choose your weapon...

Movies (4) Photos. (47) Poetry (16) Quotations. (76) Words (15) Writings. (137)

Friday, October 30, 2009

I wish you could hear,
The secrets that I keep
On sleepless nights
They don't feel right
To say out loud
Not now.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are."
-Anais Nin

mnemosyne

How very fitting it turns out to be that Mnemosyne, daughter of Earth, granddaughter of Chaos, mother to the muses, lover of Zeus, and the creator of memory and reason… is nearly forgotten. Whispered in the writings of Greek legends, it is she who first gave us designation, recognition, recollection, acknowledgment and imagination. There are very few written accounts of her legends, and I think I like it that way.  "Please assume ... that there is in our souls a block of wax, in one case larger, in another smaller, in one case the wax is purer, in another more impure and harder, in some cases softer, and in some of proper quality...Let us, then, say that this is the gift of Memory, the mother of the Muses, and that whenever we wish to remember anything we see or hear or think of in our own minds, we hold this wax under the perceptions and thoughts and imprint them upon it, just as we make impressions from seal rings; and whatever is imprinted we remember and know as long as its image lasts, but whatever is rubbed out or cannot be imprinted we forget and do not know."


(Socrates to Theaetetus. Plato, Theaetetus 191d).

is ignorance bliss?

When I was a child I thought casually. I considered ideas and perceptions and all matters of my swirling mind to simply be… white noise. The background music to the movie of my life. I lived in the moment as it was happening, enthralled by my environment alone and dancing to a tune no one could hear. I could run and jump and play and swim and fall and laugh and cry, somehow immersed in it all without succumbing to empathetic fixation on the hardships I couldn’t change, or didn’t understand. I sought adventure and joy within my actions, not my thoughts. I believed going for a walk could change the world. But it can’t. As I grew up, I understood that my world, was not the only one. I tore myself from the little farmville fantasy, left the rural cabin, pigs, chickens, greenhouses and bonfires behind… to be slapped in the face with the real world. Where everything was rushed and sincerity faded into little corners that become harder to find everyday. Lines were thick and crossing them meant social exile. A deathly consequence by the scale of others. A book I loved enough to read three times describes all the negativity, all the devils on shoulders, the doubts setting simple thoughts into complicated darkness, and the author gives it a name that slithers fear into me. He called it The Other. The one provoking you to hesitate, to lash out, to judge without mercy or compassion, to hate, to distrust, and to harm others. The Other in my life, wasn’t powerful until the others around me decided to force social, habitual, irrelevant customs into my personality. Within in a few months I realized I had to give up and give in, or be forced into the previous world I loved. The world no longer considered good enough. The others fed my Other until it couldn’t eat anymore, and took over. I learned the names of all the Spice Girls, I bragged about boys that liked me, I abused other little girls who were considered “uncool” despite the inner nudge that reminded me what it felt like when that was me being ridiculed. I lied with no purpose but self gain. I decided I was too good for the company of losers. I desired trivial objects and toys so much that it consumed me completely within days. I tossed aside those same toys just as quickly, and desired new ones. I considered the activities I had once coveted, to be secrets. I hid most of who I really was, convincing myself that it was better to be who they wanted me to be. Some days I wish more then anything, that there wasn’t so much fluff in life. That we all weren’t forced into this fishbowl. Everyone looking in with importance, and us looking out with insignificance. Go away others, and take my Other with you. It's not welcome here anymore.

dream within a dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow–
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if Hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand–
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep–while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

By Edgar Allan Poe
callipygian [kal-uh-pij-ee-uhn] –adjective
"having well-shaped buttocks."

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Love gives nothing but love, and takes nothing but love.
Love doesn’t possesses and cannot be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
Don’t think you can direct the course of love
For love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
It has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must have desires, let these be your desires:
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
And give thanks for another day of loving;
To return home at night... and meditate love's ecstasy.

