And her dark brown eyes spoke loud and precise,

Chanson du jour.

I get nervous when I see him,

It makes me anxious when I don't.

Knowing this makes me a bit unsettled.

Especially because he has no idea;

and possibly never will.

just, because.

So, as the whole world and their grandmamajoe's know, Beavis and Butt-head is finally coming back to television! I am beyond excited! I remember watching back-to-back episodes with my older sister as a kid. After several episode re-inactments, both of us eventually mastered the inevitable "huhhh huhh huh's," and "eh heh heh's." Beavis and Butt-head is just a classic, man. And with great luck, I was able to get a hold of one of their 1994 Rolling Stone College Special edition issues. I randomly decided to visit a local bookshop a few minutes away from home, and to my surprise, it was vintage magazine heaven! There I was finger-flipping through some issues of Rolling Stones when *heavenly sound effect* Beavis and Butt-head! Of course I had to bring it back home with me, regardless the fact that my room is starting to look more and more like a museum with all my hoarded findings. But, c'mon. How could anyone resist such a find? An even sweeter bonus, the store owner (which was super adorable, let me tell you. An about 70-something year old Italian women that held quite the conversation about her passion for vintage readings and trio music) apparently "digged" my personality and only ended up charging me two bucks for it. It will definitely be a hand-me-down to my children one day (whenever/if ever I have any.) Heck, I'll make sure to have children just to have my mini capsule of cool 1990's handed-down.

Please,

don't make me like you.

One - fifty (two)

1. Birds


2. Hands


3. Tea


4. Letters


5. Words


6. Dreams


7. The number Seven


8. Commas ,


9. Periods.


10. Radiohead


11. Nirvana


12. Camera Obscura


13. (Parenthesis)

14. parler dans français

15. hablar en español

16. secret crushes


17. unspoken-about-kisses


18. Zooey Deschannel


19. How I Met Your Mother


20. When will I ever meet your mother?


21. Questions?


22. Questions without answers.


23. Mysteries


24. Mysterious people


25. Odd people


26. Quiet people who listen to their I-pods 24/7


27. Denny's. cos' it's open 24/7.


28. The color blue:


29. like the sky,


30. and the sea.


31. not making sense to others,


32. but making sense to myself.


33. when others make no sense to me,


34. at all,


35. I become much more intrigued.


36. fancy words


37. worn-out shoes


39. skipping numbers


38. and making up for it afterwards


40. Old books that no one reads


41. Exposed diaries


42. watermelon,


43. with lemon.


44. faces,


45. freckles,


46. freckles on faces.


47. believing


48. that


49. everything will somehow


50. fall into place,


51. no matter what.


52. Oh, and Ending things in even numbers.

Have you ever,

been so happy 
that you could just die
and it wouldn't even matter?

"I'm alone on a bicycle for two."

Where is my mind?

So, I'm currently listening to a song called "Where is my mind" by the Pixels (hence the title of this post) and I thought to myself, hmm...what a good freaking question. I am literally like a mind on a stick (okay, not literally) and yes, that doesn't really make much sense. but the point here is, I am a non-stop thinker. I think way too much, of everything, and I mean everything. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Right now, I'm still in that what-the-hell-am-I-even-doing-here/ what's my purpose sort of phase. The more I grow, the more and more distant the answer to that question seems to get. I'm a college gal, I work, I'm in my last year of teenage-hood, and it all seems so obscure. Things used to seem so much simpler as a kid. I could have been a librarian, or a rock star, I could have been a freaking astronaut--and now, I feel so limited. But still, I want it. I want it all. It's like, fuck. I want to be a radio dj, and I want people to listen to real freaking music. I want to open a record store in the heart of a busy city, and forever carry on the talents of Thom Yorke, Bjork, and the Raconteurs. I want to write for fucking magazines, and reach out to all the odd, pigeon-toed, crooked smile underdogs. I want to learn how to paint, and make beautiful art pieces that my future grandchildren can hang in their early-twenties apartments. I want to learn how to play every single instrument possible, and make sweet passionate music. I want to be a chef, an actress, a fashion designer, a lover, a giver, a traveler, a maker--"I want to be one of these things first". and perhaps the trip that I'll (hopefuly, fingers-crossed) be taking to Boston this December will help me start it off.

One day, I'll give it up.

give it all up, and buy a one-way train ticket to the city of Chicago.

Twenty years from now,
I don't want to say the same.

No one knows where she comes from
Maybe she's a devil in disguise
I can tell by looking in her eyes.

Little miss strange
Little miss strange.

I don't want what you want
I don't feel what you feel
See I'm stuck in a city
But I belong in a field.



