PRESS PLAY > >

Everybody thinks my head's full of nothin,
Wants to put his special stuff in,
Fill the space with candy wrappers,
Keep out sex and revolution,
But there's no hole in my head.
Too bad.
They call me a dupe of this and the other,
Call me a puppet on a string, they,
They don't know my head's full of me
And that I have my own special thing,
And there's no hole in my head.
Too bad.
I have lived since early childhood
Figuring out what's going on, I,
I know what hurts, I know what's easy,
When to stand and when to run,
And there's no hole in my head.
Too bad.
So please stop shouting in my ear, there's
Something I want to listen to, there's
A kind of birdsong up somewhere, there's
Feet walking the way I mean to go,
And there's no hole in my head.
Too bad.
Everybody thinks my head's full of nothin,
Wants to put his special stuff in,
Fill the space with candy wrappers,
Keep out sex and revolution,
But there's no hole in my head.
Too bad.

Note to self:

I   B E L O N G   IN    N E W   Y  O R  K   C I T Y!

I guess I've always known this, ever since elementary school. Fourth grade, to be exact.

I remember this kid I had the hugest crush on
(I won't say his full name for just-in-case-he-himself-ever-reads-this-I-won't-be-totally-embarrassed purposes) his last name was Newborn; Yes, my crush was so profound to the point that + 9 years later I still remember his last name--back to the point though, this blue eyed blond haired Andrew--I mean, Newborn, is the one I owe sincere gratitude for introducing my spark of interest to New York City. When we came back to school from our two-week Winter break, our teacher, Ms. Larroy, asked us to share with the class what we had done over our Winter break. Out of all the "Visits to the North Pole", "eating Oreo's and drinking a glass of Krudsen 2% with Santa Clause", and "almost falling down the edge of a cliff while hiking up a mountain at Big Bear" stories, (okay, maybe some of those are made-up) there was a story-share that absolutely blew me away. Yes, it was Newborn's of course; but it wasn't just because he was like the Jake Ryan [you got it right, Sixteen Candle's reference!] of my childhood--not at all. It was the actual descriptions that he gave about his trip to this, at the time unfamiliar New York city, that made my brain go wild with intrigue. He told us about all the humongous buildings there were, and how busy the streets were, and how he'd encountered the most delicious pizza of his life there, and he even showed us pictures he'd taken of the Statue of Liberty. I wasn't sure how, or when, but I knew that one day I would go to this so called NYC, and experience all its magic, and delicious pizza, for myself. Imagine that, this was my mentality as a Tweety-watch-wearing, pig-tailed fourth-grader. With time--countless-research, NYC film-watching, NYC photograph-looking, NYC blog-scouting,  NYC based magazines-reading, and an accessible amount of NYC awareness later; this aspiration was nevertheless bound to grow a severe amount. It just seems so magical to me--a city full of hopes, adventures, dreams. All the movement--street lights, cabs, subways. The fashion, music, food, parks, libraries. How it seems to be just as A L I V E during the night as it is during the day--I want that. I want it all. If it's possible to fall in love with a stranger, is it possible to fall in love with something, in my case--a city, before truly actually getting to experience it? That probably sounds confusing--but you get me, right? I feel so drawn to that City. I've never been there, but the day I finally do, it's as if I know what to expect. I feel it, in my heart--I'll want to stay there and never come back. It's time I officially announce, to the world (who will probably never read this) and to myself--starting this Friday's paycheck, my save-up for my destined life in the Big Apple, begins.

CLICK IT, or miss it.

 

Hear the story behind 

this lovely photo of miss Bridgette Bardot

by clicking the link below:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/video/2009/nov/03/brigitte-bardot-photograph-terry-o-neill

The wayfarer.

