we can build a goldmine
i have the most awesome best friend this world has ever seen. her hair is the ancient understanding of the impulsive ocean and her hands are the vapour trails of every impatient dusk and dawn and sigh. she is like the pounding city, and the silent rooftops, and fire exits on decks of old buildings. she is lined-paper and dirty sneakers and ambitious threats, and loud music and soft music and detergent. i have stories and thoughts and wonders and allgasms in a box with her name buried in my spirit field, which is a few hectares bigger than my heart.
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[28 Apr 2007|08:47pm] |
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mood |
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 good |
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music |
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Living Room : Tegan and Sara |
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and how you built a tower tumbling through the trees
at the brink of here and there
i chopped off (almost) all my hair today. about sixteen inches of (chaotic math notebooks, secret blue notebooks, late late nights and early early mornings, friends enemies and everyone in between, short-lived cigarettes and tequila, jealousy, japanese cakes, night-time walks around the city, "kidsex," worry, half-read books, half-of-half-read textbooks, self-doubt, self-love, good pride, bad pride, boys, girls, unrealized picturesque movies, hypocritical authority, forced prayers and principles, gratitude, disappointment, cynicism, chantilly lace explosions, movies that crackle and songs that pop) highschool, lying in a garbageous heap with crumpled papers, banana peels and used diapers in the middle of some neglected unsubsidized city with jumpers and jumpers and tin coin-cans. i'll always remember though, what it felt like to walk through those halls, and streets and people, and i won't forget them, even as i crawl through new ones. (and the (tendrils of the) ghosts of my sixteen inches will always sit invisibly on my orchid-lined heartsill)
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[24 Apr 2007|07:01pm] |
electronic toxins
and how you built a tower tumbling through the trees
ten years from now, i (still) want to be seventeen.
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