Culture Qualms

I drift through a seasonless world. Building up immunities to the heat wave trails, day long traffic attacks, sweat soaked road sweepers and street beggers. I laugh, but not all my laughter. I cry, but not all my tears. I smile. I nod politely. I have mastered the inherent art of avoiding eye contact. I hate avoiding eye contact. I hate polite nods. I want to laugh until I cry, and stand still for a minute. “But it’s different here.” What a twisted excuse. It’s different everywhere. What is it about “culture” that makes us swell up with pride? Some traditions are irrelevant. Only accepted because we humans are persistent animals intent on hoarding the familiar. Separating ourselves. Creating herds, packs, groups. Inventing the word ‘exclusive.’ Eye contact. Fuck. How important do you really think that tradition is? It’s not even “eye contact” at all. It’s just looking at someone’s eyes. We all have tedious customs drilled into our very natures, and I suppose a few different people decided looking at someone’s eyes must have a deeper cause behind it.. or two.. or five.. or ten. Then they categorized us. By location. Oh yes. Find true meaning in your physical point on the crust of the Earths surface. It’s not interesting, it’s meaningless and I will not concede to indifference or acceptance of these habitual conformities. I will, however, admit I am not brave enough to try and boldly look at the eyes of those who don’t think like I do. I don’t have the patience to try and explain this theory to everyone I meet or the ability to actually care about the endless stream of argument and misinterpretation that comes after. But it’s bullshit. Deep down you know the little things like that are just pure, steaming, heaped in piles of sweaty smelly dirty bullshit. Hiding in the corner under the tradition table. And most of us have been living on that table for so long, we can’t even smell the shit anymore.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

"Darling, as I write, the rain is falling.
Reminds me of our long walks on the sand.
It grieves me so, you're there alone
But it won't be long til I come home,
And for us, the war will be over."

letter game

Okay, get a word document, or knockoff notepad open. Right now. Load up a blank page and (off the top of your head - no bullshit thesaurus searches) list the first ten adjectives that come to mind beginning with the first letter of your name. (Like HEATHER = H = HAPPY… and for those of you who needed that extra hint, go away. Don’t do this. I don’t care what you have to say. They don’t have to be about you, just write em as they come, and post in the comments!

1. Happy
2. Hasty
3. Hip
4. Hot
5. Horny
6. Hostile
7. Hopeful
8. Heartfelt
9. Heroic
10. Horrible

For no reason at all. This has no point. I’m just a kitty who gets curious about nothing.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

exculpate \EK-skuhl-payt; ek-SKUHL-payt\, transitive verb:
To clear from alleged fault or guilt; to prove to be guiltless; to relieve of blame; to acquit.

Friday, October 9, 2009

100% of non-smokers die before they want to.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

and I saw overwhelming things.

On the earth the angels of happiness were struggling with the demons of unhappiness. Standing among them I saw Man, torn apart. Sometimes by hope, sometimes by despair. I saw love and hate playing with the heart of man, love hiding from him his guilt and intoxicating him with the wine of submission, adoration and flattery, while hate incited him to defiance, stopped his ears, and made his eyes blind to the truth.

titivate \TIT-uh-vayt\, transitive and intransitive verb:

1. To make decorative additions to; spruce.

intransitive verb:
1. To make oneself smart or spruce.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

the BLOW AND TELL

I’m sexist. Reverse sexist. And my youtube channel too. Because 92% of my subscribers have penises. Impressive. Or pathetic maybe. But if I cared enough to calculate it, I’d say 92% of my offline friends have penises too. I prefer male company. Not because of the penises themselves (okay, so not ALWAYS about the penises) but because, boys are so easy. Men tend to get a little more complicated with age, and a higher quality of selection will emerge, but I’d say all women, are at least 92 times more complicated then 92% of men. Wait, I need to clarify. Straight men. I’m not even gonna get into gay guys. Those motherfuckers have issues.
(Holy shit. You CANT call gay guys motherfuckers. Because they could just be like.. Actually… no. We don’t DO vagina.)

I’ve spent a lot of time around straight men as the “friend,” and you’re free to interpret those quotations to mean whatever you want. But…the best lesson I’ve ever learned, comes from right in here in the Philippines.

So listen up 8%.
If you find yourself in a failing relationship where you just cannot get that motherfucker to listen to anything you say, or treat you the way you want to be treated, I have the answer. You won’t like it, but I have it.

