thanks for the fav

--
[link]

mmm...yeah, right.

...so glad it's all done.

Ah, it's true. All so true.

but... shhh... _{I'm thinking divorce someday... nobody's happy.} Although perhaps there will always be a better alternative to caring for us. Maybe I just didn't realize before. I idealize the past, I think.

Sometimes that's what I like to do, but then new things hit me and it seems absolutely unbearable to leave the old, musty line there. It's not really editing, it's... more spontaneity. I think poetry works really differently for everyone. I usually don't talk about my process, though. It's embarrassing.

OH MY GOD! I totally know what you mean. I was trying to write something emotional, and I realized that my entire manner of speech is calculated around dispassion. Then, I was sort of thinking the same thing goes for you. You talk quickly and say a lot of words. Putting all that English pulls the feeling out of it. It draws attention away from that drop of interest you had that inspired you to speak in the first place.

hahaha.

She has to someday. You can't go through life like that. You can go through highschool like that, maybe because you can always complain "well, they force me to attend". But have you ever met an angsty adult? There are brooding college students. But angsty? I never have.

haha, you really aren't afraid of anyone reading this are you? I mean, Kat's on deviantART. There's not a big chance, but there is one nonetheless, that she could see that. And how do you know that I'm not going to tell anyone the things you say?

--
Oops. That was out of character.

Hi Mia!
Just saying Hi! Put up more pictures..I wanna see what I have to compete with... Haha. Later loser.

-- The Alligator Baby.

--
"The man who smiles when things go wrong
has thought of someone to blame it on" -- Robert Bloch

random deviant just stopping by to say !! have a nice day!

What's your rate? $4.99 an hour? $36.99 a weekend? The economic choice. You're a good value.

haha. If you say so. You do have a certain way of speaking. I don't know how that would translate to poetry or anything like that.

It's so depressing, looking back. I was trapped, only able to express everything wrong in my life with cliches. Angsty!!!

I don't want to have to. It makes me remember how cold and cruel I am. Besides, once I endorse her negative feelings, there's no going back. I'm still hoping that my father will pick himself up and make things better. Because once she's trained not to feel it, she's never going to again. It doesn't just come back. I've tried everything. But you know what, it has gotten a bit better. So maybe it can...

I usually just write it, play around with it for a few days, and throw it up here. Then I play around with it more. It doesn't bother me not to have things like this perfect. Because if I knew I wrote something perfect, I'd never write another one again. Just so I could keep in mind that my most recent was perfect.

I don't even know if there is perfect. There's perfect grammar, but the most you can do is capture an idea completely. It's hard to compare stuff like that.

hahahaha. You mean, like, smut?

Poor things. At least they'll grow out of it.

hah. poor ho. or should i say slut? sluts don't get paid.
$4.99 isn't even enough to negotiate my price.

nooot so much.

there wasn't even anything wrong in my life. it was like the 'scars' from what had happened with lauren two years earlier suddenly and violently festered, and i was diseased for over a year... then i caused problems for myself as a result which only deepened my contempt for the world in general... like the conflict for carrie, which provided some nice, fresh, blazing rage. ah, poison.

maybe it's better that you two abandon any attempted affection toward your father. i don't want to sound pessimistic, but what sort of phenomenon could possibly make him pull himself out of his glamorous new life? you'd have to openly confront him, and is he worth it? your sister's feelings may be, but isn't it just as well that she learns now how to defend herself?
don't place too much stock in what i say. it's purely hypothetical, somewhat bitterly subjective, and unadjusted to the particular circumstances which i don't specifically know.

that's true. but i get mixed feelings: when i get to work on something, i edit it every time that i open it, but poetry is slightly different. the lines come to me with complete spontanaiety, and revision seems to impair that sense. but it's only to me, so i should just proceed to do what's best for the poem itself... yet i'm unlikely to share it, soo... well, i suppose that i'll keep the original draft but fix it as needed before considering submission.

well, when doing something personally, i need to feel that it conveys my original ideas, has the cohesion that i want, and is phrased with a certain, vaguely dispassionate overtone that makes it feel less lame. maybe it's just a weird complex of mine [people are all about complexes to me. geez], but it seems to ruin everything when someone is too enthusiastic about their own work. even if it's really good, it seems... weird if they're really into it. especially me; the way that [i think that] people see me, any sort of passion would just seem extremely revolting. i can't describe it via typing. my best attempts toward verbalization have been rather rambling and full of 'like's.

no... that actually wasn't sarcasm [ohemgee]. even when i'd write nice little stories, i couldn't describe them to my parents. it's just embarrassing: a look into my imagination isn't okay coming from adults.

most of 'em, anyway... some people never seem to. kat hasn't yet, from my observation, and a few other people.

--
♫ This is how it works:
You're young until you're not.
You love until you don't.
You try until you can't.
You laugh until you cry;
You cry until you laugh.
…And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath. ♥♪

What's your rate? $4.99 an hour? $36.99 a weekend? The economic choice. You're a good value.

haha. If you say so. You do have a certain way of speaking. I don't know how that would translate to poetry or anything like that.

It's so depressing, looking back. I was trapped, only able to express everything wrong in my life with cliches. Angsty!!!

