i stood in front of the mirror, brushing my teeth, as the absence of light from the burnt out lightbulb veiled my face. i stared into my own eyes, seeing darkness and darkness only. and as i felt the weight of my own invisible stare, fear crept along the edges of my reflection. the abyss gazed back. who knew what i was when i was not to be seen? a freak. an untouchable freak. i stumbled back, a step one two three four, and scratched at the door, grappling to push it open. light streamed in, and black turned to grey. the lines reappeared, and the void was silhouetted once more. i could still feel its eyes on me. in my irises, on my neck. it lingers. still.
what happens to a fraction of a hivemind?
there’ll be no rest for the wicked
there’s no song for the choir
there’s no hope for the weary
if you let them win without a fight
i let my good one down
i let my true love die
i had his heart but i broke it every time
see the road, long and lonesome road
dozens come from many miles away
see the lights, they go long for miles
but you will never see the light again in his smile
now you are gone, are they moving on?
don’t listen girl, listen what they say
got no soul, got no rock and roll
and you will never hold me in his arms again, i am so cold
and i, i heard you say, i, i heard you say
almost took my breath away
no, he will never hold me in his arms again
you will never hold me in his arms again
no, he will never hold me in his arms again, i’m so cold
i love fashion as a creative outlet. i love the idea of becoming a physical representation, a manifestation of your fantasy. what you want to portray, what you want to convey. you can set up an atmosphere around yourself, through a look. and you can change atmospheres whichever way you want, create so many personas. so many worlds, even through the simplest means. i just love the way that world and character building is merged with your physical self, and how both components feed off each other to create something more than the theoretical concept in mind. add a touch of humanness to aesthetics and you get something truly inspired.
i just finished watching forrest gump for the first time, and i’ve been furiously wiping my cheeks for the last five minutes. they don’t make them like that anymore. i’m glad we’ll always have these movies, the ones like forrest gump. i’m glad people will be able to see them for the first time and furiously wipe their cheeks for many years to come.
p i g e o n s, by sergey neamoscou
just now, i found myself thinking about languages. more specifically, i was thinking about how the way i express things, and, indirectly, my general mode of speaking, and even my “personality”, varies depending on which language i am speaking. four different languages, four different egos. and i asked myself, which one is the real me?
i guess you could make arguments for each language-me, and eventually come to the conclusion that they’re all me, but i have to say that the split first place would go to swedish-me and english-me. why? because i have mastered these languages well, and at pretty much an equal level. this might seem like the most obvious thing in the world, but think about it for a second. i feel most comfortable expressing myself in these language because i know them. i can fully* verbally exercise my acts toward self-actualization only through these two languages because they give me the biggest playground. as opposed to the spanish-me, for example, in whom i can’t even hear my own personality at times, due to my linguistic limitations. imagine if spanish-me was the only me i had. my view of myself would be so small, i’d be nearly no one.
now, you can expand this theory, look at other aspects in the world like, oh, say, everything ever. the more you know about something, the more you can move around in said something, and the more you can find yourself in said something. feel your way through the negative space. this applies to anything. to be able to find yourself truly being something, you have to understand and, to an extent, be everything that isn’t that something.
sometimes, experiencing the alternatives to that something you were set on going to at first leads you to not find your way back. sometimes, you learn that you weren’t that doctor, or buddhist, or heterosexual, or poet, or pessimist that you thought you were at the beginning. you’ll find out just how selfish you can be, how cold the world is sometimes, and how everything is really really hard. it’ll hurt. it’ll hurt a lot. but you’re closer to the truth.
the truth is what really matters. you have to try things, all the things, to know the whole you. paint the picture bigger and bigger and strive to get the whole thing, even though you’ll most certainly die before you get there**. the more you do it, the bigger your self will become. that’s why experienced people have that certain something. you can see the sureness glistening in their eyes, it’s solid. like a rock amidst a stormy ocean. they know themselves. a bit jaded, broken, but so beautifully real.
