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 .

Looking through these dusty old Photographs, I realize--
there was a point in my life where I was honestly, genuinely happy.
I can't remember those feelings, or the reasons behind those feelings---but what I'm assured of is their truth. The realness that transcends from these sepia toned photographs, like distilling raindrops from an April sky, are proof--tangible, perceivable evidence that I didn't always feel this empty.

J'adore--- 

Un. The sound of passing cars throughout the silence of the night.

Deux. Eating Chinese food on a Saturday night, while sitting Indian-style on the living room tile, while watching Disney Channel sitcoms. (I just described my past hour-ago to you.)

Trois. Cheesy intended-puns.

Quatre. Dusty dollar book stores. Public Libraries. The smell of books. The rough-yet smooth feel of book pages. I just really love anything that has to do with books in general.

Cinq. The refreshing sensation I get in my throat while drinking iced cold water.

Six. Driving to no particular destination with rolled down windows and high-volume playing music for the simplistic heck of it.

Sept. Odd enough, feet creep me out--but I can't stand socks. I love walking around barefoot.

Huit. J'aime écrire et parler en français.

Neuf.  Awkward, shy, clumsy, intelligent, interesting, eccentric people.

Dix. Learning new Vocabulary words.

Onze. Cold, right-out-of-the-fridge Arizona Iced teas. (Half lemonade-half Iced tea and Green tea with Ginseng and Honey, to be exact.) 

Douze. Watching free-online movies in the late A.M. (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Little Ashes, Good Dick, Remember Me, It's Kind of a Funny Story--if you haven't yet watched all/any of those, you definitely should.)

Treize. Breathing. Sounds silly, but I cherish the ability to breath (we all should, really). Deep inhale, slow exhale, my chest rattles a bit--there may be theological scientific reasons for it but as far as I'm concerned, breathing makes me feel better. It makes me feel--alive?

Quatorze. I love clapping my hands, tapping my feet, whistling little tunes, singing random words. It's as if  my body is an instrument--meant for me to improvise and make sweet playful music out of. The rhythmical capability a human body can possess is amazing.

Quinze. Having a chemistry-like connection with another human being. I don't get this sort of reaction too often, but when I do, it's just incredible. It's as if my body and inner pulse speak for itself. This certain person arises this strange unidentifiable sensation from within me. As a turn-out-- my face flushes in warmth, my heart-beat accelerates beyond necessity, and my stomach gets notably weak. It's similar to symptoms of illness, yet it's far from it. The eccentric feeling makes me feel well--it makes me feel a l i v e. 
I love how that feeling of magnitude towards the most unexpected person, and in some cases stranger, brings forth enough such significance-- in my particular case, to the point of a blog post worth of inspiration.

PRESS PLAY > >

Oh wonderful one why are you like that?

glow in the darkness that's how we do it,

Just like the stars upon your ceiling

that put you to sleep after--

You cross the line in the darkness of your room,
in your room,
There's your head, it's damaged from the talk-talk-talking--

in your feet, it's hanging from your tears.

Here, we are apart,

but not again, and again,

again, and again,

It doesn't make sense--

And in the end they ask you for your reply,
Don't you tell them what you found out--

there is time.

Citation du jour:

It's Kind of a Funny Story.

"Okay, I know you're thinking, "What is this? Kid spends a few days in the hospital and all his problems are cured?" But I'm not. I know I'm not. I can tell this is just the beginning. I still need to face my homework, my school, my friends. My dad. But the difference between today and last Saturday is that for the first time in a while, I can look forward to the things I want to do in my life. Bike, eat, drink, talk. Ride the subway, read, read maps. Make maps, make art. Finish the Gates application. Tell my dad not to stress about it. Hug my mom. Kiss my little sister. Kiss my dad. Make out with Noelle. Make out with her more. Take her on a picnic. See a movie with her. See a movie with Aaron. Heck, see a movie with Nia. Have a party. Tell people my story. Volunteer at 3 North. Help people like Bobby. Like Muqtada. Like me. Draw more. Draw a person. Draw a naked person. Draw Noelle naked. Run, travel, swim, skip. Yeah, I know it's lame,
but, whatever. Skip anyway.  

Breathe- - -L i v e."

- Craig.