Picture me running--
through sun-baked valley's,
in search of an image that once was my own.
Picture me fleeing this damned mellow city,
in pursuit of a passion only found past brick walls.
Picture me dancing through fields of tall grass,
one step after another, relinquishing the past.
Imagine with eyes closed-- the sense of my frustration,
as I resume the pulse within me and retain from hesitation.
Picture me dearly, picture me so,
Picture the moments I said we'd never part.
Picture me leaving, picture me gone--
Demolish the image of my flesh, the sound of my breath.
Accept these words of credence--
acknowledge with your heart,
I'm running for the sake of freedom,
for the will to carry-on.
Storms come, I'll keep on running,
until day and night convert to one--
I elope, not to forsake you,
but to transcend the convicted doubt of hope.

PRESS PLAY > >

Save up all the days,
A routine malaise.
Just like yesterday,
I told you I would stay.

Would you always,
Maybe sometimes,
Make it easy,
Take your time.

Think of all the ways,
Momentary phase.
Just like yesterday,
I told you I would stay.

Every time you try,
Quarter half the mile.
Just like yesterday,
I told you I would stay.

Would you always,
Maybe sometimes.
Make it easy--
Take your time.

You're

not as deep as you think.
when you fall eight-teen feet under,
and tremble as you speak.
You're not as strong as you thought,
you push and you thrust,
but it's never enough.
You're weak, defeated,
your body lacks strength,
your mind lacks coherency,
your heartbeat sounds faint.

Why do you stay here?
Why do you wait?
So defenseless, so restless,
too fragile, bound to make mistakes.
What's your stance?
Which pursuits do you portray?
Oh, sincere man! I ask you from my grave,
How much time,
lows and highs--
How much more of life can you sustain?

The exposure.

Distinguish me.

In a field of Zinnias,

light me up,

extinguish me.

Carry me,

bury me, 

paint my torso in shades of red.

Feel me --

touch me --

fall on me --

enthrall me --

trace with your fingertips along the lines of map on my back.

rest your covet thoughts

across my chest.

Your eyes speak to me in soft whispers--

unravel your emotions with the tip of your tongue.

Expose me,

unzip me,

inside you, swallow me,

take me with you, far away.

Citation du jour:

"Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendour. 

Grasp it, sense it - tremulous and tender. 

Turn your face away from the garish light of day, 

turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light - 

and listen to the music of the night !"
-Phantom of the Opera.

 

PRESS PLAY > >

This here is one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite movies.
If you've yet to watch 'Annie Hall'-- please, don't hesitate in doing so. ♥

I fancy...

John Krasinski's nose,
that one worker from Urban Outfitters that shyly told me "hi" before I left the store last Saturday,
I fancy---
Thom Yorke's genius,
Michael Cera's odd charm,
Joseph Gordon Levitt's crooked smile,
that one internal story teller from high school,
that charming poet from Chicago,

the friendly charisma of the worker that took my "Venti Caramel Machiattio--oh, and can I have it upside down with extra caramel, please?" order at Starbucks last night--
and the fair-skinned man that worshiped God with trembling hands last Sunday evening,
and--
Alex Ebert's genuine passion for music,
Jack Johnson's lyrical talent,
Julian Casablanca's rebelness,
Federico Garcia Lorca's introspective conflict with love,

that one blogging stud/cartoonist from New York City--
that one guy that was wearing a black and white stripped beanie at Warped Tour of last year--
and the nerdy worker from the thrift store I went to a few weeks ago that sincerely tried making eye contact with me,

and that one timid dude that sat next to me at the computer section of the library at school a few months ago,
I also fancy--
the journalist that wrote an article about Venice, Italy in the Travel section of the Los Angeles Times for the November 2010 issue,

and--

Michael Angelekos curly hair,
Woody Allen's sarcastic humor,
Robert Pattinson's British accent,
Matthew Gray Gubler's eccentric art.

I fancy more than I should, now that I think of it.
Not only that-- but I fancy the impossible.
the unreachable,
the may-never-ever-get-to-meet,
may-never-ever-get-to-see-again.
Why do I fancy such men? Such things?
Why do I want what I can't have?
and reject that which is disposed to me?
Why am I so complicated in such simplistic manners?
I really don't know, I really may never know.

un court-métrage pour TU.

The meaning of La Jetée.