I don't want to have to. It makes me remember how cold and cruel I am. Besides, once I endorse her negative feelings, there's no going back. I'm still hoping that my father will pick himself up and make things better. Because once she's trained not to feel it, she's never going to again. It doesn't just come back. I've tried everything. But you know what, it has gotten a bit better. So maybe it can...

I usually just write it, play around with it for a few days, and throw it up here. Then I play around with it more. It doesn't bother me not to have things like this perfect. Because if I knew I wrote something perfect, I'd never write another one again. Just so I could keep in mind that my most recent was perfect.

I don't even know if there is perfect. There's perfect grammar, but the most you can do is capture an idea completely. It's hard to compare stuff like that.

hahahaha. You mean, like, smut?

Poor things. At least they'll grow out of it.

--
Oops. That was out of character.

umm, let's let our incomes decide that. yeah. i thought so. betttch.

yeah... you pulled a noga. nice. 'it's naomi, so it can't possibly be a mistake. she's just revolutionized the language.'
ohh, mah life.

well, i can do both. and the corners of your eyes hardly let in enough light to be helpful.

excellent.

'course not.
but i can't pull off things like that. it sounds cheesy just because it comes from me. even good things do. somehow; i don't know why. but i make things suck like that.

that's my perspective on it. it's done, and it was crucial. but done. dooonnne.

well, your sister has you to convince her that she doesn't need them anyway, maybe...

only if i really like it. which, with my perfectionism, is somehwat unlikely. i wrote a little mini-essay about my camera a few days ago, and was going to post it, but i'm not sure what the category is. soo it's all against me and everything.

yeah; that, too. i won't even describe the main idea of some perfectly innocent 'literary' pursuit.

yeah. it's all big with eighth-graders, who still think that angst is cool.

--
♫ This is how it works:
You're young until you're not.
You love until you don't.
You try until you can't.
You laugh until you cry;
You cry until you laugh.
…And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath. ♥♪

Except... I'm hotter.

At first, I was like "Wha?" I was about to look up "siber" on dictionary.com. And then I thought about what Ms. Doyle is, and what Mrs. Doyle is not and it hit me.

On the contrary, my squinty little eyes enhance my peripheral vision and movement detection. Up and down present more of a problem for me. But unless you jump down from the ceiling or sprout from earth, you won't be able to surprise me.

I'm an expert at ignoring self-flattery.

You can always mash them all up together and make it about indecisiveness. That's why all of mine are. If there weren't two choices, there wouldn't be a problem and you'd be writing some sunshine poem. Not like that's a bad thing.

I wrote the angry life lessons, too. I was looking back at them a couple days ago. It made me sad. But there's no way I'd be myself if none of it had happened.

But it really tears me apart to see my little sister going through the same thing I was. It doesn't hit her as hard as it hit me. We handle things differently. She's just realizing that her father is willing to offer more to his stepkids and (new) wife than her. How lame is that? She's better than they are in every way. So why does he keep giving? Why doesn't he try to please us, erm, her anymore? She still cares... why does he have to ruin that, too? Goddamn it, I'm getting all worked up again. When I think about these people, I just get sick. You can bet your Asian that I'm getting far, far away from them (except my mother and her dog) the minute I can.

But that still doesn't help her, which is all I really want. She doesn't deserve it. I don't want the innocence and the trust peeled away from her like that. I don't care if she drinks or has sex or anything. But I wish she had two parents.

Now I wanna see your writing. Are you ever going to post it?

For me, it's not just the typing. It's the privacy. Because I go absolutely crazy when people see something they weren't supposed to, like if you save it under something cryptic on a computer you share with the family. Plus, you can snap the laptop screen shut really quickly. Some of my writing can be classified as nothing besides vulgar.

I think that's how everyone is on xanga.

--
Oops. That was out of character.

ugh. something is wrong with the ps here.

--
♫ This is how it works:
You're young until you're not.
You love until you don't.
You try until you can't.
You laugh until you cry;
You cry until you laugh.
…And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath. ♥♪

no. i'm 34b. but we're practically twins otherwise, of course.

...i meant 'sober'. but you seemed to catch that. asian connection and all.

you're just jealous that i have peripheral vision.

i'm not any good. my talent with words mostly lies in clever, thought-provoking [that sounds like self-flattery, but kindly ignore that] little phrases, sentences, or 'roverbs'. i wrote a lot of angry little 'life lessons' during my 'bad' phase of life. and that's also why i'm having difficulty stringing the poem together, because the good phrases kind of stand better alone...

interesting. well, mine was intensely annoying. hence one of my still-in-rough-development little phrases: 'laying with profundity/ then abruptly discarding' [then something about some things simply being too heavy, but i haven't worked it out nicely yet. well, to the shoddy little degree of niceness of the rest of it.]

i used to write a lot of bad emo poetry, and it had to be on my xanga. that was like my inspiration zone for utter crap. typing does make things easier for me, too.