*well you know, relatively.
**who knows, the search might transcend mortality.
(… ein meinem herzen.)
i finally saw the grand budapest hotel yesterday (enjoyed it, needed more women, will do a visual study once the hd stills come out) and i figured it was just a matter of time so i might as well do this now. jason schwartzman is one of my favorite people. i don’t know why. why him out of all people? i mean, i don’t think he’s the most attractive man, but i really love the way he looks. i don’t think he’s the most amazing actor, but i love him in every movie. i don’t think he’s the most incredible musician, but i could listen to his albums all day. i just kind of really like him. it’s just a thing. jason schwartzman is one of my favorite people, and this is me saying “hey man, i think you’re really great”.
i mean, he’s a total stud in that weird sort of way, if that’s what you’re into. ( i am.)
my head is filled,
it burns my throat,
it’s all that i can smell
licks its way across my ribs,
slithers down my sides
it crawls, glides,
drags, pushes itself to my planes
i twitch, i writhe
everything it touches,
i am left
“I don’t like you, Park,” she said, sounding for a second like she actually meant it.
“I…” – her voice nearly disappeared – “think I live for you.”
He closed his eyes and pressed his head back into his pillow.
“I don’t think I even breathe when we’re not together,” she whispered. “Which means, when I see you on Monday morning, it’s been like sixty hours since I’ve taken a breath. That’s probably why I’m so crabby, and why I snap at you. All I do when we’re apart is think about you, and all I do when we’re together is panic. Because every second feels so important. And because I’m so out of control, I can’t help myself. I’m not even mine anymore, I’m yours, and what if you decide that you don’t want me? How could you want me like I want you?”
He was quiet. He wanted everything she’d just said to be the last thing he heard. He wanted to fall asleep with ‘I want you’ in his ears.
Nothing was dirty. With Park.
Nothing could be shameful.
Because Park was the sun, and that was the only way Eleanor could think to explain it.
“Damn, damn, damn,” she said. “I never said why I like you, and now I have to go.”
“That’s okay,” he said.
“It’s because you’re kind,” she said. “And because you get all my jokes…”
“Okay.” He laughed.
“And you’re smarter than I am.”
“I am not.”
“And you look like a protagonist.” She was talking as fast as she could think. “You look like the person who wins in the end. You’re so pretty, and so good. You have magic eyes,” she whispered. “And you make me feel like a cannibal.”
“I have to go.” She leaned over so the receiver was close to the base.
“Eleanor – wait,” Park said. She could hear her dad in the kitchen and her heartbeat everywhere.
“Eleanor – wait – I love you.”
He wound the scarf around his fingers until her hand was hanging in the space between them.
Then he slid the silk and his fingers into her open palm.
And Eleanor disintegrated.
him, pushing it hard. her, pulling way, hot and on fire. him, parliaments, crazy y cubano. her, como él. him, missing her the most. her, alive and a-lush. a love. a desire.
i. fourteen days ago, i went and had a vein tapped. a blood donation. three days ago, i received a text message from the hospital thanking me. telling me that the blood i gave was given to a patient. tears fell down my cheeks. ever since those fourteen days ago, i’ve felt this warmth inside. as if the blood was replaced with light.
ii. a woman flirted with me today. i was flustered. a person flirted with me today. i was flustered.
iii. we sat outside, preparing for our visit at the kindergarten. i closed my eyes and faced the sun, turning like a leaf, yearning for the rays. it was a regular day at school, expected to be mundane. it was bliss.
iv. down on the west coast, they got a saying.
v. i’ve applied for courses. plural. three. black holes & cosmic explosions, astronomy, creative writing. i keep my eggs in baskets. plural. x.
her, hips swiveling back and forth without a thought. him, three fingers on a straw swirling the ice around and around. her, red lips, hair thrown over bare shoulders. him, polished boots, bangs pushed back. her, lips quirked into a small smile and nose crinkled. him, slow blinks and eyes widened. a twinkle. a spark.