hearing this live on thursday, ojalá. stockholmian feminist rap/dancehall/r&b/electro duo anaye. so rad.
hearing this live on thursday, ojalá. stockholmian feminist rap/dancehall/r&b/electro duo anaye. so rad.
here i am in an empty library, surrounded by words and silence. so what’s new? uhm, getting high for the first time… if that one time even counted. i think it did, though barely. the whole experience was a bit anticlimatic to be honest. the whole night kind of was. i mean don’t get me wrong, i had a good time and all, but i’d been expecting so much more. and that is my perpetual mistake, isn’t it? to always expect so much. or to expect at all. why is it so hard to stop expecting things? anyways, things that are to come. hm. in a couple of hours, comforting a friend that’s currently in the limbo between happiness and heartbreak. in a couple of days, listening to musical booms and ahs with relatively new friends that are slowly but surely becoming old and real. and a day after that, seeing pacific rim. in a couple of weeks, going to roma with one of the most important people in my life. and then finally, taking a psych class in the fall. now, i’m trying my hardest not to expect anything here, but it’s mighty hard. it’s like doing the same test and getting the results over and over again, but never learning the lesson. i think i’ll try getting high again, if given the chance. maybe smoking is more my thing. eating chocolate cake might sound good in theory, but the aftertaste of herbs gone awry – not so much. i barely felt the high either. the combo of being a big chica, therefore needing a big dose, and not being able to eat large quantities of sus matters (like a weed-spiked cake) makes for a weak trip. so yeah, at the right place and time, with the right people, i think i’ll try smoking it. the scene in spring breakers when britney spears’ everytime is playing and james franco is playing the piano in riffraff-y getup and the girls are dancing around and holding each other in bikinis, hot pink skimasks and big guns just popped into my head. what a bizarre montage. what a bizarre movie. i can’t believe i actually semi-liked it. it was better than the bling ring, i think. i feel like there are two teams – team sb and team br. i mean, it was super fake, but in the frames of that fakeness, i think it was kinda real? i don’t know, i felt like the characterizations/actions/lines/cinematography was motivated. i believed in the vision. however, the blatant objectification of women (referring to the montage of random tits and asses) is feeling so tired at this point. it’s funny, because on the other hand, i think the main characters were portrayed pretty well. i mean yeah, ridiculous, but also kind of badass in their weakness and once again, pretty real. i actually had a moment of “who am i?” when i realized that fact. to give something trivial more meaning than it actually deserves: i guess you can never say that you know everything about yourself. at least there’s that, that there’s always more. on an unrelated-but-kinda-not note, i’ve always said (in my head) that my biggest fears are death and becoming irrelevant. but now i’m kind of realizing that i fear life a lot too. not in the conventional sense, but the fickleness of it. everything is so fleeting, and it’s scary, because i get so easily attached. and then we’re supposed to just “move on”, because we’re humans but actually animals and that’s what we have to do to survive? like, what is that? and i get that we have to move on, that each life has its course or whatever, but still – why does the rug always have to be pulled from underneath our feet? i mean, it will always hurt to hit the ground, always, and that just… sucks. royally. it’s just really frustrating to know that oh you’re alive? well just so you know, you will be fucked over! repeatedly. like, it’s a fact. why, thank you so much. i really wish you didn’t have to pay to change the font on your blog. typewritertypewriter. i’m a bit amused at the fact that i’m writing this while being at work. getting payed by the hour. i feel a little guilty, but whatever. it’s not like we’ve opened yet. and besides, everybody (nearly nobody) knows that a library assistant is more of a literary bench warmer anyways. it’s kind of cold in here. and really green. haven’t thought of that before. loopy.
one of the few beatles’ songs i
like love. only vid i found with this version. far more superior, i think. original crackling and fuzziness over remastered clarity and brittleness any day.
yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. now it looks as though they’re here to stay. oh, i believe in yesterday. suddenly, i’m not half the man i used to be. there’s a shadow hanging over me. oh, yesterday came suddenly. why she had to go? i don’t know, she wouldn’t say. i said something wrong, now i long for yesterday. yesterday, love was such an easy game to play. now i need a place to hide away. oh, i believe in yesterday. why she had to go? i don’t know, she wouldn’t say. i said something wrong, now i long for yesterday. yesterday, love was such an easy game to play. now i need a place to hide away. oh, i believe in yesterday.
by e. e. cummings
In six seconds, you’ll hate me.