The next time you’re bitching to your man about whatever the fuck it is you bitch about, stop what your doing, make or order him some good food, get him a beer, or ten, have sex with him… and THEN, instead of bitching, tell him what you want. Don’t ask. Tell. It’s like training a dog. He will associate what you just told him, to the feeling of satisfaction, and be 92 percent more inclined to actually listen. Now, I realize many of you have the system backwards. You think the man should only get what he wants, AFTER he’s done what you want, but you see.. that’s exactly what he’s thinking too. And it’s not about giving in, it’s about winning. If we are the ones to stop the vicious cycle, we are also the ones that end up looking so damn good, the men are left trying to catch up.

Don’t you WANT to be the girlfriend a guy can brag about to his buddies?

Come on girls. Just... suck up your pride (literally) and give in to the process I forever deem, the blow and tell. 92 times more effective then bitching, since the beginning of time.

Of course it’s not all about sex, but think of it this way… all your other fantastic qualities will be recognized, appreciated and rewarded to a much more satisfying degree, if your man himself… is satisfied.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

finding fate?

The three fortune cookies I ate today, rewarded me with something beautiful.
'Fortune favors the brave.'
'Your talents will be recognized and suitably rewarded.'
'Anything worth doing can be done.'

Sunday, October 4, 2009

selfish.

So, after reading John Greens books, I became overwhelmed with highschool lovestory ideas of my own, but try as I might, could not get started. Over and over again I wrote the first chapter, realizing every female character I tried to make into the protagonist, turned into some slightly more appealing version of myself. And so.. I've decided to do the unthinkable, and write from the perspective of a guy - very much like John Green has done - who is falling for the version of myself I choose to write. So far, it has impressed me much more then my first efforts, and while I'm only on chapter two, and the devil only knows it all still needs a lot of work, I figured Id post the first little paragraph anyways. I have no working title, so bare with me, and jump right in.

"The flick of my adolescent life’s very first domino happened in ninth grade when my historically crumbling high school decided locker partners would be the simplest way to deal with the sudden surge in student enrollment. Assigned locker partners. “Shoji…you’re with Lindsey,” my teacher called out as I summoned a rare moment of bravery and allowed myself one fleeting glance. The gorgeous creature that was Lindsey Swan swirled out of her chair and, although I had every intention of playing it cool, this particular girl had perfected the art of inherent seduction. I stared helplessly as she swung her perfect legs to one side of the desk, threw me a polite smile and in one majestic movement, swept up and plucked a lock from the cardboard box near the door. I was busy thanking God for both springtime and miniskirts when I realized she was looking at me. Oh yeah… Shoji Katō. That was me. I paused for another moment to curse my overly proud Japanese father for not giving me a normal name, stumbled awkwardly out of my chair and then out the door. In the thirteen steps it took me to reach the locker, I ripped apart my brain trying to plan the perfect thing to say."

If it helps, Lindsay Swann is NOT who he falls in love with. Stay tuned, I may just be prompted to divulge more as it comes along.
Some boys take a beautiful girl
Only to hide her away from the rest of the world
Not me, I want to be the one in the sun
Girls they want to have fun
ǝɥɔɐ ʇɹɐǝɥ ʎɯ ǝʞɐɯ noʎ pɐǝɥ ɹnoʎ uo ƃuıpuɐʇs uǝʌǝ

Saturday, October 3, 2009

lonelygirl08

my mom told me this joke...

Why do some women have bruises around their bellybuttons?
Cuz there's blonde men out there too.

Friday, October 2, 2009

the TRUE 7 sins

1. Wealth without work
2. Pleasure without conscience
3. Knowledge without character
4. Commerce without morality
5. Science without humanity
6. Worship without sacrifice
7. Politics without principle

—Mahatma Gandhi
When you decide to make your mark in the world, watch out for people with erasers.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

I have a broken disposition
I’m a liar who thirsts for the truth
And while I ache for faith to hold me
I need to feel the scars and see the proof

blanket sweater circle.

Heather: blankets are infinitely better then clothing
Kyle: oh yes, because its harder to invite someone into your sweater than it is to invite them into your blanket
Heather: if someone invited me into their sweater.. i would have so much fun in the attempt
Kyle: it would stretch it all out, but then that stretched sweater would be such an awesome memory
Heather: it would almost be more like a blanket...
Kyle: and we'd be back to blissful point A

if you happen to be a billionaire...