For the first time in my life, I feel this inexplicable desire
to light up a drag.
Either it be self-want, or self-need--the reason remains uncalled for.
Revolved theory: Perhaps the fleeting smoke can fog up my sight,
at least for a few seconds.
I'm not seeing enough, but it feels like too much.
Perhaps the warm aroma of a transient life can subside
my internal cringe.
My lungs desperately plead for an interruption--
The more I inhale, the less I'll take in.
There's only so much a chest can let in.

and my mind-- If I reel one more selfless thought in my mind,
this night could be endless.
The moon and the stars in the glistening sky,
they'll divulge my repentance.
If this drag can dwindle this intensified despair, even most slightly,
I'll prim my lips against its tinted white tip,
in repetition until fume elicits from my eyelids.

Vague heart, tainted blood, cheap inspiration--

Life behind the veil.

"I want to speak to you. I've been cut off for too long from your friendship.

Tell me what you're thinking. Write me a long letter."
- Federico Garcia Lorca.

poème du jour.

 If we, together, could
row to Eden, slip back
tipping
up to Eden
and there trick time
reel
it
in.
We'd back them into
paradise
step by step to
paradise. Undress them
tenderly--
return that
skin to sun's kiss
and
rain's
bliss.
He hands the apple
back to her,
whole
and
plump.
And she accepts, a hand
on his wrist, to
stare transfixed
while
it
rises
from open palm into the
tree, groaning green
hanging
heavy
trembling.
Fruitflesh to branchbone
hand holding hand
undone the endless damage
cell to cell's first home.
If we can row to Eden
let us row in Eden
four hands
on pleasure's oars
this bed our boat
to the farthest shore.

LET IT PLAY > >

Time that heals and destroys
Your wristwatch sparkles and shines
Dance to organized noise
The beat, a moment in time
 
Synchronize tonight
And you've timed your move just right
Synchronize tonight
And the hands of time simply your hands held in mine
Synchronize Yeah; you've timed your move just right
Synchronize

And the hands of time are just yours held in mine
It's high time, you were cursed
Make your move here and now
A wristwatch falls to the ground
And time stands still in the heart of the crowd

And the lights flash in time with the dream
And your heart beats in time with the drums
And it's only a matter of time
And you've timed your move just right...

And it's only a matter of time...

Synchronize.

Morning tea,
Late night coffee,
On-the-go oatmeal,

Oh heck, even out-of-the-carton orange juice !

I'd use any excuse to press my lips against these
lovely, delicate, irresistible porcelain cups. ♥

London's Calling.

 

Darling, you must know,
 I'm an equivalent measure to London's weather.

Sometimes I shine... mellow and warm.

At others I'm mild... and when I rain, I pour.

I'm unpredictable to say the least, 

but worth holding onto, to say the most.

So stay...if you choose to stay,

bare with me as my seasons change.

If my winter lasts throughout the spring,

and my summer sun decides to stray...

Keep me with you, hold me close.

Expect the best, as well the worst.
Like London's weather, so be this heart..

unpredictable to say the least,

Worth holding on to, for the most part.

PRESS PLAY .

Steamroller

Massage my shoulder

She turns to me on the drive

and says this city is alive

See the necklace of light

Over the bridge tonight

The city's alive

Hear its sigh

Where the semis drive through your veins

Dog walkers of the new age

The city is alive

It blinks its eyes

When you turn on and off your lights

Skyscraper

Sense of humor

You who grew up through the pavement

With butterflies in your stomach

Skyscraper in your eyelids

Fingers lost for words

Phantom floating things

The city is alive

If the light is due

If the light is due

If the light burns front

burn with you

you are a fallen star

pick yourself up...

An old e-mail.

"My favorite colors are purple and red. I love the winter. 

it's a season that is somewhat like a conclusion of the year. 

and you get the chance to just recap on everything that has happened up to now. 

everything good and bad has led you to where you are. 

I love the warmth and kindness people lack during the winter,

because I feel that one of my purposes is to provide it. 

purple and red mean a lot to me. 

so do the numbers 4 , 7, and 3. 

And any combination of those put together. In any order. 

=) smiles are sweet. also ambiguous. =( . 

The direction is funny. Imagine if things were opposite.
To show we were happy we would have to frown! hah. anyhow.. 