But in six months, you’ll be a better writer.
From this point forward—at least for the next half year—you may not
use “thought” verbs. These include: Thinks, Knows, Understands,
Realizes, Believes, Wants, Remembers, Imagines, Desires, and a hundred
others you love to use.
The list should also include: Loves and Hates.
And it should include: Is and Has, but we’ll get to those later.
Until some time around Christmas, you can’t write: Kenny wondered if Monica didn’t like him going out at night…”
Instead, you’ll have to Un-pack that to something like: “The
mornings after Kenny had stayed out, beyond the last bus, until he’d
had to bum a ride or pay for a cab and got home to find Monica faking
sleep, faking because she never slept that quiet, those mornings, she’d
only put her own cup of coffee in the microwave. Never his.”
Instead of characters knowing anything, you must now present
the details that allow the reader to know them. Instead of a character
wanting something, you must now describe the thing so that the reader
Instead of saying: “Adam knew Gwen liked him.” You’ll have
to say: “Between classes, Gwen had always leaned on his locker when he’d
go to open it. She’s roll her eyes and shove off with one foot,
leaving a black-heel mark on the painted metal, but she also left the
smell of her perfume. The combination lock would still be warm from her
butt. And the next break, Gwen would be leaned there, again.”
In short, no more short-cuts. Only specific sensory detail: action, smell, taste, sound, and feeling.
writers use these “thought” verbs at the beginning of a paragraph (In
this form, you can call them “Thesis Statements” and I’ll rail against
those, later). In a way, they state the intention of the paragraph. And
what follows, illustrates them.
“Brenda knew she’d never make the deadline. Traffic
was backed up from the bridge, past the first eight or nine exits. Her
cell phone battery was dead. At home, the dogs would need to go out, or
there would be a mess to clean up. Plus, she’d promised to water the
plants for her neighbor…”
Do you see how the opening “thesis statement” steals the thunder of what follows? Don’t do it.
If nothing else, cut the opening sentence and place it after all the others. Better yet, transplant it and change it to: Brenda would never make the deadline.
Thinking is abstract. Knowing and believing are intangible. Your
story will always be stronger if you just show the physical actions
and details of your characters and allow your reader to do the thinking
and knowing. And loving and hating.
Don’t tell your reader: “Lisa hated Tom.”
Instead, make your case like a lawyer in court, detail by detail.
Present each piece of evidence. For example:
“During roll call,
in the breath after the teacher said Tom’s name, in that moment before
he could answer, right then, Lisa would whisper-shout ‘Butt Wipe,’ just
as Tom was saying, ‘Here’.”
One of the most-common mistakes that beginning writers make is leaving their characters alone. Writing,
you may be alone. Reading, your audience may be alone. But your
character should spend very, very little time alone. Because a solitary
character starts thinking or worrying or wondering.
For example: Waiting for the bus, Mark started to worry about how long the trip would take…”
A better break-down might be: “The schedule said the bus would come
by at noon, but Mark’s watch said it was already 11:57. You could see
all the way down the road, as far as the Mall, and not see a bus. No
doubt, the driver was parked at the turn-around, the far end of the
line, taking a nap. The driver was kicked back, asleep, and Mark was
going to be late. Or worse, the driver was drinking, and he’d pull up
drunk and charge Mark seventy-five cents for death in a fiery traffic
A character alone must lapse into fantasy or memory, but even then
you can’t use “thought” verbs or any of their abstract relatives.
