So...

...this was interesting.

Clickity.

In other news, I'm very depressed right now. So I'm going to buy a shitload of stuff to help and fill that strange gaping hole in my heart. I'm going to buy the Baraka box set because I am a nerd and the audrey hepburn box set because i'm ms. couch-potato-destined-to-be-cat-lady. And then maybe i'll finally buy a new phone or a bus ticket to new york, not sure which yet. and some books. And then some chocolate. And maybe i'll clean my room. Or not. Or I will build a time machine and go back to april of 2007 or august of 2007, yes, august of 2007. And change everything around.

Siesta

Perhaps the most perfect thing about my time here is that in one moment I can absolutely love life and totally curse my existence for different and overlapping reasons.

That, in one moment, I am utterly thankful for all the stupid small things and completely unhappy with the state of things at large.

That everything - music, colours, life, love - is, beyond a shade of doubt, tumultuous and yet alive in every notion and aspect.

That I am who I am and though I totally hate who I am, I wouldn't change anything. That I can look forward to silly feel-good movies, and dream and talk and retain a shine and twinkle. Possibly, I am describing some sort of bipolar attitude here but hey! What is the point of all of this - all of THIS - if one cannot feel every single expression and emotion that may come their way?

I'm completely lost and I dont know what the fuck I'm doing with my life. I know I'm meant for great things but that definition is relative. All I know for sure right now is that everything is imperfect and perfect and beautiful but destroyed.

And you wouldn't want it any other way, no, because then neither could you appreciate the beauty without pain nor pain without beauty.

May the beautiful destruction never end. And if it must, may every last drop of love and emotion and thought be expressed before everything finally shuts down for the turn of the era.

Fashionopathy

So I don't know whether to rave about this or to rant. It could really go either way here; I could make this bloody or I could gush.

I suppose if I were to say that I absolutely love this outfit by Lanvin, it would be because of its simplicity. It is brilliant in its simple lines. The colour is just subtle and plain enough to let your natural skin tone shine through and its elegant, flowing lines remain unassuming because they are not stitched or pulled into place, but they simply flow on the wearer's body. The main line draws your eye from Katie's right shoulder, straight down to the narrow hem, giving it a very fifties look with a toga twist. The Christian Louboutin's are this outfit's real saviour adding not only height but making the outfit decidedly soft and feminine. The lines in the dress are accentuated by her own curves which is why she is able to work the outfit so well. Katie's pert hair doesn't hurt either.

If, however, I confess that I hate this outfit, I would be completely remiss if I didn't point out that it is merely a sack that looks (thanks to its bland colour) to be made out of twine that has been knotted and hemmed to be able to somehow enter society sans the hobo tag. It's a little short of the outfit for the Paper Bag Princess and even Robert Munsch might not want his heroine wearing this. Points for the Christian Louboutins and the perfectly toned upper body, however, that only slightly made up for this sack - er, dress. But honestly, if you wanted to show those two things off, you might as well have just come naked with the Louboutins on, the effect would have been less devastating to the eye, I think. Perhaps next time we'll see Sienna Miller in a towel and Manolo Blahnik. Oh no, wait, that already happened.

It's interesting because while spotting her strolling in Central Park during her stage time on Broadway, Katie clearly decided to cash in on the fashion boho warp scene that everyone seems to be trying out. People say, "I always wear what's comfortable for me" or, "I believe in individual voice through fashion", and the ever popular, "I don't follow trends, I make them. I wear what I feel like." That, my lovelies, is a load of old tosh. Or at least...it is with most tweens. For some reason, there are a select few group of people who seem out to prove to the world their individuality by pairing random shit with random crap. For instance, high-heeled hooker boots, plaid shirt and a long thin gold necklace ending in a bling pendant with shitty out of bed hair. I mean, honestly? I don't need to see that; that's not fashion, that is the leftovers of your closet on laundry day. Feel comfortable in it? Great! Good for you! Want to stroll in the streets with it? Power to you! Just don't label it fashion. For godsakes! Katie Holmes decided to do the same thing: she took gigantic painter/plumber jeans and rolled up the hems, pairing them with moccasins, a beaten vintage leather brown bag and a giant thinly knit sweater and mahousive goggles - er, I mean, glasses. I thought she looked fine, whatever, it's comfortable right? But when people started trying to gauge the next fashion trends from what she was wearing, I got pissed. I'm not going to judge her weekend wear, because it's NOT fashion. I'm not trying to define something like fashion because to me it is an art form. It could go both ways, which is really what I'm trying to say with the Lanvin dress above. You could love it or hate it or both. But honestly? A trend is Fedoras. A trend is not sweatpants and stilletos.

Being brown for the first time EVAH!

