That would make an interesting mystery. I'll do that later.
I really hate doing this, but I'll be putting my main weekend creative diversion from school on the back burners for now. Why?
I received in my mail box that the Student Gallery Show is just around the corner. I have one piece that I really want to submit, and so that it is gallery worthy, I'm going to spend the weekend touching it up and doing all sorts of things to it to help improve the line quality, the color, and whatever else I feel needs to be done.
On top of that, I need to come up with a better title for the piece than The Fox - A Peking Opera Kabuki Mask.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Art Lovers Invited to Bare All
From Scotsman.com News
That's not the most interesting part of the article. Check this out.
All this over an image of an erect penis that is in the window. This in an area of the world were any billboard you see on the highway shows a female breast. I wonder if Robert Mapplethorpe had the same kind of problem. Most of his works are nothing but nude males with erect penises. Hell, his work has been called pornographic by some!
We can show nude women in galleries, but when you show a nude male, you're immediately told the piece is trash. Yeah, that's fair. We need more nude males in art galleries.
A gallery owner has created a stir by encouraging visitors to an exhibition of nudes to strip off to help them to feel closer to the art, he said today.
Kevin Money, 39, is offering 25% off any purchases of works from the Bodyline exhibition at Gallery 39 in Swindon, Wiltshire, to anyone who bares all.
That's not the most interesting part of the article. Check this out.
He added that less open-minded people in Swindon have reacted against the display of paintings, drawings and photographs, which includes one image of an erect penis.
The gay image in the window has attracted shouts and jeers from local yobs and he has been told the show is 'disgusting' and 'filthy' by other residents.
Describing Swindon as "a cultural desert", he insisted he would stand firm and not be intimidated by the hostility.
"I'm not going to be driven out by gay taunts," he said.
All this over an image of an erect penis that is in the window. This in an area of the world were any billboard you see on the highway shows a female breast. I wonder if Robert Mapplethorpe had the same kind of problem. Most of his works are nothing but nude males with erect penises. Hell, his work has been called pornographic by some!
We can show nude women in galleries, but when you show a nude male, you're immediately told the piece is trash. Yeah, that's fair. We need more nude males in art galleries.
I need to be more productive.
I visited Jason's blog when I noticed he had left a comment. It is a huge blog of movie reviews as seen through a budding film student. This is the second blog I've come across that is more productive and worth a read for something other than social voyagerism.
It other words, his blog is worth reading more than my bitching.
I know who to turn to now as to what's a good movie and what isn't now. However, unlike all the big name critics, he will only review movies he is willing to see. I find that more appropriate than having some company pay that guy on Good Morning America to review a piece of crap that didn't even interest him from the teaser trailer.
Needless to say, I'll be visiting his blog often to see what movies are good and what was just a big mistake to see.
It other words, his blog is worth reading more than my bitching.
I know who to turn to now as to what's a good movie and what isn't now. However, unlike all the big name critics, he will only review movies he is willing to see. I find that more appropriate than having some company pay that guy on Good Morning America to review a piece of crap that didn't even interest him from the teaser trailer.
Needless to say, I'll be visiting his blog often to see what movies are good and what was just a big mistake to see.
Monday, September 27, 2004
Hello, Jason!
I had the amazing chance of finding out that someone from school was able to find my blog! Top it all off, it was on his own as well. I didn't have to give him the URL or direct him or anything. He just found it. Finally, someone found this place that I've actually met!
"One truth prevails!"
In my travels in life, I've found that the most non-discriminating trait among people is stupidity. Gender, race, religion, doesn't matter. Anyone can be dumb as a fencepost.
~brainchild
This is why I love Gaia's Extended Discussion area. You get pearls of wisdom like this every so often.
By the way, this post marks a new method to the madness. I'll be posting pictures now on TinyPic.com that I do not really need for that long. This picture will delete after 10,000 hits or after 30 days without any hits (whichever comes first).
Sometimes you have to be submissive.
I had to swallow my pride around 18:00 yesterday. I made the mistake of signing online to check on my sister due to the extreme curiosity of what is going on in her life by my parents. She was online, so I said hi. The moment I said that, I became the messenger for all of my computer illiterate parental figures. Well, IM-illiterate if you are talking about my mom.
While this was going on, Bill signed on. I told David the night before that I may not be on since yesterday was a school night. Well, I thought I'd say hello just to because I happen to be on. I wasn't expecting to be barked at and ordered around, but it was dinner time for me. Our conversation took a back seat to my messaging my sister, something I wish wasn't the case.
In the end, I was ordered three or four times by an annoyed mother to eat at the table and not at the desktop. My good-byes were rushed, and I felt like I hurt Bill more than actually giving him a taste of my situation. I know he'll tell me to forget about it. I hopefully will by Thursday. He loves me, and I love him. We are like brothers. We fight, we love, and we love to fight.
It feels good to feel this feeling once again after so long. I wonder if he feels the same way.
Personally, I hate being a slave to my parents. I complain and everything about it here because I know I can't to their faces with making things worst. Strangely enough, I have this odd feeling that all this will actually benefit me in the end. Being bossed around by my parents when I'm doing something I want to do. Unfortunately, I have no clue what that benefit is, but I'm sure something will come up that will make me thankful my parents were such slave-drivers.
While this was going on, Bill signed on. I told David the night before that I may not be on since yesterday was a school night. Well, I thought I'd say hello just to because I happen to be on. I wasn't expecting to be barked at and ordered around, but it was dinner time for me. Our conversation took a back seat to my messaging my sister, something I wish wasn't the case.