Oh, and you can just forget about using the verbs forget and remember.
No more transitions such as: “Wanda remembered how Nelson used to brush her hair.”
Instead: “Back in their sophomore year, Nelson used to brush her hair with smooth, long strokes of his hand.”
Again, Un-pack. Don’t take short-cuts.
Better yet, get your character with another character, fast.
Get them together and get the action started. Let their actions and
words show their thoughts. You—stay out of their heads.
And while you’re avoiding “thought” verbs, be very wary about using the bland verbs “is” and “have.”
“Ann’s eyes are blue.”
“Ann has blue eyes.”
“Ann coughed and waved one hand past her face, clearing the cigarette smoke from her eyes, blue eyes, before she smiled…”
Instead of bland “is” and “has” statements, try burying your details
of what a character has or is, in actions or gestures. At its most
basic, this is showing your story instead of telling it.
And forever after, once you’ve learned to Un-pack your characters,
you’ll hate the lazy writer who settles for: “Jim sat beside the
telephone, wondering why Amanda didn’t call.”
Please. For now, hate me all you want, but don’t use thought verbs. After Christmas, go crazy, but I’d bet money you won’t.
For this month’s homework, pick through your writing and circle every “thought” verb. Then, find some way to eliminate it. Kill it by Un-packing it.
Then, pick through some published fiction and do the same thing. Be ruthless.
“Marty imagined fish, jumping in the moonlight…”
“Nancy recalled the way the wine tasted…”
“Larry knew he was a dead man…”
Find them. After that, find a way to re-write them. Make them stronger.
now the last thing i want to do is reduce my mad fat diary to something about a teenage crush, even less to something as frivolous as a hot boy… but he is really hot, okay? alright, my mad fat diary is a wonderful british tv series set in lincolnshire ’96. it’s about a girl named rae, who has been struggling with some issues and is trying to find her way back into the normalcy of teendom. watch it. seriously it’s great. this
pic spam post is about finn and rae though… mostly finn. dreamy, dreamy finn. because he’s imperfectly perfect (and a stone cold fox.)
everything you can imagine is real.
– pablo picasso
always remember that if you’re thinking of something, it’s happening somewhere. dimensions upon dimensions, the possibilities are endless. if you’re thinking “how come i ended up in this sucky world?”, remember that there are ones where things are so much more difficult. and no world is stagnant. your surroundings are fluid, life is changeable and there is always more. the lines between imagination and reality are actually not only blurred, but non-existent in the grand scheme of things. so don’t be afraid to imagine, to fantasize, to dream – because dreams are real too.
i saw this show where a comedian was talking about how she ended up being adopted. she said that she had been abandoned in a ditch as an infant, and was found by a caretaker who thought she was dead. when she realized the baby was still breathing, though faintly, she took her back to the hospital where they then proceeded to treat her using kangaroo care. i had no idea what kangaroo care entailed but the comedian explained that through skin to skin contact, in her case it was chest to chest, an infant can have its conditions stabilized. the woman said that it saved her life.
how amazing isn’t that? that feeling the heartbeat and body heat of another person can literally bring you back to life. we need each other to survive, we need to care for each other to live. one has, for instance, heard about people dying because they didn’t get any love growing up, and this basically says the same thing. if there are cases that indicate that physical health is dependent on love and care, then there should be no doubt in the importance of relationships when it comes to your mental and emotional well-being as well.
so when people say that they don’t need other people, that they’re just fine on their own – that’s bullshit. it’s a fact that we need to reach out, and we need to let people in. love is essential to our survival.
