Don't ever ask me where I go. [18 Mar 2007|10:47pm] [ music | Aqueduct - Hardcore Days & Softcore Nights ] My face was virtually pressed against the window as I tried as hard as I could to take in the morphing California landscape gracefully sweeping past my field of vision. My head bumped gently, but occasionally painfully, against the tinted glass. There were the trails, the parks, the reserves, the wide open spaces gently confined by the Santa Monica Mountains. There was a yellow line running along the insides of the bus, much like a vein running along an arm, or something that pulses rhythmically. When you tug on it, the driver is alerted that someone has requested an emergency stop. "Is there something wrong, miss?" Oh, no no. "Please stop leaning on the yellow line." I looked to my side; it wasn't me. It was the man sitting two rows behind me on the other side. Over the mountains, the partly cloudy sky melted into a very uniform, hazy gray. The next immediate stop was mine, and I thanked the bus driver as I stepped into the cool sea air. The coolness turned into a very chilling cold, at which point I knew I should have brought a sweatshirt. I fell asleep in the sand, until a cold gust of wind woke me up. I had no problem with it though, strangely enough. The ride back to Calabassas was an extension of that nap, which was interrupted by several more bumps of my head against the window. That was fine too. I had no problem. And along the 101 on the way home, there was traffic and everything, where the only reason why the cars were slowing down was simply because there were too many of them in too tight a space. It was the type of congestion I could deal with. I think I’d caught something in my hands just then, with its cirrhotic heart still beating. I just hope I hadn't smothered it on the way home. 1 managed to | play along.

Purdah without its solitude. [22 Aug 2006|05:47pm] [ music | Lution - Ze Metro ] Driving home today, I decided to park in the front instead of the back of my house. When I found my house being torn apart from the top-down and the front yard filled up to my knees with what looked like black sand paper, pieces of metal, wood, and what other things houses are made of, not excluding dead rats and other rodents of the like, I regretted not parking in the alley - even though it was sunnier for my car. I realized it would have made not difference after I'd stepped on at least 15 nails (luckily, none of which made it entirely through the sole of my shoe), and forged through the door, and found that the entire house was under siege in all directions. In two corners of the house, I could hear people scraping, banging, pretty much hacking away at the rooftop, kind of like the noise you'd envision Santa's sleigh and his reindeer hooves making on Christmas night - just very prolonged and strangely erratic.  The noise is as quiet and as pleasant as a flock of helicopters which refuses to leave. It's so deafening, so annoying it has gotten into my head. Almost literally. It sounds like someone has wedged a thick metal stick into the caverns of my tiny ear and has proceeded to wax my ear with an ear wax remover far too large for its assignment.  Whoever's in charge of this ear wax remover simply won't give up. Not only that but this person has proceeded to somehow place me under something of a house arrest. I can't step outside of the house without pieces of the roof smacking into myself or the bush next to me, without nails under every footstep I take, without a crumbling acropolis of roof pieces I need to pass to get to the lawn or the garage of my very own, beloved home.  Sadly, I can't go anywhere anyway, because my car's thirsty for gas, and it needs to make it through Friday when I can get my tips in cash - so I can refill it's fat, insatiable tank. | play along.

We still need moree than anyone can give... [19 Jun 2006|10:33pm] "Write 20 things about yourself. Time how long it takes you. Then tag that number of people." note: Taken from BonBon; I felt like it. 1. I hate having long finger nails, it's too high-maintanence and I don't know why people find long finger nails attractive. It's gross how much stuff you can find in there. 2. Most of my typos are from putting my spaces in the wrong spot. I think I have a lazy thumb. (It lags.) 3. I like black because it's utlilarian - coffee stains don't show. 4. I don't like people who don't care - apathy is a cureless ailment. 5. Covertly, I'm quite confident in myself when things boil down to study habits, etc. 6. But, people-skills-wise, I know I'm lacking. 7. My left foot is starting to hurt again. 8. I am secretly one of the most Romantic people I know - I just know that none of it could ever happen in real life. 9. So I've given up. 10. When I go to sleep, I'm extremely picky about my pillows. I need one body pillow and one for my head, which must have the right amount of cushion. 11. My teeth are growing really yellow from all that coffee. 12. I don't know that many people outside of my tiny circle of friends/acquaintances - it doesn't usually bother me because knowing people becomes such a hassle. 13. A small social life does become a dilemma around the holiday season though. 14. I dump mountains of parmesan cheese on my pizzas. 15. When I eat clam chowder, I like to add a thick layer of cheese on top of the chowder (which should fill only half the bowl). I like to dump a lot of small crackers until the bowl is filled to the top. 16. My back is starting to hurt. 17. I am currently suffering from a writer's block - and it's obvious. 18. That's why I'm turning to these survey-like things. 19. Usually, I work hard to keep myself busy so that I'll forget people and events (which include people/events I don't like or that bother me). 20. I should start biking again, but having a car makes me so lazy. 2 managed to | play along.