In the end, I was ordered three or four times by an annoyed mother to eat at the table and not at the desktop. My good-byes were rushed, and I felt like I hurt Bill more than actually giving him a taste of my situation. I know he'll tell me to forget about it. I hopefully will by Thursday. He loves me, and I love him. We are like brothers. We fight, we love, and we love to fight.
It feels good to feel this feeling once again after so long. I wonder if he feels the same way.
Personally, I hate being a slave to my parents. I complain and everything about it here because I know I can't to their faces with making things worst. Strangely enough, I have this odd feeling that all this will actually benefit me in the end. Being bossed around by my parents when I'm doing something I want to do. Unfortunately, I have no clue what that benefit is, but I'm sure something will come up that will make me thankful my parents were such slave-drivers.
Sunday, September 26, 2004
In case you were wondering...
I'm currently writing my murder mystery for my other blog The Purple Pen. Instead of writing it in the actual box and saving it as a draft, I've opted to use Microsoft Word to write the entire thing out. I will be then publishing it in parts. I plan to have four parts to the story, with one part coming out each week on a certain day. We'll see is school will let me do that or not.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
I Should Stop
I caught myself doing two things today. Both of which I really need to stop doing before it ends up hurting me in the end.
The first thing I noticed is that I masturbated for the I-don't-know-how-many day in a row! Sure, it helps relieve stress and all that, but I've been doing it for about 22 months now, if not a little bit longer (provided you don't count that one month where I didn't do it because I was dared not to by Shin). Call me naive, but I read somewhere that a habit like that can cause pre-mature ejaculation. I need another one of those challenges. Maybe I should not masturbate until I actually go out on a date with an actual guy that likes me.
The second thing I noticed is that I seem to be floating back and forth between groups of people like a fly. For some stupid reason, if there is a group of people somewhere within my sight, I flock to them. I try to mingle with them. In the end, I end up leaving knowing that I will never be a part of their social group, their conversation, or even their circle of people with similar interests. I caught myself doing that today no more than 30 minutes ago prior to this blog entry. To be quite honest about it, I think I should just stop trying to hang out with people. It worked in high school, and I gained a somewhat nice social group of people. Granted they were all the high school outcasts, but still. You would think that being in college, especially an art college, people would be more open to people. That is true to some extent, but not to my satisfaction. I rather not try at all and see what happens. I have this odd feeling that I'll end up getting socially isolated even more than I am now, however. But still, I cannot continue being this way, always floating around until I find a group of already established friends that will accept me.
I should also stop eating anything sugary. I did for the first time in a while, and my teeth hurt like hell. I'm going to brush after dinner like my life depended on it.
The first thing I noticed is that I masturbated for the I-don't-know-how-many day in a row! Sure, it helps relieve stress and all that, but I've been doing it for about 22 months now, if not a little bit longer (provided you don't count that one month where I didn't do it because I was dared not to by Shin). Call me naive, but I read somewhere that a habit like that can cause pre-mature ejaculation. I need another one of those challenges. Maybe I should not masturbate until I actually go out on a date with an actual guy that likes me.
The second thing I noticed is that I seem to be floating back and forth between groups of people like a fly. For some stupid reason, if there is a group of people somewhere within my sight, I flock to them. I try to mingle with them. In the end, I end up leaving knowing that I will never be a part of their social group, their conversation, or even their circle of people with similar interests. I caught myself doing that today no more than 30 minutes ago prior to this blog entry. To be quite honest about it, I think I should just stop trying to hang out with people. It worked in high school, and I gained a somewhat nice social group of people. Granted they were all the high school outcasts, but still. You would think that being in college, especially an art college, people would be more open to people. That is true to some extent, but not to my satisfaction. I rather not try at all and see what happens. I have this odd feeling that I'll end up getting socially isolated even more than I am now, however. But still, I cannot continue being this way, always floating around until I find a group of already established friends that will accept me.
I should also stop eating anything sugary. I did for the first time in a while, and my teeth hurt like hell. I'm going to brush after dinner like my life depended on it.
Monday, September 20, 2004
The Fender Bender Offender of a Beautiful Day
Today was a beautiful day. The sky was a nice series of relaxing blues, not a cloud in the sky. It wasn't too hot, nor was it too cold, nor was it too breezy. It was a beautiful and relaxing day.
Ruined.
Charlie works the front desk in the afternoon to evening hours. He sees me leave my classes, and on some occasions sees me waiting for my ride as he walks to and from the gyro restaurant with his take-out dinner.
Today, he felt like ribbing me about how I don't drive. I was enjoying the sights and feeling of the afternoon when, out of nowhere, Charlie comes up and says "You need to get your license." I know he meant nothing by it, but he ruined a good moment of reflection and enjoyment I rarely get. On his way back to the front desk with his dinner, he said to me "You know, you would have been home by now if you could drive." Again, he meant nothing by it, but at the same time he ruined another nice moment I rarely get to myself.
Why is it something always happens to me when I'm content and enjoying something that ends up ruining my mood?
Ruined.
Charlie works the front desk in the afternoon to evening hours. He sees me leave my classes, and on some occasions sees me waiting for my ride as he walks to and from the gyro restaurant with his take-out dinner.