(gif from lost in translation)
i’ve just finished going through my music library, erasing the old and preparing for the new. the is wind leaking through the cracked window, making the house sound haunted with the ghosts of old notes and thoughts. i look into my mind and there too, ghosts of the past roam free.
though these are younger ones – more recent recollections. i remember scenes from only hours past, and one in particular sets apart from the rest: my friend tells us of her mother making fun of her group of friends for their false sense of uniqueness and actual conformity. i jokingly-but-not-really point out that I like diversity and said friend scoffs, answering that yeah sure, that’s why all your clothes are from the same store. but that’s not really the point, is it? it doesn’t matter if one individual has clothes from the same store, or only listens to one kind of music, multi-dimension runs soul deep, and it is proven through the company you keep.
i pride myself in the fact that my friends are all very different. it gives me a wider perspective of life and shows me that there’s more to me than just one side – but these friendship are mostly all separate from each other. and on the other hand, I’ve always longed for a group of my own. the security of always having a sense of togetherness in everything you do. is a marriage between those two concepts even possible? the web would have to be incredibly intricately spun for it to hold. all the individuals in the group would have to have qualities that set them apart, but also things that bring them together with every single other person in the group. and these things have to weigh heavily enough to not only make these people get along, but actually love each other.
the balance is difficult, but I think that when achieved, it can be a beautiful thing. like all beautifully complicated, complicatedly beautiful things; it would most likely have to happen organically, since only the cosmos itself can work magic like that. people who have deep connections rooting them together, but also different points of view that help each individual grow their branches and leafs, reaching high towards the sky.
i think i started somethin’, i got what i wanted
did did not i can’t feel nothin’, superhuman
even when i’m fuckin’ viagra poppin’, every single record autotunin’
zero emotion, muted emotion, pitch corrected, computed emotion
i blame it on the model broad with the hollywood smile
stripper booty and a rack like wow, brain like berkeley
met her at coachella, i went to see jigga, she went to see z trip, perfect
i took a seat on the ice cold lawn, she handed me a ice blue bong, whatever
she said she wanna be a dentist really badly, she’s in school payin’
for tuition doin’ porn in the valley, at least she workin’
but girl I can’t feel my face, what are we smokin’ anyway
she said don’t let the high go to waste, but can you taste a little taste of
she sat outside, staring at the empty playground. alcohol flowing into veins, dissolving caution. she had an honest conversation with herself. if it’s supposed to be warm out, then why does she feel so cold? she told herself that if you looked into her eyes, you’d see nothing. a hollow void. a concrete wall. then she remembered that she wasn’t in front of a mirror, and couldn’t really see herself. a laugh escaped her, but the sound triggered a deep sadness. why was it so empty? why didn’t the giddiness sound rooted? because it was floating. false in its fleetingness. fuck this, she thought. taking a last swig of liquid numbness, she blew away her musings. left her loneliness and let it fly away into space.
to be wanted
… maybe one day
lyrical excerpt from S EP, song: AFTERMATH
I apologize for waiting to tell you for so long that I am not human … I am made of bacon. Fairy tales
pixie dust I don’t feel
I hung myself and didnt die i am omnipotent I’m alive I’m not real I’m alive
You leave me careless I like it
I like it
Caught in the blast caught in the action caught in the bursting flame i stand there comfort in dying . comfort in burning I burn .
Maybe We can burn .
doubt I’ll ever be anyone’s baby
livin as a unicorn gets so lonely I have no answers.i have No questions stuck in your tandem . Heat that’s worth standing ..I like it
Caught up in the blast caught up in the action caught up in the bursting flame….
Maybe we should burn (4x)
I can feel the accidents happening slowy …falling for the rapture ever so boldly I will go willingly .. You don’t have to kidnap I like to be kidnapped . …you leave me careless .. I like it . . I liiike it
Maybe we should burn
…I doubt ill ever be anyone’s baby
through a velvet veil i enter the murky caves of SZA. glitter trap. shoegazing making love with r&b, creating emotional depths with bass carrying the thrumming heartbeat. musical babysister of francis. naked, confessional lyrics speak the thoughts of me. you. us. close your eyes, stretch out your arms and let yourself freefall into the billowing abyss.