Love is so melancholic. 

Carousels twirl all around exited youth.
I do not mind
at all.
We’re tonight in a world full of thrills—it can come carry me up,
far above
it all.

It’s a long way down
from here
to the sound.
Watch the faces
go ‘round—
to the stars
then the ground.

Ferris wheels carried us away
not so long ago.
Times I’ve betrayed.
Where would we be now if I had taken your hand?
Well the years they pass by slow
don’t they?

It’s a long way down
from here
to the sound.
Watch the faces
go ‘round—
to the stars
then the ground.

haven't you heard?
some things don't need descriptions.

film du jour.

Krótki film o milosci (A Short Film About Love) (1988)

I agree with you, trust me, I do.
I am well aware that I post way too much music videos on here.
But c'mon, can you blame a gal? Music + Videos = love, man!

And talking about love, I think I might just be in love with Beirut.
Correction, I am utterly head-over-Chuck Taylor's for this dude!

He is so charming, too c h a r m i n g ♥

press play >

 

I was fortunate enough to see this lovely band at FYF Fest this year,
and yesss, they are absolutely brilliant live!
It was an intimate, sardine-packed setting, and I loved every lasting minute of it. ♥

c l i c k, click.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/geraldinecampo/5882735672/

My hands are cold.
My nose is cold.
It's 7:25 PM.
I'm sitting at computer 420 (oh, geez) in my schools computer lab,
which happens to be located inside the schools library
(and if you know me, you know how much I love libraries.)
I'm listening to "I might be Wrong" by, yes, you guessed it :
R A D I O H E A D.
The computer lab instructor just announced that the computer lab
will be closing in exactly 15 minutes.
This little scenario that I just described--
the simple moment I happen to point and time be in right now,
I'll never have it again.
No matter how significant or insignificant a moment may be,
you only get it once.
You may come across doing the same thing day after day,
but it will never truly be the same passing twice.
Every-single-second of our lovely little lives are their own. Never ours.

" I will

Lay me down

In a bunker

Underground

I won’t let this happen to my children

Meet the real world coming out of your shell

With white elephants

Sitting ducks

I will

R I S E   U P. "

I'm not trying to sound like a teen here
(although technically I still have a year left of it),
but people could be so damn frustrating, sometimes.
and unfortunately, I happen to be one of them.

not that you asked.

I'm inside my cozy 'negrito' aka my mini black Ford Focus, parked in front of my usual chill spot Starbucks. My black and white baby doll shoes are off, I could feel some crumbs on the sole of my feet (I really need to stop eating drive-thru food in here), my windows are rolled down, there's a noisy motorcycle a few parking spots away from me, my lap-top is starting to feel warm atop my legs, and I'm currently listening to a jam called "Waste" by a band (which I hope you've heard of by now) called 'Foster The People'. They're gonna be in concert at a local-ish theater in a few months, I think I might just have to metro my way to and fro. (oh yes, I just said "to and fro".) Well, I feel absolutely ashamed and guilty of not spending as much time as I feel I should (and genuinely want to) on here. Actually, now that I think of it, I haven't really written much anywhere. Not in my journals, notebooks, work-receipts. Gah! I know, I must stop!
I vow to give more of me to the things I love, and blogging + writing = my two true loves. Speaking of love, how ironic is it that a song called "Love" just started playing right now? Very, right. Speaking of, since we've now shifted on that topic, I've yet to find any "love" compatibility with another. BUT, yes, the big BUT--I'm not worrying about it. As incredible as having a lover may be, I've come to this sort of acceptance that romance just isn't in my cards, at least not at this point and time in my life. Along with this acceptance, I've also concluded a theory. Perhaps, it is possible to be romantically and passionately involved with 'objects', just as it is with humans. So, it's safe to say, I'm absolutely taken. I'm in love with music, and literature, words, dreams, my aspirations, and nature. I always have been. Feelings I've had for certain people have faded, sad to say, but true. Relationships I've had, and friendships--they've lessened, some even to the point of disappearance. This unfortunately is a part of life, it happens--chances are these sort of things will always happen. but I don't fear sorrowfulness, for truly in my heart I believe that God put these 'objects' in life to help complete those hearts who don't necessarily have another heart to rely on. Music is my second heartbeat, poetry is my best friend, nature is my hope, notebooks are my listeners, and my dreams are my reminders to keep moving forward. I may find it someday. That fleshed "soulmate" may appear out of the blue when I least expect it, and I'll be absolutely grateful and appreciative when that day happens--but as for now, I'm still a full-hearted gal. and I'm trying my best, and loving every single little minute of my ever-fleeting relationshiped (if that's even a word?) life.