I love Shahrukh. I've loved him since I was five and i watched Baazigar. But really....all I can say to this is LOL.

is this OSO and Nishabd and DTPH all in one? and why is there so much reference to Raj Kapoor? Honestly, all the RK in the world couldn't save Saawwariya. And why all the dancing in garages? and why is there a song called Dance Pe Chance? And why is shahrukh shorter than her? And why does Yash Raj INSIST on using Lata Mangeshkar's voice as their mascot? WHy isn't she dead yet? Maybe this is why Dostana sank without a trace. You know...besides the shitty plot and dialogue. Oh no, wait. That was Karan Johar's fault.

just...lol at srk image. so fob. in both ways. why is he so fob, anyway? Could a movie with this much dancing really have a plot that doesn't involve shahrukh's painfully fake moustache? Why are they trying to age him and make him young all in one movie??

This should be good...XD

Re-Evolution; Re-Vo-Lution

Somehow we got Barack Obama, first African American president in the history of America, elected to office in the same month that we had the word entry for "meh", an apathetic expression, entered in the dictionary.

Does anyone else see the irony of this?
Now I will say something: LOL (and this is ironic, idiots; let's enter this in the dictionary too!)

Is it just me or is there something very strange about these two, clearly opposite, events? Even just in the wording of them.

Barack Obama, America's first African American leader, elected to office by a nation struggling, rumored in hushed circles to be a civilization finally reaching its peak and falling, whose people are suddenly aware and tired of Republican follies, whose youth are taking a stand for once, actively participating, dancing in the streets, celebrating victory, carefully weighing their options between candidates.

"Meh", an expression to indicate apathy and uncaring, a general 'I cant be bothered' attitude, born of MSN language, which is really just an application for people to "chat". It's not about informality or slang. Colloquial language changes all the time and if it were not for the cataloguing of these changes, we might still be speaking Victorian English (some of us still do, scarily enough). It's only right to be tracking the change in language.

But, suddenly, apathy is indicated by a sound. We are apathetic, reluctant, to even assign an actual word to the feeling of indifference so rife in our society. We can't be bothered. It's not even onomatopeiac. It's just three letters strung together, from the sound of someone shrugging their shoulders in indifference. That's what we just catalogued.

The sound of indifference. The shrugging of shoulders today's youth seems to be doing.

Clearly, these two events are indicative of something bigger. The irony of meh and Obama hits me hard. There is something going on, going down, that is missing in this generation. I don't know what it is and I don't know where it begins, where it ends and whom to assign fault, blame, cause and effect to.

All I know is, its there. Watch me not shrug my shoulders and actually take the time to figure it out.

Society is going absolutely mental.

Why? Because.

A very very close friend, so close to my heart that they might be my heart itself or I am their soul. Understood, as the understanding that comes with these sorts of relationships. Asked myself, why? Answered, because. Sent this my way so that I had all my incoherent words once again articulated. Or else, I saw that shining thread that bound all these thoughts and a resounding recognition that I could not ignore etched deep in these words. Believed once more, for a moment, in the Soul of the World.

Why Study the Arts & Humanities?

Because, that's why.

Because a man downtown with a voice like the sea against the rocks told me I should.

Because my mother told me not to. Because she said mathematics, female engineering - engineering female. Because she spends so many nights in paperwork, dreaming herself into fairytales.

Because of the bruises etched into a Grade 4 spelling partner's cheek each week by his father.

Because television sets are alive and sucking patience out of brains like electric leeches. And it could take hours to perfect this sentence.

Because the average Canuck consums 140 percent the caloric intake required in a day.

Because KKK.

Because Chagall's 'Self-Portrait with Seven Fingers', did not quite make it into the Saturday morning comics.

Becase Adolf Hitler and Staling are the only two I've learned about.

Because it's been scientifically proven that listening to Mozart sonatas improves bad hearing.

Because the Burmese government is carbonated in every can of Pepsi Cola.

Because East Timor is on channel 3 and my brother is watching The Simpsons.

Because painters did not build atomic bombs. Because poems dissect them.

Because advertisement agencies are calling themselves creative.

Becayse a beautiful woman is a dress and a breast size and no longer compared to a summer's day.

Because no one's homophobic but alot of people stared when a girl kissed a girl at the bus stop.

Because sometimes even starving artists like to eat dinner.

Because time spent with family is marked between 6 and 7 o'clock in the daily agenda.

Because Picasso would tell you that skyscrapers do not quite equal the beauty of all the daffodils they have swallowed.

Because two boys in a coffee shop carried out a complete conversation and say nothing.

Because I don't know whether I'll be clubbed for saying Black People if I should be saying African Americans.

Because the government runs on monotone thought.

Because a successfully cloned sheep.

Because.

Because sometimes you see yourself more clearly in the characters you are writing than when you look in the mirror.

Because ulcers are nibbling away on stomachs everywhere.

Because graffiti is getting a little bit repetitive.

Because I'd rather be short than vertically challenged.

And if that's not quite enough...

Then because I can write these things to you and go to math class tomorrow and pretend that they weren't written for myself.

No Air.

There's so much I want to say to you but I really don't know how to say it. I've never been good at these things, these expression of feelings bit. I just needed time, time to figure things out. To find the right words.