I like going to you-tube and typing random locations, and then! 

I would find home videos people take in their neighborhoods. 

 ... because I want to know how beautiful other places can be. 

I've done this already with many unspecific states and cities.

 and one or two countries. Iceland... I find Iceland too amazing.... 

if I could ever save enough money. which I'm sure someday I would, 

that is where i want to go. Also, Alaska.

I ... I don't like to say things cause it feels weird, 

but I am a musician. I study Music. play it. 

 i'm working on an album with my other members in this ensemble I put together. 

I'm very happy with our sound. and have very big plans for us... 

jeesh... it's kind of sad that you have no idea how I sound when I type this. 

I pause when I talk.. make gestures...breathe... make faces. 

My eyes are brown. you're something else to me. 
Or at least I'm turning you into something. A ... confession ? 
You're someone that I dont know. and I think I'm using you as my journal in a way. 
hah.. is that okay? you can use me too .. I think I'd like it. 
If you ever need someone. I hope I'm here and you'd like to talk with me. 

Maybe I could take your mind off of it. Your personal stranger :p.
It's windy out... I'm passing out candy. I love flannel. lets talk soon?"

Citation du jour:

"I didn't pay much attention to the whistles and whoops, in fact, I didn't quite hear them. I was full of a strange feeling, as if I were two people. One of them was Norma Jeane from the orphanage who belonged to nobody; the other was someone whose name I didn't know. But I knew where she belonged; she belonged to the ocean and the sky and the whole world."

- Marilyn Monroe.

quien eres tu?

"She Drinks Tea. Hot, or Cold. In a cup, in a can.

Is in love with: EL MUNDO ENTERO.

Feels like a creep; odd, out of place.

yet cherishes this feeling as much as possible lets.

Should have been born in the jazz'n roaring 20's.

Is Fascinated by smiles, words, hands.

Personifies objects more than she should.

Often speaks in third person.

No, she's not crazy.

Yes, she's just G l a d y s.

Simple, Different, intelligent, stupid...

believes you are beautiful, truly she does: G l a d y s.

She loves you so; her heart is made out of honey.

(cos' apparently times are too tough now a' days,

and GOLD is just too damn expensive.)

Dawling, dearest. VOUS.

Yes. Oui. Si.     Y O U.

Please, Remember to always stay:  GOLDEN."

Esto va a doler

todo se va a torcer,
si te vuelvo a ver.
todo se va a torcer,
si lo vuelvo a hacer.
cabe preguntarse...


cuanto mas?


cuanto mas?

"Love out of lust, dance while you can.
Rather live out a lie than live wondering 
how the fire feels while burning. 
For life is like a flame, and the ashes for wasting.
So honey, don't be afraid, to dance while we're waiting.

We will live longer than I will, we will be better than I was.
We can cross rivers without wind, we can do better than I can.
So dance while you can...dance cos' you must."
- l k y y e l i 

burgulation.

Being a California gal & all, I definitely love me some In-N-Out. Happily, I came across an article that by far has the best take on the secret menu of thou adoring burger spot. Next visit, I'm definitely ordering a Grilled cheese. You read it right, Grilled cheese! (For the record, I'm an ultimate grilled cheese junkie). Oh, and well done animal style fries, and a Neapolitan Shake. NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM, NOM NOM. 

http://aht.seriouseats.com/archives/2011/03/the-in-n-out-survival-guide-we-ate-every-single-item-on-the-secret-menu.html

Citation du jour:

Interviewer: Any advice to young writers?

Pete Doherty: "Write! Just write."

 

Life is so strange ,

overwhelming, complex, simple and beautiful.

Time, days, years, heart beats, breaths...
one moment they're here,
next thing they're something of the past.
Oh, the past! inevitable is the past.
Five minutes ago has become ancient, extinct, gone!

Even if I'm not guaranteed a future,
at least I've lived long enough to have stories of the past.

I have dreams, you have dreams.
Often times involuntarily,
we are revolved with hopes and dreams.

Tell me please, what is it to have hope?
and what use is it to dream?

And love! Love, love, love...

half the world twirls from the sense of love,

the other half twirls for the sense of love.

I cannot see it, and even when I cannot feel it,

I know it's there, I'm a spinning fool for love!