Today, he felt like ribbing me about how I don't drive. I was enjoying the sights and feeling of the afternoon when, out of nowhere, Charlie comes up and says "You need to get your license." I know he meant nothing by it, but he ruined a good moment of reflection and enjoyment I rarely get. On his way back to the front desk with his dinner, he said to me "You know, you would have been home by now if you could drive." Again, he meant nothing by it, but at the same time he ruined another nice moment I rarely get to myself.
Why is it something always happens to me when I'm content and enjoying something that ends up ruining my mood?
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Amplified Solitude
Have you ever been so alone to the point where you end up talking to yourself or, in more extreme cases, train your nerves to simulate and trick your brain that you are being hugged tightly by someone? Have you ever been that unfortunate?
I've been having an off day. Things just were not going the way I wanted them too. My pens ran out on me while drawing. The parts I wanted to come out gold came out pumpkin orange. I lost the graceful curve and Art Decco style of a piece with the unexpected twist of my wrist in the wrong direction. My hand went numb from drawing and shading and inking and coloring for countless hours. My thumb formed a small dent due to my vice grip on the pencils. I snapped at my aunt for reading a message board post over my shoulder. I had yet another bad IM session after being contacted by David and the others no more than a week ago.
And then I went to my room, like a child being punished by his parents. I went and continued my homework. I did it because I had to.
The other night, I had the blessed opportunity to talk to Bill. He said something that triggered a dream I had too perfect and too impossible for words to even describe. He said that once we meet, he may introduce me to my future husband. No, he said he will introduce me to my future husband. He wants to keep his word to it, and for that I admire and thank him even though our relationship between each other has been like that of a pair of wolves from two different packs.
That promise. That dream. Both triggered something just now.
I sat there coloring in a jellyfish-inspired dress with Inuyasha running in the background. Hunched over my drawing pad like a gargoyle, I toiled away at my assignment. Then I felt it. I felt a pain in my heart I wish I could grow numb to. I felt something else as well. Someone was hugging me from behind across my chest, across my heart, and pressing against my neck lovingly. No one was in the room, and I have no dead relatives that I can remember ever doing that to me ever in their lifetime. My brain was tricked by my own loneliness.
In that moment, I learned something about myself I wish I learned sooner.
I now know the real reason why I feel my art is never up to par. I now know why everything I do feels like a chore. I now know why I'm so unmotivated.
I never had anyone there to encourage me. I mean, really encourage me. I never had someone tell me what a good job I've done on a regular basis. I rarely get complimented on my art at home. The last time I had anything remotely like that was last semester, but what killed the moment was when my mother admitted that she didn't know I was capable of producing such beautiful art work. She hardly knows me at all.
I never had anyone love me and baby me. I know it sounds greedy of me, but some people need to be babied. Some people are that insecure with themselves, with life. The last time I can remember coming close to being told that everything will work out and that I'm doing good was back when I was trying to do whatever it was I was trying to do in Seattle with Dan. Even that, unfortunately, had its mood killer.
I never had anyone or any thing happen to me that instilled some kind of confidence in me. If anything, I had things happen to me that sucked most of my self confidence out of me.
A strong surge of goose bumps ran down my left hand from my left chest just now while trying to think about what I should type. It felt like someone was first hugging me and then rubbing my arm, as if to tell me that it is okay to let everything out. Another trick caused by my loneliness since I don't remember anyone in my life that has died doing that to me while they were still alive.
Do you see now? Do you see what being alone can do to someone who cannot help the way they act or the way they are? Do you see what it does to people who are not strong enough for whatever reason?
I hope so.
I've been having an off day. Things just were not going the way I wanted them too. My pens ran out on me while drawing. The parts I wanted to come out gold came out pumpkin orange. I lost the graceful curve and Art Decco style of a piece with the unexpected twist of my wrist in the wrong direction. My hand went numb from drawing and shading and inking and coloring for countless hours. My thumb formed a small dent due to my vice grip on the pencils. I snapped at my aunt for reading a message board post over my shoulder. I had yet another bad IM session after being contacted by David and the others no more than a week ago.
And then I went to my room, like a child being punished by his parents. I went and continued my homework. I did it because I had to.
The other night, I had the blessed opportunity to talk to Bill. He said something that triggered a dream I had too perfect and too impossible for words to even describe. He said that once we meet, he may introduce me to my future husband. No, he said he will introduce me to my future husband. He wants to keep his word to it, and for that I admire and thank him even though our relationship between each other has been like that of a pair of wolves from two different packs.
That promise. That dream. Both triggered something just now.
I sat there coloring in a jellyfish-inspired dress with Inuyasha running in the background. Hunched over my drawing pad like a gargoyle, I toiled away at my assignment. Then I felt it. I felt a pain in my heart I wish I could grow numb to. I felt something else as well. Someone was hugging me from behind across my chest, across my heart, and pressing against my neck lovingly. No one was in the room, and I have no dead relatives that I can remember ever doing that to me ever in their lifetime. My brain was tricked by my own loneliness.
In that moment, I learned something about myself I wish I learned sooner.
I now know the real reason why I feel my art is never up to par. I now know why everything I do feels like a chore. I now know why I'm so unmotivated.
I never had anyone there to encourage me. I mean, really encourage me. I never had someone tell me what a good job I've done on a regular basis. I rarely get complimented on my art at home. The last time I had anything remotely like that was last semester, but what killed the moment was when my mother admitted that she didn't know I was capable of producing such beautiful art work. She hardly knows me at all.