Double the Size* of a Large Mashed Potatoes. [06 May 2006|11:36am] Monday mornings used to be my favorite. I always looked dead, but really, I'd be pumped. I'd be pushy, obnoxiously gung-ho gutsy, even when I may not come off that way to others. Over the weekend, I'd have slept enough and eaten more. I'd be ready to stay up late and work and ready to put in more effort than I can manage for long periods of time. I'd think I'm King (or, Queen) of the World and I can do practically anything.  Not surprisingly, that mentality snuffs out by Tuesday 2nd period, like the charred end of a short candle wick. The rush from lack of sleep eases off and my circadium rhythm starts clack-clackling again to its rattling tempo. So that's when I actually feel as badly as I look. Let's forget everything I've said above though, because this week was The Exception. Monday morning was not, what I'd thought it would be. While I should have been sitting in class, planning out my day, I was bubbling in my last name, first name, middle initial, address, parents' highest levels of education, the "undecided" bubble under "major," and a series of seemingly random numbers which were supposedly not random.  During the actual multiple choice test, it seemed pretty easy. I understood (or thought I understood) pretty much everything and I left no bubble blank. Of course, I regretted doing so later, but at the time I was pumped. But my obnoxiously gung-ho gutsy confidence died before the next morning.  During the essay portion, I was deeply, deeply repentant.  I was sorry for not praying more.  I was sorry for every Sunday I hadn't gone to church.  I was sorry for every single time I'd used the Lord's name in vain. Oh My Fluking Goldfish, it was stinking-awful.  I misinterpreted 2/2 passages there were to interpret and wrote the 3 of worst essays I'd ever written.  It was great. I never want to take it again.  Thank God it's over. *Insert disclaimer here: I don't know, it's on some sheet of coupons from KFC, and it's bothering me. | play along.

Zz's [28 Feb 2006|05:40pm] The alarm clock sounded at 7:00 sharp as usual, which actually meant 6:40 since I set the time 20 minutes ahead to assure that I would never be late, which is really a stupid thing to do since I set it and the alarm clock 20 minutes ahead to assure that I get enough sleep. Which really defeats the purpose. I somehow moved myself to the other restroom when I realized, 10 and some odd minutes later, that there was no way I could naturally go to school without my head twisted backwards on my shoulders and my body falling awkwardly ahead of my feet in bad rhythm. I was 99.9% asleep. There was no way around the issue, I just was.  Not to mention that my voice had a croak to it, or a coarseness like a horse's. My nostrils were even though, both were evenly choked.  The fact that this Tuesday was a Bank Tuesday didn't help my morale either and just gave me another reason to stay in, locked up, and dreaming. As soon as I realized that each period would be shorter than usual and the day would end by 1:26 (or some time around that), I considered pulling through, but immediately thought of how it would be a total waste of effort. No one would be doing anything and I, working my way through a new tissue box, would be paying for nothing.  Scrambling and crawling back to my room, I passed Tristan in the hallway and managed to mutter something about not going to school, giving up, or dying. Everything's such a blur. But I fell back asleep and without the green sedative, I dreamt and dreamt. My brain fired up a storm, like a car's rubber heels on pavement, and brilliant cyan kimonos, large foreign open spaces, and bright, hot, brilliant days hurried themselves in quick succession inside my slow, puzzled head. The remote impressions, like feathers, touched lightly on me. They left wan, tickling traces and I, eagerly letting them fall on me, did not hold on to one, not one.  Hence, at the godforsaken hour of 1 past noon, I awoke to find less than 30 minutes of school were left and that I had wasted the entire morning in vibrant delusions. | play along.