Oh, and these exclamation marks !

they shout out the whispers
I may never be able to express.
I ask you...ask me what I want.

I want to sit out under a mango tree
sometime around midnight
and sing sweet songs to the moon and the stars.

I want to show them gratitude
with my lungs and a harmonica.

I want to share myself with the world,
and open up,

just open up.

Pour me out like your serve of morning coffee,
I'll wake you up,
I'll wake you up.

I want to be taken in... by a stranger, by a lover.

I want to hold you and console you,

like your mother or your brother.

Don't try making sense of me, of my scattered vowels,

and just listen. Please, just listen.

Life is strange, overwhelming, complex, simple,
and beautiful... if that's what you let it be.

It's cinq minutes past onze and I am here, Sitting Indian-style on my vintage floral sheeted bed. I'd really much rather be somewhere, anywhere in this small-grand world, preferably laying down in a field of endless tall grass (song I'm momentarily listening to). It's a rainy Sunday night, and I just love it. 


I adore rainy days, and I love rainy nights. 
The thought of it just blows my mind--it's amazing, how drop after drop of heavenly water gradually makes its way from a dimensionless part of the sky unto our fleshed finger-tip reach. It's just so magical, and breath-taking.

The sound of rain, the smell of rain, the feel of rain.

Have you ever had a sort of melodramatic film-like moment? You know, the one where you stand in the middle of your front yard at midnight, face up to the moon-lit sky--
the palm of your hands stretched out as if reaching for the stars, and you just stand there for a while, with no worries and no thoughts.

Your mind is clear, and there is nothing too important or too necessary or too anything that could possibly interfere with the moment you're about to face.

The world gradually stops rotating, the ground beneath you becomes still, and there is no movement except for the down pouring rain and the rush of blood pulsing through your veins. It's in that moment--in that rare, precious, and fleeting moment, 
that you suddenly realize how alive you are.

The indescribable sensation of the rain sways you in and takes you over. You open your mouth to taste a few raindrops with the tip of your tongue, and it's a taste so unfamiliar, so rich, so exquisitely extraordinary.  This taste inspires you, and like a child at recess you start skipping around. Suddenly now, you find yourself dancing. And out of nowhere, you begin to cry. While crying, you begin to sing. After singing, you begin to laugh. A delirious moment in the rain. A delirious moment that you'll carry with you for the rest of your remaining days. Many things you'll forget, 
but never the night that you spent in company of the rain.

Many people dance in the rain, cry in the rain, sing their melancholy hearts out in the rain. Some kiss their most loved set of lips in the rain. Many people never will.

In personal empathy, I'm aware I may never get a trip to Barcelona, New York City, or Ukraine. Possibly, I'll never go to half the places I'd like to, or do many things I desire. Even with that said, I know that in the day of my last perspire, I'll renounce just as satisfied knowing that my body, mind, and soul had the opportunity to experience the true living beauty of the rain.

D, I , Y .

CLICK HERE, M'DEAR .

"You could stay a while longer
we could stay up and talk about last summer.

We could go down to the water
watch the sunset going under.

It's not that I'm a stranger to lonely moments,
I've had my share of those.

Please don't go,
Please don't leave me alone,
A mirrors so much harder to hold.

I could try and point the finger but the glass points in my direction.

Sure, you got your sharp edges
but my wounds are from my own reflection.

You've got nothing I could ever hold against you,
I got fatal flaws to call my own.

Please don't go, Please don't leave me alone.
A mirror's so much harder to hold.

I met a man who was looking for perfection

said he never met a girl who's good enough.

His eyes are getting old like they'd love to love again.
Such a lonely man,
Such a lonely man.

I see him in my reflection,
taking steps towards me these days.
So I hold you that much closer
and pray we don't throw this away.

It's not that I'm a man who couldn't love you,
I know what these arms are for.

Please don't go,
Please don't leave me alone,
A mirror is harder to hold.
Please don't leave me cold,
A mirror is harder to hold ."

- JON FOREMAN.

La Citation du jour :

"My moods are inversely related
 to the clarity of the sky."

- Glenn Gould.