I let go,
and it felt so damn good to lose control
to no longer be trapped in your cryptic hold
I let go
relinquished the fire in my heart, that popped and sparked for you
It felt nothing like defeat
I found the real me
I let go
Of a love that consumed me
devoured me from the inside out
I had my doubts
but this is the liberation that I was looking for
I let go
and my heart is free
I didn’t know giving up on love could feel this damn good
I didn’t know that throwing in the towel would get me here
on this crossroads of me and I
Where I’ve I regained my pride
regurgitated, forced that shit back up and put all the bullshit aside
and found who I really was
a fighter, who despite of
the fucked up situation
refused to lose concentration
even though her battles couldn’t be won
this bitch knew she’d win the war because she knew what she was fighting for
I found the mold of a woman who refused to take second best
or give her pride to a man who’d hide behind his member
who tried to dismember her heart
chamber by chamber
valve by valve
ventricle by ventricle
put me through a lifetime full
of every emotion you could possibly imagine
in the span of 13 long dogged months
and it’s funny it took 13, yes lucky number 13
months to rid you from my soul
because the number represents the day you became another woman’s punishment
and were no longer God’s burden
Lucky number fucking 13
God let go,
and so do I
of the lack of man who couldn’t deal with the Real Me
who couldn’t bear that he’d have to kick His Ways
because he’d come across The Real Thing
A lucky little creature
who was lucky enough to be loved by me
lucky enough to be etched into the histories
of Love Lost and Love Found by me,
Found by me
13 was someone who couldn’t see the simple beauty
in a woman who knows who she is
The Lack of Man who feared the power of a woman
I let go
I let go of the dream
that I could change someone, but see
through letting you go I’ve realized
that I could never change a person who hides behind lies
Too blinded by lust to realize that it’s God knocking on their door
That’s right, I
I and I, Jah, Frankie, Me
am equal to the one who forsake you
I came her to take you back
to rid you of your demons
for you I gave up my pipe dreams of love
But I and I
In all my feminine divinity
know that you are not Lucky,
Unlucky number 13
you’re a curse
upon this earth
for the girls who don’t know their self-worth
who don’t have enough understanding to put themselves first
who don’t know arithmetic in dancing with the Devil
You’re karma, here to disarm and harm and harden hearts
but I and I
don’t possess one of these faulty forms of sustenance
that often find us in duress
that too often make us feel second best
On the crossroads of me and I
I and I multiplied
and I found the I in I
and became I and I
ever present for all time
On the crossroads
I’ve realized that I could never change someone who doesn’t know who they are
I let go, of an unlucky number 13
I let go and got so far, the crossroads became my home
I and I, saw that 13 could only make 2, 3 or 4
and I and I represents so much more
I and I saw the rationality in numbers
and lets face it, love is never rational
and I and I is Love
True Number may be infinite
but they represent infinities in simplicity
and I’d much rather represent them in
presidencies, so I will set a precedent for thee
and I will show you what I and I means
I and I am ever-present
in this universe, in you and them
in your family and friends
I said I’d be here until the end
and here I stand
I and I
in all my glory
to rid myself of the lucky, Unlucky number 13
I and I , I let go 13
(I a n d I I l e t g o 1 3 )
I’m even present in you, that’s present in me
I’m even present in the you that’s present in the me
I will haunt you
not with my hate, but with my love
Unlucky Lucky, Lucky Unlucky number 13
— Frankie Reese, November 2011
Usually the word ukiyo is literally translated as “floating world” in English, referring to a conception of an evanescent world, impermanent, fleeting beauty and a realm of entertainments (kabuki, courtesans, geisha) divorced from the responsibilities of the mundane, everyday world; “pictures of the floating world”, i.e. ukiyo-e, are considered a genre unto themselves.