NyQuil, oh you gift from God. [27 Feb 2006|10:56pm] Everything from my collar bones up needs to be amputated. Very simply and quickly, possibly with a guillotine.  The back of my throat is scratching against itself like velcro and my nostrils are uneven. One ear has gone deaf for a few months now, and it itches with the faintness of a hidden sickness, like a cancer - or a bug.  The other ear has grown acute, razor-sharp to be blunt, to where someone speaking on my right side I can hear better with my left ear.  (While my ears confuse themselves as to which side they belong to, my nose refuses to work altogether and has adopted this type of nonviolent, almost sit-down, strike. Its contents congeal into a thick, warm gelatin that refuses to exit through the nostrils the way courteous guests should, which is understandable since snot is almost never educated in the manners of proper ettiquette, or manners in general. Even force doesn't work on these puppies. 2 boxes and plenty of tissues later, they have not left the premises and have even begun crawling out through the back door of my throat, like nasty, prying, officious relatives who believe they have the right, the RIGHT, to comment and put in their cent or two of how you are taking care of your house, yourself, your backyard, your dogs.  Well you don't. And if you won't leave, I'll force you slimy boogers. This is such an invasion of privacy. And I have enough work  than I could possibly handle with a sane, functioning head. The last thing I need is for my think tank to overflow with sewage and unfiltered pond water. Oh you disaster, you ruiner-of-plans, you destroyer you.) Maybe it was all of that coffee, the late nights, early mornings, lack of weekends, disappearing days, but both nostrils have experienced a type of blockage not unlike a plugged drain - filled with all sorts of hair, toothpaste, and whatever we people wash down these metal tubes - which can only be cured with gallons of Draino.  Unless I want to burn away my throat and everything below my neck, however, I will resort to a less potent miracle drug - NyQuil. So here I am, sitting, lamely waiting for the 2 tablespoons to work their magic and let my mind melt into an empty sleep like clear ice cubes in a gallon of vodka, or a satellite in a black hole. | play along.

Footwork. [19 Feb 2006|10:39pm] I've been stealing walks over the course of a month, telling myself that I'd jog if it wasn't for the wind, the heat, and my final, cheap excuse for today being the perfect weather. Instead of jogging my usual route which I've been wearing away for 3 years, I decided, on a fluky whim, to walk the uphill towards O'Melveny without getting lost or getting there.  And that risky, "dangerous" side of me proposed that maybe, I could just explore some adventerous "no outlet" cul-de-sacs along the straight course up hill, just to peak my adrenaline rush by half-a-notch. The first dead-end I explored was amazing. The houses were beautiful and the area was quiet, but it wasn't shaped like a puddle the way normal blind alleys were. This one winded up at an angle to the left and ended with the largest, grandest houses next to this tiny cliff held back by a tiny fence. On the other side of the fence was a sharp dip downwards which reappeared far away on the other side where two of the most theatrical houses were so out of place squatting on their barren, weedy, hill. But they were so royal and proud that anyone, except for me, could have overlooked the nonexistent front or back yard.  After that piece of real estate scenery, I walked off searching like a treasure-seeking sailor for more. Luckily, the second cul-de-sac I strolled fervently over to served up an even more beautiful. There was no gate the first time I visitied, just a tractor and a huge plot of dirt holding its ground between two massive mansions. There was a dusty tractor off on its edge and two mounds of loose dirt taller than the tractor, threatening allergy-attacks if I approached any closer. "Stand back or never stop sneezing," they massively said. But their warnings were full of hot air.  It gave me a panoramic view of L.A's suburbs and on that first day, I was so overwhelmed I couldn't keep myself standing on solid ground without tottering forward leaning down the hill or backward falling into the dirt piles or ground. My second visit there was even shorter because the winds were so strong I was scared I would fly over the hill and plumet somewhere into the valley. And my third visit there, my longest, was today's. Everywhere was green and the trees hid the houses so well except for the taller buildings far far into the distance on the left. Only corners and tiny pieces of houses could be seen and from my spot, like an outsider, above it all, nothing looked the way it did when I was standing in the middle of it. There was so much life hiding in all of those places out there. People were functioning very unaware of one another in furnished, separated spaces, as ignorant of each other was I was of them sitting on the ground, my sweatpants getting itchy. It was so beautiful, a forestful of air fresheners, aside from the dog debris and broken glass. No house should ever destroy that plod of dirt, my plod of dirt, because I wouldn't visit it anymore. I would never be able to visit that view again without trespassing because the temporary fencing they put up this past week would become permanent. The tractor and dirt mounds would be replaced by walls and rooms. My secret claim to it would disappear. I thought to myself, maybe this is what I've been working for. All of that time-wasteful hard work. In a lapse I could have sworn I saw, in the distance, the ocean - that haunting ghost of a friend who calls me every waking hour of my anxious days. That scapegoat, that distant, unending resource of hope, that untouchable thing. It was a vague mirage though, just an impression, but one cogent enough, like an oasis, in the middle of some martian landscape, to leave me thirsting for more. And alas, a pirate's voice, forced itself through my lips, more calmly than I ever could have, more determined than I ever could be, one so steadfast, one so purposeful,  "Bring me that horizon." | play along.