I never had anyone love me and baby me. I know it sounds greedy of me, but some people need to be babied. Some people are that insecure with themselves, with life. The last time I can remember coming close to being told that everything will work out and that I'm doing good was back when I was trying to do whatever it was I was trying to do in Seattle with Dan. Even that, unfortunately, had its mood killer.
I never had anyone or any thing happen to me that instilled some kind of confidence in me. If anything, I had things happen to me that sucked most of my self confidence out of me.
A strong surge of goose bumps ran down my left hand from my left chest just now while trying to think about what I should type. It felt like someone was first hugging me and then rubbing my arm, as if to tell me that it is okay to let everything out. Another trick caused by my loneliness since I don't remember anyone in my life that has died doing that to me while they were still alive.
Do you see now? Do you see what being alone can do to someone who cannot help the way they act or the way they are? Do you see what it does to people who are not strong enough for whatever reason?
I hope so.
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Staying Up Because I Can't
Mom's working on something on the gum-drop iMac (AKA the G1 iMac). I can't go to bed with that desk lamp still on, simply because I just can't. Furthermore, I had a hard time finishing my English reading because the first story had a TV show running--not to mention being interrupted by my mom calling my sister in college for whatever reason that may be (my guess is "Empty Nest Syndrome")--and the second story had the printer to endure.
She took some of my printing paper Dad gave me when I ran out when I was printing my World Mythology text because she refuses to use her own, he doesn't take anything I saw seriously unless I'm "getting an attitude with her," and she's been calling me fat for the last few days.
What the hell kind of mother does that to her kid? It's bad enough I don't get any privacy seeing how my room doubles as the second living room.
I hope I don't wake up late.
Hell, I just hope I wake up to the alarms. Yes, alarms, as in more than one.
She took some of my printing paper Dad gave me when I ran out when I was printing my World Mythology text because she refuses to use her own, he doesn't take anything I saw seriously unless I'm "getting an attitude with her," and she's been calling me fat for the last few days.
What the hell kind of mother does that to her kid? It's bad enough I don't get any privacy seeing how my room doubles as the second living room.
I hope I don't wake up late.
Hell, I just hope I wake up to the alarms. Yes, alarms, as in more than one.
Did I mention I hate clay?
I just finished an hour's worth of work fixing two different clay disasters.
The first of which is that instead of getting a really cool pyramid with four points extending out of the plans, I had to cut those triangles off! The reason is because of how I wanted my lid. It would be impossible given then joints and angles for what I originally wanted.
Well, the second lid that I have cut now is even worst. One side has caved in and demanded that I rejoin them together. That's what I spent the last 15 minutes doing. Joining two pieces of clay so thin that it wouldn't even matter if they formed a solid object once they dry.
The piece is drying right now. I just know that once it is fired, it will crack and shatter. I hope it blows up.
The first of which is that instead of getting a really cool pyramid with four points extending out of the plans, I had to cut those triangles off! The reason is because of how I wanted my lid. It would be impossible given then joints and angles for what I originally wanted.
Well, the second lid that I have cut now is even worst. One side has caved in and demanded that I rejoin them together. That's what I spent the last 15 minutes doing. Joining two pieces of clay so thin that it wouldn't even matter if they formed a solid object once they dry.
The piece is drying right now. I just know that once it is fired, it will crack and shatter. I hope it blows up.
Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy...
I had a rough night. I woke up at 04:00 and couldn't get back to sleep for the life of me. To top it all off, I had a raging boner that didn't stop until I got up to get dressed at around 07:00.
I went about my morning checking e-mails and message boards. Everything went like clockwork.
Then came the ride to class. I nearly fell asleep during the last third of the ride.
I'm on the school's computer (as if you can't tell by the time), and right now I just want to fall asleep. I don't want to go to World Myth, partly because I don't understand what I read, but mostly because I'm that tired. Drawing 3 I don't mind, because when I draw in this frame of mind, I usually draw better. My extra work I have to do after that, however, for clay, I rather not do. However, seeing as how I am behind, I need to get something done before I go home this afternoon at 17:00. At the very least, I need to have one slab rolled out and ready for tomorrow's texture lesson.
I wish they never moved the couches out of the student cafe. I guess they caught one-too-many people napping on it.
I went about my morning checking e-mails and message boards. Everything went like clockwork.
Then came the ride to class. I nearly fell asleep during the last third of the ride.
I'm on the school's computer (as if you can't tell by the time), and right now I just want to fall asleep. I don't want to go to World Myth, partly because I don't understand what I read, but mostly because I'm that tired. Drawing 3 I don't mind, because when I draw in this frame of mind, I usually draw better. My extra work I have to do after that, however, for clay, I rather not do. However, seeing as how I am behind, I need to get something done before I go home this afternoon at 17:00. At the very least, I need to have one slab rolled out and ready for tomorrow's texture lesson.
I wish they never moved the couches out of the student cafe. I guess they caught one-too-many people napping on it.
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
The Pains of Clay
Clay. The muddy substance of the earth so recyclable that early civilizations used it to build their homes with. Some still do.
These days, clay is used mostly in art. More common in children's' art, if you ask me, but even that is art in itself.
I don't like clay. I find the medium very unagreeable. It drives my patience to the point where I have none. If I was a master of Zen or some kind of practice that heavily emphasizes patience, maybe Clay class would be easier for me.
It's not.
I realized that, like most people in my class, I'm behind. I need to set away studio time to work on my very elementary learning pieces, but seeing how I can't drive...