"To see the world in a grain of sand, and to see heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hands, and eternity in an hour."

- William Blake. 

PRESS PLAY > >

His name is Tim, and there's something about him--

this rarity, delightful rarity.

Something so undeniably interesting about him.

The kind of interesting that arouses me to fantasize about how wonderful a conversation with him might be. 

With that put aside, this song has nothing to do with my fleeting thoughts of Tim.
 It's just beautiful, and entrancing.

I hope you like it, too.

"You

 provoked

 me

to

be


lonely.

Words are geographical."

There's nothing

I dislike more than having a blank sheet of paper in front of me,

and having not the slightest idea what to write.

There's an English alphabet composed of 20 letters.

A Spanish alphabet composed of 27,

and a French alphabet composed of 26.

The worded possibilities are endless, yet I don't know what to w r i t e.

Lack of inspiration is rather over-whelming. Pretty terrifying, aussi.

PRESS PLAY > >

Bonjour there lovely bloggers! Well, like I've previously stated before, I am in firm belief that not many people come across my worded ramblings. If anything, none might ever come across reading this post--but regardless, I have to be honest, I use this whole blog spot as a sort of personal interweb journal. It's a mini personal time-capsule I'll be able to look back upon someday. Of course, I have actual journals--many, in fact. but, heck. Why not have more than one thought capturing connection? So, I haven't posted much here in a while, and it's mainly--nope, it's A L L due to the fact that I am in lack of an internet connection at home. Hard economic times come with their consequences. Okay, things aren't that bad, but if little things such as saving some cash from canceling a monthly Time Warner Internet bill can help, it's only reasonable to do so. Straying away from the whole economic bull-shit topic; I'm actually at a library right now. Yes, my first young adult visit to a public library. And by first young adult visit, I mean--I drove here in my own car, legally--with the driving license I finally received in the mail this past week. It's my day off from work, and the library is one of the few ideal places that comes to mind in terms of relaxation and entertainment. It feels good, that bit taste of independence. I'm growing, and the more I grow, the more I'll be able to do stuff on my own. That's a no-brainer of course. It's all a bit nerve-wrecking to me sometimes. Most times, actually. There are mornings where I wake up, and I have to remind myself to breath. It is all coming and going so fast--life. It's like this swift chaotic blur. Once upon a time I was this child eating macaroni kid cuisine dinners while lying down on the living-room carpet, watching back-to-back episodes of Lizzie McGuire. and now I'm this young woman who graduated high school a year ago, goes to college, pays for her own gas, and has no idea how to follow her list of impossible dreams. The carpet from the living-room has been replaced with tile, Disney Channel no longer airs Lizzie McGuire, and this past Sunday I seen the first sign of actual aging on my dad--a bald spot is forming on the back of his head full of hair, and I really don't know how that should make me feel. I mean, I don't exactly feel crappy or anything, but I feel sort of stuck. That's not even a fitting word for what I feel, actually. It's pretty damn indescribable. All these thoughts and emotions run in-and-through me, and the most I can do about them is just sit here at this lovely silent library and type.
Type away, as if that could somehow change something.
 I wonder, what will life be like tomorrow? The next day?

Forty-one years and twenty-nine days from now?
 and will I still feel this anxious?

Time will tell. Time tells all---
and that's what keeps me on the edge.

2: 27 A M.

Sometimes, all I want to do is run.

Get the breath knocked right outta me, and feel.

Feel the linger of life breeze through the air--

across my knotted hair, upon my ivory skin.

It's about thirty past two,

it's morning but it's dark,

and I can't sleep.

I w a n t t o  r  u  n.

All I really ask for,

is someone interesting, intriguing--
is that really too much to ask?
Are my desires sincerely too vague?
I want conversations about nothing,
about the meanings behind e v e r y t h i n g.
I want to sit in silence upon a hill that overlooks half of the city,
with a h u m a n who see's beauty in branches and stones.
A  h u m a n.
Is there any human out there who can appreciate my silly mind?
Who can ignore my manic heart?
If There's a human out there, s o m e w h e r e,
who will bother to read between my lines--

Where art thou?

Where art thou now?

Please, come soon. 

(and the whole 'art thou' thing is just a touch of exaggeration, by the way. C'mon, no one talks like that anymore. If Shakes were still around, he probably wouldn't either.)

x  o  x   o .

PRESS PLAY > >

This song makes me want to fall in love, only to get heart broken.

It's so devastatingly--b e a u t i f u l.

I want to do it all.

E v e r y t h i n g.
I want to direct a film that will reach out to the troublesome for generations to come.