I know. I know I went and fucked up something big. Something that could have been perhaps the greatest turn of this century, of our century. I could have been your great love. You could have been my great love. We could have blinded the world and taken it by storm. You anchor, I uplift. I don't know what I was thinking; I wont I wasn't because not only is that a tone of regret but also untrue. I did what I thought was best at that point in time because I didnt want anyone to be hurt, least of all you. You, the gem of a person I always knew you were. And told you so.


You made me want to be a million times better but the lovely face of morality made me hurt harder than I could imagine. It pricked. The biggest disillusionment was a presumption that was deadly, a penchant for the dramatic. The fall, sharp and fast, bottomless, relentless, the kind only pride can produce.


Sometimes, these days, my love for you is so strong, so deep that I'm almost completely blinded as to any rationale I might have produced and can only felt sincere and biting regret. Regret that things turned out the way they did. Yes. But most of all, that I was the way I was with you.


Not without reason, I know. But...it must have hurt.


Never mind all that for a moment. Put it aside, quieten those grouses for just a spell. Poetry is elevated language, a higher expression transcending all common sentimentalities and like alchemy, it has the power to completely manipulate and change.


That is my love for you. That is the depth of my feeling for you. It is an expansive love that covers all notions, that transcends all needs, that motivates, that uplifts. It is more profound than inky depths of the greatest minds. It knows no reason, no face and no point beyond you. If I feel regret it is only at the hurt. I confess, it is also slightly because I cannot have you. But...I'm so beyond all that. I wish I could apologize to you...it would put me at rest and allow me to focus on the love I feel for you. It would allow me to think of you without the blanket of poison spread over clear memories of you. It would clean the cobwebs of resentment that have been interwoven and spiral out of control, quiet now on this cold morning.


You make everything so much more beautiful. The memory of you. You used to make me laugh, you taught me true care, taught me goodnes and selflessness. You taught me to be weak. You taught me that it's okay to shed false notions of grandeur. You made the simplicity so scintillating, so alive that even the mundane was melodramatic enough for me.


You loved me for me. I now love you for you. Sometimes - most of the time - I think of you. Small things remind me of you and I smile silently, knowingly. Passersby think I'm affected. But they've never met us. I've never met us, either. And so I'm acquainting myself now and my gosh, was it ever beautiful. It was so beautiful I didn't believe anything so lovely, so tender, so sincere and heartfelt could ever be this real. I miss you so much it hurts. I wont attempt to describe the pain - it is not so deep that words themselves cannot express it, no. In fact, if I were more skilled, I would be able to adequately convey to you what not having you here is like.


But, as we both knew, there's more power in things left unsaid. The potential is greater. The explosiveness, the combustion. If I get it all out, if I should ever be able to tell you how sorry I am to have hurt you, this pain in my heart, pervading my senses, making me cry in anguish, clawing at the walls, might melt away.


I loved your extreme nerdiness. It made me feel nerdy. It was just so right. I loved that you just understood virtually everything about everything I said to you. And if you didnt, this thoughtful, pensive look would come up on your face like you were trying to synthesize some new fact or trying to accept it. It was such a gentle look.

I loved how you always came into the library and wished me good morning from behind, your arms around me. I felt the depth of love in those moments and their murky depths scared me so much. It was not the intenstity with which you hugged me but the intent. That intent was so pure...so clear. I want so much to have that again that I'm squeezing my eyes shut and praying. All I see is you...everywhere I go, everywhere I turn. I dont want anyone else's eyes on me unless they are yours.

...I can't even write out my grief. I deleted a whole paragraph because there are just no words to express the level of hurt. You've really hurt me, with this change. Ter recently asked...am I okay with the way things are enough to be able to talk to you? And I honestly don't think I can. I can't even seem to find words to express just how much this all hurts, especially in the dead of night.

I keep dreaming of you. You, in different avatars. When I wake up, I'm very annoyed because it leaves me with such an incomplete and hole-like feeling in the waking world; almost like this odd vaccum in my vocal chords. Even if it weren't there though, what would I yell that would open your ears to me? Nothing. The moment is gone, the time is past and perhaps this disintegration is all that's left now.

It makes me cry, every time we talk. When you mock me or I see subtle ways in which you have changed. I miss the boy, the friend I knew so well. Weren't we friends? Why do you make everything so difficult that even talking to you is a chore? Why is it that we can agravate the bejeezes out of each other...but not communicate on what is really going on? And, what IS going on?

What saddens me the most....is - well, everything really. The way I was blind. The way you were naive. The way all this shit went down and hot it turned out. But worse than that....the path that we're surely going to take. The way that I'm always right about these kinds of things. I predicted the future with the other (you know) and it turned out EXACTLY like that. And now...I can see it too. We, you and me, for each other will soon mean nothing and fade into nothing. A part of me, the part that hurts beyond human language (but not above sounds), hopes that is exactly what happens. So that I will never have to look at you again and want you ever again and realize what I lost ever again.