Well, you know the rest from there.
As an element of art, I can appreciate the class to no end. I find it rather fun molding and shaping pieces together to form something. In a way, it brings be back to a part of my childhood I've almost forgot about. In that sense, like most of my art when I'm actually doing some work on them, it's very therapeutic.
Would I ever actually make a piece outside of class using that medium? Well, if it wasn't so expensive to buy clay and then get a kilm to fire the piece, I might. And that's without the slab maker and other tools that I have access to in clay class.
Honestly, however, as much as I like the teacher, I'm not enjoying myself in that class simply because I don't know how to work the material to my creative design.
These days, clay is used mostly in art. More common in children's' art, if you ask me, but even that is art in itself.
I don't like clay. I find the medium very unagreeable. It drives my patience to the point where I have none. If I was a master of Zen or some kind of practice that heavily emphasizes patience, maybe Clay class would be easier for me.
It's not.
I realized that, like most people in my class, I'm behind. I need to set away studio time to work on my very elementary learning pieces, but seeing how I can't drive...
Well, you know the rest from there.
As an element of art, I can appreciate the class to no end. I find it rather fun molding and shaping pieces together to form something. In a way, it brings be back to a part of my childhood I've almost forgot about. In that sense, like most of my art when I'm actually doing some work on them, it's very therapeutic.
Would I ever actually make a piece outside of class using that medium? Well, if it wasn't so expensive to buy clay and then get a kilm to fire the piece, I might. And that's without the slab maker and other tools that I have access to in clay class.
Honestly, however, as much as I like the teacher, I'm not enjoying myself in that class simply because I don't know how to work the material to my creative design.
Monday, September 13, 2004
A New Day
I finally heard my alarm go off to wake me up. For the first time, I didn't get out of bed and prepare things in a flash. I took my time.
And it felt good.
Yesterday, I was e-mailed by Josh saying to contact David. He saw my blog and said it would be a good idea to start talking to David again. I e-mailed David expressing in so-many words my feelings and fears about talking to him again. He told me to relax and to let him know if I really wanted this or if it was just another rant that means nothing.
If I may go on a tangent, why is it whenever people rant, some people think what is said means nothing? Some rants are pretty much uncensored thoughts. In my opinion, rants are the best way of capturing pure streams of thought and honest feelings next to nothing.
Back to my story...
I talk to David, and it started out rather... well, I want to say rocky, but I don't think that best describes it. We exchanged pleasentries and I updated him on the family.
Then I spilled my guts. I told him that every little thing keeps reminding me of someone over there. Everything from channel surfing to my Russian Nesting Dolls my aunt got me. Surprisingly, David said that they've missed me too. I honestly thought they hated me.
The whole evening was full of surprises, in fact. Well, okay, maybe only three total, but that's a lot for me to take in.
Eventually, I got into such a good mood that I lost track of time slightly. I went to bed not feeling depressed for the first time in over four months.
It's odd. I'm so good at describing pain and torture, but when I want to describe something happy, I cannot even capture that emotion in my words. In art, it's easy. Happy lines and an overly pleasing color scheme does the trick with little to no effort. Words, on the other hand, can never describe how happy I am whenever I am.
Makes me wonder how a Daily Disney World Blog would work out if I had the chance.
I need to eat breakfast before I'm late for World Myth. Why is it that the women in the Buddah myth I had to read are all stupid idiots with the exception of Miao-Shan? Must be the culture.
And it felt good.
Yesterday, I was e-mailed by Josh saying to contact David. He saw my blog and said it would be a good idea to start talking to David again. I e-mailed David expressing in so-many words my feelings and fears about talking to him again. He told me to relax and to let him know if I really wanted this or if it was just another rant that means nothing.
If I may go on a tangent, why is it whenever people rant, some people think what is said means nothing? Some rants are pretty much uncensored thoughts. In my opinion, rants are the best way of capturing pure streams of thought and honest feelings next to nothing.
Back to my story...
I talk to David, and it started out rather... well, I want to say rocky, but I don't think that best describes it. We exchanged pleasentries and I updated him on the family.
Then I spilled my guts. I told him that every little thing keeps reminding me of someone over there. Everything from channel surfing to my Russian Nesting Dolls my aunt got me. Surprisingly, David said that they've missed me too. I honestly thought they hated me.
The whole evening was full of surprises, in fact. Well, okay, maybe only three total, but that's a lot for me to take in.
Eventually, I got into such a good mood that I lost track of time slightly. I went to bed not feeling depressed for the first time in over four months.
It's odd. I'm so good at describing pain and torture, but when I want to describe something happy, I cannot even capture that emotion in my words. In art, it's easy. Happy lines and an overly pleasing color scheme does the trick with little to no effort. Words, on the other hand, can never describe how happy I am whenever I am.
Makes me wonder how a Daily Disney World Blog would work out if I had the chance.
I need to eat breakfast before I'm late for World Myth. Why is it that the women in the Buddah myth I had to read are all stupid idiots with the exception of Miao-Shan? Must be the culture.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
The Flame of David
Despite my goal of actually doing some homework, I found myself distracted by a red candle found in our twist-tie drawer. Finally having another color to add to an on-going art project, I asked permission to burn it and then proceeded to add some red to my yellow and white mess of wax.
Like a moth, I kept looking at the flame. It didn't dance like it used to. It burned perfectly still. It formed a perfect cone, the kind that scientists dream of having when using their burners. The sight made me sleepy, and I soon blew out the flame to sleep. The smoke from the candle swirled in the wind caused by my movement towards the couch to sleep and formed ghosts that slowly disappeared as I slept.