I want to write a book that will be held in the heart of an anonymous for years after my death.

I want to learn to paint, and set my thoughts out on a canvas.
I want to climb the second highest mountain in the world.
I want to play a set of seven acoustic songs
under a starry night at a city park,
a set that will reach relation to the twelve listeners there.
I want to fall in love with a stranger for a night, just a night,
and proceed with normality the next day.
I want to take a midnight train ride, just myself, my journal,
a blue-ink pen, a Polaroid 600--
and flee to Chicago's Newberry.
I want to cry inside the waters of the ocean, so I can literally swim in my own tears.
I want to go to Paris, and eat a bowl of spaghetti.
I want to go to Geneva, and for a few seconds,
view life through Laura Marling's manic eyes.
I want to dance endlessly for three nights straight, in the middle of a deserted forest with all my friends.
I want to have the best conversation of my life with the person I'd least expect to.
I want to-- I want to stop wanting so much.
it'll eventually drive me sane.

Do you ever feel this way, too?

Citation du jour:

"But hurry, let's entwine ourselves as one, 

our mouth broken, our soul bitten by love, 

so time discovers us safely destroyed."
— Federico García Lorca

Me gustan.

c h a n g e.

I slept on the opposite side of my bed last night, 

to prove myself that I'm not afraid of change.

Came the start of another morning,

I felt accomplished to still be alive. Better yet, alive and rested.

Ironically it seems, that as I stood up--my bed fell apart, literally. 

A few inches away from my feet, in front of my face, 

the delicate wooden covert took its last toll and collapsed.

All I'm left with now is a box spring and a mattress, 

but man oh man does it feel good. 

I survived the crashing start of a changing day, 

and that dear listener, feels good.

m e m o i r s.

I want to capture it.
I want to capture it all.
I want to capture it all in black and white.
Your smile, the slightly visible violet creases under your eyes.
Our first time interlocking fingers
during that summer evening walk in 92'.
The city, its streetlights, the pond in Griffith park.
That time you accidentally spilled your hot tea on my woven sweater. 
The knots in your hair before getting out of bed.
The steam of our starting mornings---
coffee pot on the stove, traveling train outside our kitchen window...
Our third midnight phone-call conversation.
The rush of being young and in-run, not thinking about love--
I want to capture it, in black and white.
The moments when everything was new,
when every little thing felt exciting.
I want to capture us, our hours full of static and color,
and save them in my memory of black and white.

PRESS PLAY > >

The more I listen to this song, the more I fall in love it ♥

The video is amazing ---
And Yannis? Well, he's a fucking beauty.
F o a l s  is just all around a m a z i n g.

"So I walked through to the haze

And a million dirty waves
Now I see you lying there
Like a lilo, losing air...air
Black rocks on the shoreline surf
Still that summer I cannot bear
And I wipe the sand from my eyes--


It's the Spanish Sahara, the place that you'd wanna
leave the horror...
Forget the horror here
Forget the horror here
Leave it all down here...


It's future rust and then it's future dust--

Now the waves, they drag you down,

Carry you to broken ground.
Though I'll find you in the sand,
Wipe you clean with dirty hands.
So god damn this boiling space--
It's the Spanish Sahara, the place that you'd wanna
leave the horror...


Forget the horror here
Forget the horror here
Leave it all down here
It's future rust and it's future dust--

I'm the fury in your head

I'm the fury in your bed

I'm the g h o s t in the back of your head,

Cause I am...

I'm the fury in your head

I'm the fury in your bed

I'm the ghost in the back of your head,

Cause I am."

Note to self:

I want a man to wrap me up in his arms like this, s o m e d a y.

t i m e .

It seems as if a year passes by in forty seconds.

I want to see forty seconds pass by in a year, for a change.

Journal.

I bought a new Journal last night. It was on sale at Borders.
but the "$5.99" sticker on its front cover isn't the reason why I did so.
I swear, I felt this sort of magnetism pull me towards it.
It's as if, it's already coated with my synthetic words.
It's there. My words, thoughts, captured youth--
all I need to do is decode it. Unravel it.

Like some sort of obscured time-capsule.

An answer.

"Well, I like dried cranberries (I'm actually eating some as I type this), the smell of books, the sound of rain,

I very much enjoy going to old thrift-stores--

I like making up stories of whom the items there used to belong to. 

I like freckles, I think they're beautiful. and the color blue-- 

stamps and postcards, vinyl and type-writers,

the way ice-cream feels when it melts in my mouth. 

I like a lot of things. 

I like it when people ask me to tell them about the things I like."

And he never wrote back, after that...

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."

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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.