I've literally just discovered darling Jaime Woon's tunes
And already he's blown me away. 
His voice is so rich and soulful, his lyrics are so cleverly sincere, 
and he is undoubtedly handsome and charming.
 New musician crush? I think so. 

Home, sweet home.

One day, I will have a place to call my own. and this place of mine, I've promised myself, will be a resembling replica of this. With the exception of added artistry, vinyl records, and 19th century furniture. Can't get anymore dreamier than that. ♥

“When you’re creating your own shit, man, even the sky ain’t the limit.”

- Miles Davis

 

I love

it when people smile. I think it's one of the most beautiful gestures a mouth can make. No matter how chipped a tooth may be, even if there's a gap the size of Texas exposed, even if one doesn't have teeth at all, all smiles are equally beautiful when they genuinely manifesto the inner smile we feel inside.

 

PRESS PLAY > >

"Do you wanna be alone? Do you wanna be alone?
And are you cool?
Symmetrical, Hypocritical, Analytical, So critical,
Nothing's perfect --
I'm hoping I'll do."

mis-takes.

I seen a shooting start tonight. Well, at least I think I did.

I hope I did. I'm believing in satisfiable selfishness that I did.

It was gorgeous. Perfect timing too. Right when I was pulling up into my drive way: SWOOSSHH across the night at an implausible speed it elapsed. I could have missed it by a sneeze (my eyes have this natural reaction of squinting every time I sneeze). More surprisingly than actually witnessing though, was my automated response. I usually tend to over-think everything; even when it comes to the simplest of things such as making a wish. However, I've come to the conclusion that there will be moments in life in which your heart will respond before any other pulsing organ within you. Tonight, I wished with my heart and as silly as I personally think the whole concept of wishing may be, I'm engraving the date of three-eleven-eleven in mon coeur. Time tells all, and deep down under some crimsoned blue sea, there is a fish that believes that wishes really can come true. (Where did the whole fish analogy come from you ask? I really have no idea.) Anyhow; Goodnight, good morning, good etc. to whom ever happens to be reading this, whenever you happen to be reading this, if anyone happens to be reading this? and P.S: in case this hasn't been told to you today, you are beautiful. and as cliché as this may sound: if you're going through something patchy and discouraging, know  that every little thing is gonna be alright (yes, Bob Marley reference.)
Stay Golden, toots. ♥
  

PRESS PLAY.

"Be the ocean where I unravel.

Be my only, be the water when I'm wading.

You're my river running high, run deep run wild.

I, I follow, I follow you deep sea baby,
I follow you.

I, I follow, I follow you, dark boom honey,

I follow you."

What use is it to want?

I want to go to exciting places.
Become familiar with unknown faces.
I want to smell the ambient of a whole new life.
I want to venture, I want to explore, I want inspiration,
I want something more than unmeasurable deprivation.
I want to see the sunrise in Quebec.
I want to feel the sunset in Ha Giang.
I want to hear foreign voices,
I want an unforgettable conversation with a stranger.
I want to dance barefoot in a forest,
run around incognito through a desert.
I want to plant Grandiflora's in a park,
kiss a lover conspicuously in the dark.
I want to build novelty with my hands,
and offer refuge in my heart.
Oh, such self-proclaimed desire!
Oh, such torrent dismay!
yet I want, I want, I want.

10:50 PM

Where has my head gone?
What use have my limbs?
I explode like a firework, dare you take me in?
I am a quitter, a fighter.
I am intellectually inane.
I'm in a loss for words, these colors make it worse.
Light purple, bright yellow..
What use has my voice?
Where is the fury?
Where is the flame?
What use has my face, if I have no name?
Answer me, won't you.
Answer me true.
Answer me tomorrow,
right now it's no use.
These thoughts are merely tangible,
much less to my pursuit.

Au natural.

Secret: I think the human body is one of the most beautiful existing things in life.

I am fascinated by hands. Hands are just so mystical. You can caress the love of your life, write words of wisdom, play your emotions away on an instrument, paint an extravagant painting, plant a rose bush in your garden...all with the use of your hands. Flesh...the human flesh is wondrous, and arousing. Amazing how our cheeks turn pink when our hearts race for another boy or girl. And how our skin turns warm when we lay in consoling arms. It just blows my mind... how our fragile, timid, rare, and fleeting bodies can expose tangible emotions within us...