I didn't dream. I haven't had a good dream in a while. Time just left me for a few hours.
I woke up, and resumed the burning project as if I had nothing better to do. I tried to read my World Mythology assignment, but couldn't make it past five sentences before throwing the binder onto my reading spot. I seem to read and understand things better if I read in my bed. I thought about actually doing my drawing assignment, but then I remembered that my teacher said to just be ready to work on it come Monday. Clay is an easy assignment, which is to bring some small item that we'll eventually make bigger in a scale exercise.
I must have sat there for four hours doing nothing but staring at the perfectly still flame as it burned and melted the candle slowly down to where it would actually contribute to the artwork.
Then it hit me. Then he hit me. The hypnotic flame awoken a sick and twisted series of wishes. A sick and disgusting number of wants to happen whose origins are more than likely rooted in the fact that I want to feel like the better man for once.
All of them involving David.
The flame burned away the candle. David burned away in my mind. My heart triggered a familiar pain that I wish I could have grown numb to.
David once told me that he would date me if Bobby never came into his life. I should have taken that another way, but I took it to heart. His comment remains there, buried in all the pain that I feel. David. He's a kind man. He's something else. He's the kind of guy that everyone wishes they had as a husband, and some, like myself, wish they could be. He provides for Bobby unrelentingly, sometimes to the point where he is in debt and has to work like hell just to get out. He's also a man of strong morale. He tried to get myself and the others to make up and be friends. I failed him there, but I know he's better than me in that he more than likely has gotten over everything and is moving on with his life an his career.
Still, that comment... that line.... that one thing he said that I wish somewhere could happen.
I'm so greedy. So selfish. Why do I want these things? What is it about me that just want these things that are playing in my head to happen? Why do I think these things?
I can't get over it. I can't get over them. It's impossible. I try, and I try, but I cannot do it alone. I know everyone tells me I need to get over it on my own, but I just can't! It's too hard by myself! I'm not strong enough. I'm not brave enough. I can't face whatever it is I cannot get over. Not by myself.
I need a David in my life.
I need David.
Like a moth, I kept looking at the flame. It didn't dance like it used to. It burned perfectly still. It formed a perfect cone, the kind that scientists dream of having when using their burners. The sight made me sleepy, and I soon blew out the flame to sleep. The smoke from the candle swirled in the wind caused by my movement towards the couch to sleep and formed ghosts that slowly disappeared as I slept.
I didn't dream. I haven't had a good dream in a while. Time just left me for a few hours.
I woke up, and resumed the burning project as if I had nothing better to do. I tried to read my World Mythology assignment, but couldn't make it past five sentences before throwing the binder onto my reading spot. I seem to read and understand things better if I read in my bed. I thought about actually doing my drawing assignment, but then I remembered that my teacher said to just be ready to work on it come Monday. Clay is an easy assignment, which is to bring some small item that we'll eventually make bigger in a scale exercise.
I must have sat there for four hours doing nothing but staring at the perfectly still flame as it burned and melted the candle slowly down to where it would actually contribute to the artwork.
Then it hit me. Then he hit me. The hypnotic flame awoken a sick and twisted series of wishes. A sick and disgusting number of wants to happen whose origins are more than likely rooted in the fact that I want to feel like the better man for once.
All of them involving David.
The flame burned away the candle. David burned away in my mind. My heart triggered a familiar pain that I wish I could have grown numb to.
David once told me that he would date me if Bobby never came into his life. I should have taken that another way, but I took it to heart. His comment remains there, buried in all the pain that I feel. David. He's a kind man. He's something else. He's the kind of guy that everyone wishes they had as a husband, and some, like myself, wish they could be. He provides for Bobby unrelentingly, sometimes to the point where he is in debt and has to work like hell just to get out. He's also a man of strong morale. He tried to get myself and the others to make up and be friends. I failed him there, but I know he's better than me in that he more than likely has gotten over everything and is moving on with his life an his career.
Still, that comment... that line.... that one thing he said that I wish somewhere could happen.
I'm so greedy. So selfish. Why do I want these things? What is it about me that just want these things that are playing in my head to happen? Why do I think these things?
I can't get over it. I can't get over them. It's impossible. I try, and I try, but I cannot do it alone. I know everyone tells me I need to get over it on my own, but I just can't! It's too hard by myself! I'm not strong enough. I'm not brave enough. I can't face whatever it is I cannot get over. Not by myself.
I need a David in my life.
I need David.
On this day in history...
Two identical towers fell to the ground.
Where was I?
Asleep.
What will I be doing today?
Planning my Drawing 3 assignment.
Hey, call me heartless. I bet a few people in this country woke up and didn't realize it was 9-11 today.
Where was I?
Asleep.
What will I be doing today?
Planning my Drawing 3 assignment.
Hey, call me heartless. I bet a few people in this country woke up and didn't realize it was 9-11 today.
Friday, September 10, 2004
Dada's "My Life Could Be Different"
If there was someone I could talk to, somewhereI'll let this stand as is for anyone reading this to interpret any way they see fit. Ranting on here has gotten boring, especially since all I do is rant about the same thing.
Someone I could touch, yeah I could feel
Then my life could be different right now
My life could be different right now
If there was somewhere I could go to out there
Where the dust won't seep inside
And weigh me down
Maybe my life could be different right now
My life could be different right now
Right now (if whispers carry miles)
Right now (if loneliness brought smiles, mmm)
...