The contemporary novelist Asai Ryōi, in his Ukiyo monogatari (浮世物語 “Tales of the Floating World”, c. 1661), provides some insight into the concept of the floating world:
… Living only for the moment, turning our full attention to the pleasures of the moon, the snow, the cherry blossoms and the maple leaves; singing songs, drinking wine, diverting ourselves in just floating, floating; … refusing to be disheartened, like a gourd floating along with the river current: this is what we call the floating world…
painting by katsushika hokusai
escapism is one of the most timeless and fundamentally human concepts in this world. when reality is too much to bear and we can’t physically shake the trouble off, we run to ourselves. we turn to the uncompromised, limitless space within us. our kingdoms. this is where art comes from. pulled from those depths. we let liquid gold pour out of our very souls, and project that intangible something onto something material. so when that escapism is channeled into art, we get even a concrete idea of what that inner paradise we go to when life gets too close to hell might look like. eden, arcadia, zion, utopia, wonderland and the shangri-la. the question of the physical existence is irrelevant, these are manifestations of the havens that live within us. and it’s an undeniable fact that by giving a part of ourselves to something, arbitrary or not, we make it more than it is. give it value and make it invaluable. we make magic.
later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
where does it hurt?
– Warsan Shire
i know this is becoming a borderline ocean-fanblog, but to be honest, i don’t really care. that’s where my head- and heartspace is at right now. this is the song of choice today, because it’s… well, it’s incredible. simple as that. i’ve been in love with channel orange for half a year, plus a month, minus a day. but it’s only this past week that i’ve felt ready to move on and explore the world of francis further. and nostalgia, ultra is beautiful. it’s younger, rawer and so real. take this song for example. it uses the oh-so familiar instrumentals of hotel california, and turns it into something different… okay no, more like cracks open the surface of something that was already there to reveal another facet of it. everything contains multitudes. this is lyrical and melodical storytelling, and it moves me so. i’m sitting here with a lump in my throat, seeing a picture with more than just my eyes.
i took a walk with the palm trees as the daylight fell sangria in a canteen talking to myself this tattoo on my left hand is turning purple-ish blue daydreams of the romance daydreams of you my pretty woman in a ballgown i'm richard gere in a tux getting married in a courthouse writing vows in a rush making out before the judge with my teenage wife got a wedding band done that i just might die with it's an american wedding they don't mean too much but we were so in love we had an american wedding now what's mine is yours that's american law m-r- s dot kennedy she signed her name in pen in a fancy fancy cursive then turned her term papers in a thesis on islamic virgin brides and arranged marriage hijabs and polygamist husbands those poor unamerican girls afterschool she ran to me jumped in my 5.0 this is the home of the brave land of the free but your parents still didn't know she said i've had a hell of a summer so baby don't take this hard but maybe we should get an annulment before this goes way too far it's just an american wedding they don't mean too much they don't last enough we had an american wedding now what's mine is yours american divorce well you can have my mustang that's all i've got in my name but jesus christ don't break my heart this wedding ring won't ever wipe off but if you stay girl if you stay you'll probably leave later anyway it's love made in the u.s.a don't let em front you to saying you cant move without em fuck em i tell em this ain't new we been some hustlers since it began dude ain't gon' be trippin ova some bitch ass dude they so vain i tell em this ain't you you keep it sensitive but this ain't true these niggas cant do nothing that i can't do that she can't that he can't do that you can't do that we can't do man i had a dream and that shit became true and nigga if i did it i think you can too these niggas can't do nothing that i can't do that she can't that he can't do that you can't do that we can't do man i had a dream and that shit became true these niggas can't do nothing that i can't do that she can't that he can't do that you can't do
(if this day had a soundtrack, it would be this no. 10)
Last night, I had one of the better nights in my teenage life. A huge white room, glitter, good music, feminism, old friends, friends of friends, new friends. It was just stellar.
M.I.A. is one of the most badass artists in the business (+ reppin’ women, people of color, women of color). Her music has followed me through childhood, adolescence, adulthood and all the transitions in between. So if the mood of last night had a soundtrack, it’d be this… no. 9