[Dogs] vs. Cats [22 Jan 2006|09:28pm] Dogs climb up, not down, or so the myth goes. Cats can climb down but not up, but if the myth is so true it wouldn't be a myth and in movies, a cat wouldn't always need a firefighter's help to find her way down from a tree. We smiled as the view panned from left to right, starting with the background mountains which were orange and magenta dissolving into a humble lavendar near the sun. The city looked like a puddle cradled by the sky's rough arms. The buildings and cars were minimized to droplets within which were the people reduced to simple, polar molecules. The downhill behind us was longer than the uphill which kept bringing us nowhere but unless we wanted to be trapped on some random mountain-esque hill in Omelveny, Lena and I had better start back. Please, I prayed crossing my fingers, please don't let us fall. We didn't think of the journey back down when we were near the top because that burning, exhausted sensation of climbing up doesn't compare with the danger of slipping down. - - - The second we left the park for home we were lost. The faded directions on my yellow postit weren't helpful when going back home. I just thought that we could reverse the lefts and rights and easily find ourselves back into the warm bosom of my humble abode. I thought all directions worked out that way but if that were so we wouldn't have found ourselves blindly baffled by the street signs and how dark everything was growing. Houses and lawns turned black and lit windows stood vibrantly alone in the dark. Me, the sorry me who was so confident as a navigator with her cleverly scribbled directions, was lost along with I and Lena and her and myself and we and herself and all of ourselves alone in the dark on our feet, sore. The one woman we asked was of no help too because we had to stand 4 or 5 meters away so that her beast-like dog wouldn't maul us. "You're walking to Rinaldi?" she looked at us as if we were crazy not to have a car at night. We thought she would offer us some type of ride. Lena in her head was already coming up with a reply, some type of unexpected, surprised tone of gratified acceptance. The woman didn't though: "Well, you can take __ down to __ and make a right and then at the first stop sign you can make a left until you find what you're looking for. Or, you can take __ down to __ and make a left until you find __ and that should be the straighter, easier way. I hope I'm right." The __'s escape me now just as they escaped me then but I trusted Lena's memory since she admitted that being lost wasn't new to her. Oh, well neither has it ever been to me but I've never been lost, on my feet, in the dark. Frankly, I've never been outside, on my feet, with no ride, beyond a 2 mile radius centered at my house, in the dark. I was stressed; good thing she wasn't. - - - We passed by my elementary school and within the familiar territory we found a McDonald's on a main street, probably one of those buildings we saw from our skyscraper view just an hour before. Those tiny droplets we saw took us in as one of their own and I couldn't see the bent molecules anymore, but a crowd of tamed, broken people. Then, we sat down on the outside chairs pretending that we'd been there all along, waiting for my Dad's cell phone's signal to start existing. That way, I'd save the trouble of having to explain myself. | play along.

navigation [ viewing | most recent entries ] [ go | earlier ]