If there was someone I could talk to, somewhere
Thursday, September 09, 2004
Calling All Hunters and Gun Experts
If anyone out there knows the make, model, and modern-day equivalent to the gun that shot JFK, please leave me a nice comment telling me this.
I need a murder weapon for my mystery I'm writing, and this gun is the only thing powerful enough to send a 200 lbs. man flying 2 feet backwards off a 10 foot high stage. At least in my little fiction.
The only thing I ask is that the gun needs to be a modern-day hunting rifle, preferably one that can have a silencer and a sniper scope put on it rather easily.
I need a murder weapon for my mystery I'm writing, and this gun is the only thing powerful enough to send a 200 lbs. man flying 2 feet backwards off a 10 foot high stage. At least in my little fiction.
The only thing I ask is that the gun needs to be a modern-day hunting rifle, preferably one that can have a silencer and a sniper scope put on it rather easily.
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
Whoopsie...
It's been about 2 hours or so since I did this, but I'm still bothered by the fact that the spring on the big ON button on the eMachine made a funny sound when I pressed it.
Now the button will depress in farther than it used to on the top right side of the circle. The bottom left side goes in as far as it used to.
At least it can still turn on, unlike my aunt's TV. Her power button on her TV was pushed into the television set, and there is no way of popping that button back out again for any kind of future use.
Now the button will depress in farther than it used to on the top right side of the circle. The bottom left side goes in as far as it used to.
At least it can still turn on, unlike my aunt's TV. Her power button on her TV was pushed into the television set, and there is no way of popping that button back out again for any kind of future use.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
"Maybe I'm just like my mother"
I have this strange urge to write a mystery story for my other blog The Purple Pen. Why?
I blame the show Case Closed, personally, for making the fan boy in me go all "I want to show how much I love the show by writing my own fan fiction!" The show, much like Murder She Wrote and Monk, is very unique in its own way. What drew me in was the strange sci-fi element in which the main character, who is the ace detective in the story, was turned into a grade school child thanks to some "poison." The entire series revolves around this one plot to get his original body and age restored. All this while living under the roof of the girl he likes and her drunkard father--who just happens to be a detective as well--with a different name so no one will know what really happened to him. Nuts, huh?
In any event, I've produced a mystery before, as anyone who's read far enough into the archives knows. It was my first mystery too, and apparently went over with those who read it rather nicely. It's also extremely hard. I have so many false clues that so many people were thrown off by it. That was my intent.
However, to write one that would be able to stand up, or at least be compared, to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or even to the writers of Columbo is another matter. I would have to think things through to the point where the reader would want to know "who done it" and why.
And judging from the comments on my other blog, that doesn't appear to be the case. My writing style is mostly cute and cheerful. Of course, I'm basing this off of only three stories and just as many comments left behind, so what do I know?
We'll see what comes up... if anything.
Ironically, my mother wanted to do the same thing for a conference meeting that's coming up. She has no clue what she is in for in planning and preparing something like this.
I blame the show Case Closed, personally, for making the fan boy in me go all "I want to show how much I love the show by writing my own fan fiction!" The show, much like Murder She Wrote and Monk, is very unique in its own way. What drew me in was the strange sci-fi element in which the main character, who is the ace detective in the story, was turned into a grade school child thanks to some "poison." The entire series revolves around this one plot to get his original body and age restored. All this while living under the roof of the girl he likes and her drunkard father--who just happens to be a detective as well--with a different name so no one will know what really happened to him. Nuts, huh?
In any event, I've produced a mystery before, as anyone who's read far enough into the archives knows. It was my first mystery too, and apparently went over with those who read it rather nicely. It's also extremely hard. I have so many false clues that so many people were thrown off by it. That was my intent.
However, to write one that would be able to stand up, or at least be compared, to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or even to the writers of Columbo is another matter. I would have to think things through to the point where the reader would want to know "who done it" and why.
And judging from the comments on my other blog, that doesn't appear to be the case. My writing style is mostly cute and cheerful. Of course, I'm basing this off of only three stories and just as many comments left behind, so what do I know?
We'll see what comes up... if anything.
Ironically, my mother wanted to do the same thing for a conference meeting that's coming up. She has no clue what she is in for in planning and preparing something like this.
Sunday, September 05, 2004
Europe's 'smart' cars coming to U.S. — in 2 sizes
From MSNBC:
I'm sorry, but I like the small iMac-ish car better. The Smart USA SUV looks too ordinary.
When I was in Italy four years go (next month, surprisingly), these cars were the talk of our tour group. It was the first time that I actually wanted to drive and buy a car.
Looks like I have a reason to learn how to drive now.
The tiny car that won over Europeans with its cute looks and very high mileage is finally coming to America, just not in the way you might expect it to.
The 60-mpg, two-seat coupes are made by a European company called smart, but the DaimlerChrysler division is not the one selling them here anytime soon. True, they will be sold in Canada starting in September, but not so in the United States.
Instead, smart USA is betting Americans won't want the small smarts, at least not yet, and has taken a different strategy: a smart SUV, available here in 2006.
I'm sorry, but I like the small iMac-ish car better. The Smart USA SUV looks too ordinary.
When I was in Italy four years go (next month, surprisingly), these cars were the talk of our tour group. It was the first time that I actually wanted to drive and buy a car.