  "While La Jetée is an eye-opening experience unveiling the processes of human perception when viewing film, it isn’t simply a film about cinema, but also an exploration of human memory. Memory itself, the film suggests, is a form of time travel. Certain images stick in our minds, haunting us and defining the trajectory of our lives and mandating our personal decisions. Memories aren’t recounted in thorough, complete detail with a comprehensive and linear succession of events mapped out, but are segmented and divided, often removed of context or manipulated by interfering memories or wishful thinking. Our mind recounts past events in a fashion comparable to the time traveler’s obsession with a single image lodged in his mind’s eye of the woman on the pier: determined by heavy emotion rather than associated with context or a full understanding of the circumstances. Thus, La Jetée’s ending is rather appropriate, for just as we can recount only fragments of true memories, we can also go back and revisit them – and this re-visitation ultimately changes, clarifies, or manipulates the meaning of a memory entirely as readily as it potentially determines our future. In the world of Chris Marker, time, memory, and cinema are one in the same in that we seek and find meaning to all such things through the collection images we associate them with."

- CLICK here for more > 

s t r a n g e r s.

I have no idea who these two lovely human-beings are,
but I find them to be beautifully stunning.
Don't you just love encountering random unknown photographs?
Oh, anonymous photographs--how I adore thee so!

W o r d s.

Words. In ellipse. linger in and out of my body.

Throughout my veins unto my flesh.

One letter after another form sentences across my chest.

I shutter, time stands still as I hold my breath.

I reach out to the star-lite night, I stretch my arms a little further,

I feel nothing. I feel everything. I feel lost.

Yet I am found.

I am found in the time and place where my thoughts met my mouth.

I build my own river and drown.

I drown out the words that convey into images.

Slowly, gradually, I escape my own sound.

No trace of my torso, no trace of my limbs,

no frantic heart beating, no blink of an eye,

It's just these few words, my manic, and mind.

All over me, within me...these words remind me I'm not the best.

My sanity pending, these words defending...

I'm not the worst, I'm not the best.

I'm not the worst, if not misled.

The D e l a y.

I'm waiting to know you,
wanting to show you,
hesitating to hold you...
Oh, hidden face.

attentive for your words,
indulgent for your thoughts,
suppressed by your sweet charm...
Much too far away.

Oh, I think you're great!
but you wander, as I wait...
the clock begins to synchronize at a melodious pace.

I don't mind if dusk turns to dawn,
while April turns to May.
It doesn't phase me- time, change, life...
diligent I remain.

yet all in all,
I can't retrieve to question,
an answer that isn't mine to claim.

steady going,
steady come,
Why
must
love
delay?

Seeking Comfort.

"Getting her out of bed was far more difficult than in. The sheets were soft, the pillows softer, and the sound of rain did nothing to motivate us.  She was wearing socks, I was wearing nothing, and our bodies naturally gravitated towards each other as they sought comfort. I wanted to have all the energy in the world so I could roll her over and listen to her moan as blood rushed through our bodies.  I wanted to feel strong, awake, and alive. Instead, we kissed slowly and got lost in the feeling of skin.  I played with her curls and she slid her foot up my calf until it tickled. We were both almost surprised when I grew hard against her belly, and when I slipped inside her it was like a dream.  We barely moved as we listened to each other breathe, and every place our bodies touched felt like sex to me. Her fingertips and her tongue. Her elbow and her shoulder blade. Her hair against my chest and her toes on my ankle made me shudder and moan softly into her gentle ear. When she came for me it was long and silent.  We stretched out everything, letting time and muscles find their own place.  She kissed me with wet lips, and even her tongue felt warm and comforting. Afterwards, we took turns sleeping and staring out at the rain."
- Quickies in New York. ♥

[ A  c o n f e s s i o n: I've yet to experience such a thing, but the day I do, I want it to be just like this.]

LET IT PLAY > >

See her world lit so bright,
See her bird take flight.
See her face wild and charged.
See her quickened heart,

So if we fall imagine that
Imagination's fly.

So here I hold for what you are,
See all that I'm looking for,
I look to you,
The future we've found,
To stay here on higher ground,

I wanna change the future as I look into your eyes .