Monthly Archives: April 2010

absolutely everything

every single part of me hurts.

excuse to dramatization (i do have a knack for it) but i’m sick and my skin hurts and my head hurts and my throat hurts, and i’m looking at old pictures and remembering old things, and my heart hurts too.

It’s nearing 1 in the morning, and that is not so late, but red jumpsuit apparatus’ your guardian angel is on repeat and this time of night and this sort of music just puts me in one of those moods.

The weird thing is, it is not only nostalgia that makes my heart hurt. Things now and things good and things happy make it that way too, with this sort of mood.

All this is proof that I should’ve gone to bed when the clock struck 10:45, with a glass of OJ and Harry Potter book in hand.

And this, just because recently I have been left without extra words all too often:


She holds her breath, and the phone rings. If she exhales would it stop?


There is an audible click as he picks up. There is music and revelry in the background, a contained chaos, and his voice is mid-laugh when he answers.

Hello, Brian.



It is perhaps the misfortune of my life that I am interested in far too much but not decisively in any one thing; all my interests are not subordinated in one but stand on an equal footing.

— Søren Kierkegaard


i’m all a-twitter

A few weeks ago, while shopping/lunching/filming for D.choi’s new mv, Wes got fed-up with the constant flow of Justin Bieber comments from David and Phil. So after being mobbed by a gaggle of highschoolers for an autograph session and a photoshoot (during which – you guessed it – phil brought up justin bieber) he passed a new law. 

ANY mention of Justin Bieber will result in the payment of a quarter to the music video fund. 

David and I had fun humming it (baby baby baby oh!!!) whilst Wesley was occupied to see how long we could get away with it. Phil failed genuinely on numerous accounts. 

That is why this is funny.

lolcatz. Justin Bieber. 


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just twelve feathers

Was in the process of transcribing some stuff from an old notebook into a new sketchbook, because goodness knows i need something to get that sketchbook dirty so I’m not afraid to mess around in it.

Found some stuff from the last year (possibly last quarter?) of college. All written in red ink. My, I was angry.

…words in red slashes across serenely symmetrical white-and-blue paper, emboldened by a green felt tip pen when the words would no longer stay captive in your chest.

See? Angry. I still remember why. But it seems so far away, now. And embarrassing, to put on a public forum.

Oh well.

In chronological order, but with omissions:


Piano music is the best. Well, except piano and cello. That’s the best best. Deep and rich and burgundy, and a tinkling of ivory keys.

You alawys thought it was funny, that I played the cello. It’s almost bigger than you, when you play, you would tease. It’s louder than you too.

Which was definitely true. You used to say I had the vocal volume of a fairy. And a grove of fairies, when I was feeling talkative.


Take me away from here, you whisper. It’s not nearly loud enough for him to hear, but the littlest star, who is your friend, carries it far enough for you. And then he is on your windowsill, almost in the next instant.

What’s wrong?

Take me away from here, you say again. Take me away, Peter.

He gathers you up in his arms obligingly, as if you weighed naught but twelve feathers put together.

Where to?

It would be cliched to say Anywhere, or Neverland, but you say it anyway, a mixture of the two that comes out sounding like Neverwhere.

But you say it anyway. It’s your last breath and you’ll say whatever you damn well like, thank you very much.


She locked herself in the bathroom. Cool tiles, marble sink, gold-gilded mirrors. Turn on the light. Bathroom flooded in intensity. Too bad you’re not using the acoustics now, bitch. Look at yourself in the mirror. Look. Look. Look at your watery eyes and puffy skin and red nose. Look at all that goddamn liquid, dripping from your eyes and nose. God, how unbecoming.

Look at how ugly you are.

Look, and revel in it.



ok that’s all!

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