Looks like I have a reason to learn how to drive now.
Saturday, September 04, 2004
Three FREE Movie Nights
I thought I'd advertise something my school just e-mailed me.
"Big Men on Campus" presentsIf you are in the Nashville area and/or is a fan of the films, feel free to drop by my school during these nights. I'll be doing my homework while you drool over the pretty hobbits.
THE FRIDAY NIGHT MOVIE
The Lord of the Rings trilogy will be shown on three consecutive Friday evenings in the Watkins Theater!
September 17th - 7:30pm - The Fellowship of the Ring (extended version)
September 24th - 7:30pm - The Two Towers (extended version)
October 1st - 7:30pm - The Return of the King
Admission is FREE!
Cafe will be open - bring your friends!
Thursday, September 02, 2004
What's the point?
I have never responded so much to an assigned reading as I have just now.
I was assigned to read two short stories for today's English class, Reflections of Spring by Duong Thu Huong and Helix by Banana Yoshimoto. Both took place somewhere in Pacific Asian area. Both involved a man and a woman, both of which fancied or were in love with the other.
And both reminded me about the people in my life I'm trying so hard to forget. I don't want to remember because of the personal pain, self-inflicted or otherwise. I just don't want to remember. But I can't. For some bizarre reason, my emotions run deeper than any hurt I have felt before.
Somewhere inside me, I still love them. I want to see them again. I want to actually see them. I want to say so many things to them. I want them to hear what I have to say to them.
David. I'm so sorry. I know that you put so much into just making things work between the two of us, between myself and the rest of the boys. I let you down. I don't know what I can do, if anything, to make it better. I don't know if I even can! It's too late. The damage has been done, and the clay slate has turned into stone. There is no going back or taking back. No apology could save me short of a blessing.
What's the point? I know someone reads this, but whether or not it is the person that I would like to read this is out of the question. Out of the picture entirely. For all I know, they probably hate me. They all are happy living their life with each other and their life-long love.
And here am I, once again, in front of a computer complaining and bitching and making a complete and utter jack ass of myself. Once again, I whine into a small text box that has about as little feeling towards me as my retired dildo. Once again, I'm talking to no one. Once again, I sit with my eyes half closed typing things I will never say, writing words that will never leave my lips and no ear will ever hear. Once again, I talk to no one by myself.
...
I would wish for something to come along and change all this, but that will never happen. Even if it does, God knows I'll just fuck that chance up again, much like the last ones.
God, do me a favor and don't do me any more favors after this. I don't deserve any. Peter, don't bother unlocking the gate for me, even if I deserve to come in. I don't deserve eternal happiness. Mary, don't weep for me. Your tears are better left for those that need love. Jesus, you died for all of our sins, but right now I wish you never died carrying my sins. I would never wish that upon anyone, not even the Son of God.
What's the point of that? The last time anyone listened to me from upstairs, I was probably too young to remember it. And if they have recently, I was, and still am, too blind to see it, too deaf to hear it, and too stupid to understand it.
What's the point of it all? This complaining on a public media, typing prayers to God and the saints, publishing a private apology. What is the point of all this? Why do I do this?!
Why should I even continue?
I was assigned to read two short stories for today's English class, Reflections of Spring by Duong Thu Huong and Helix by Banana Yoshimoto. Both took place somewhere in Pacific Asian area. Both involved a man and a woman, both of which fancied or were in love with the other.
And both reminded me about the people in my life I'm trying so hard to forget. I don't want to remember because of the personal pain, self-inflicted or otherwise. I just don't want to remember. But I can't. For some bizarre reason, my emotions run deeper than any hurt I have felt before.
Somewhere inside me, I still love them. I want to see them again. I want to actually see them. I want to say so many things to them. I want them to hear what I have to say to them.
David. I'm so sorry. I know that you put so much into just making things work between the two of us, between myself and the rest of the boys. I let you down. I don't know what I can do, if anything, to make it better. I don't know if I even can! It's too late. The damage has been done, and the clay slate has turned into stone. There is no going back or taking back. No apology could save me short of a blessing.
What's the point? I know someone reads this, but whether or not it is the person that I would like to read this is out of the question. Out of the picture entirely. For all I know, they probably hate me. They all are happy living their life with each other and their life-long love.
And here am I, once again, in front of a computer complaining and bitching and making a complete and utter jack ass of myself. Once again, I whine into a small text box that has about as little feeling towards me as my retired dildo. Once again, I'm talking to no one. Once again, I sit with my eyes half closed typing things I will never say, writing words that will never leave my lips and no ear will ever hear. Once again, I talk to no one by myself.
...
I would wish for something to come along and change all this, but that will never happen. Even if it does, God knows I'll just fuck that chance up again, much like the last ones.
God, do me a favor and don't do me any more favors after this. I don't deserve any. Peter, don't bother unlocking the gate for me, even if I deserve to come in. I don't deserve eternal happiness. Mary, don't weep for me. Your tears are better left for those that need love. Jesus, you died for all of our sins, but right now I wish you never died carrying my sins. I would never wish that upon anyone, not even the Son of God.
What's the point of that? The last time anyone listened to me from upstairs, I was probably too young to remember it. And if they have recently, I was, and still am, too blind to see it, too deaf to hear it, and too stupid to understand it.
What's the point of it all? This complaining on a public media, typing prayers to God and the saints, publishing a private apology. What is the point of all this? Why do I do this?!
Why should I even continue?