--
♫ This is how it works:
You're young until you're not.
You love until you don't.
You try until you can't.
You laugh until you cry;
You cry until you laugh.
…And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath. ♥♪

I've got B-cups, too! 32B, to be precise. (I had to take off my clothes to check that.) OMG, we could be body doubles!

muhahahahahahhaha!

hahahaha! Oh, you're so funny. You do have really wide eyes. Because you're white. Maybe you're not Asian at all. You've just idolized the Asians to the point where you think you are one.

Oh, yeah.

Now I'm intrigued. Poetry...

I get like that sometimes. I love it, but I annoy myself when I do it, too. I write it all down because it sounds good when I think it. So now I have a laptop filled with self-doubting thoughts and all sortsa weird stuff.

I luv me lappytop! I wouldn't be able to write anything without it.

--
Oops. That was out of character.

exactly. buuut i'm white enough to get b-cups. oh, well.

that's true. i've never tried... i would ask mrs. doyle, but has she ever listened to music siber? i'm dubious.

aww. you should have explained it to her. only your eyes don't let in much light anyway, so she might not have believed you... -snicker-

nice.

we would. even jasper would be out of asian remarks in the face of that might.

yes, though it's really sort of a lame disguise, too... we're not as evolved as we think.
[i was in a weird mood last night... very philosophical, analyzing everything, even my own thoughts... it was annoying, to be honest. but it inspired several scattered lines of kinda-poetry which i scrawled down and might try to connect soon. like, in a few minutes.]

--
♫ This is how it works:
You're young until you're not.
You love until you don't.
You try until you can't.
You laugh until you cry;
You cry until you laugh.
…And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath. ♥♪

Which was... when you were twenty-five? Asians don't need bras. It's like the only thing we didn't invent. I, for example, don't even need breasts. I can rock my calculator harder when there isn't anything to get in the way.

Plus, I can't even figure out what it's called. Whenever I Google it, I just get songs about feelings.

Yeah! It really did have a certain dynamic to it. Maybe it was the way the light came in. Sunrise on Mia's pupils. Je ne peux pas parler francais quand I AM BLINDED.

Oh, it's one hot piece of meat, all right. I'm sure you'll be able to teach her a couple of Asian tricks.

Dayum! You know what? We shouldn't compete. We should go Asian-Orgy on all the sexy-hawt teachers of the world. We would be simply overpowering.

Yes, I think you summed it up rather nicely. It is disgusting, but at least it leans towards intelligence over brute strength. That would be truly disgusting.

--
Oops. That was out of character.

i don't need your affirmation. i've been the prima asian slut since i grew boobs.

eh. wikipedia is sometimes confusing, as the sorts of people who post such obscure articles are probably experts in their field, who don't cater to commoners like us.

i love it!
did you notice how the old french room feels so closed now? somehow, baggett's setup felt all sunny/ airy/ etc... mrs. ross is totally sexy and all [ima get me a piece of that within a week], but she's got no feng shui skills.

well, 'totally natural' is state of nature... inadvisable anyway. this brings up an interesting point... are these intrapersonal laws that help maintain order? as in, not only internal order, but overall social order, like public law. i think that we've stumbled upon something; pretension contributes to social order.
you're entirely right, then. disgusting.

--
♫ This is how it works:
You're young until you're not.
You love until you don't.
You try until you can't.
You laugh until you cry;
You cry until you laugh.
…And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath. ♥♪

Fine, fine, fine! You're the prima Asian skank. Happy?

I was thinking more like Wikipedia.

That's, like, the essence of Madame Baggett.

Yep! Everyone's so desperate to appear more in control than everyone else. If you told everyone to revert to their natural, unaffected states... well, the winners of life would be the ones who didn't listen. They can manipulate. It's kind of disgusting, but it works. Because even social reform can't fix that.

--
Oops. That was out of character.

pssshhhhyeahhh.

noo. i'm just an asian. like, duhh. besides, mr. powell is not a woman. and mrs. korona doesn't like men either. aaand i've 'hosted' dr. g once or twiiiice...

yup, yup.

yes; i'll check the text's index sometime. though i don't anticipate that it'll be terribly helpful.

yes. i'll never forget this one quote of baggett's, which i actually wrote down: 'eople are so human; it's disgusting.'
the worst part about the whole thing is how people judge. we all have these problems, but we analyze people and come to conclusions so that we can scorn them, condescendingly and pityingly, but we're doing that in order to help our own act... ahh, life.

--
♫ This is how it works:
You're young until you're not.
You love until you don't.
You try until you can't.
You laugh until you cry;
You cry until you laugh.
…And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath. ♥♪

Whore.

Whore.

Whore.

Whore. Then what have you? Opium?

Whore. There's only one way to explain this. All of your teachers are female, except Mr. Noga, who's gay. That means, all of them like men. All of them like you. Do you know what that means? You are a man. Boy-slut.

Boy-slut, I know it's voice-activated. Pikachu, electric shock!

Boy-slut, I haven't come up with anything to define it yet, either. Someone has to know, though. I'm sure that, once upon a time, somebody with resources had the same question. Considering it hit both of us within a week.

The dark stuff is the worst stuff for people to find, because you have to admit that you had those emotions in the first place. And then they pick around for a source, which is probably equally humiliating. It's like a look into your mind. And I think we're all secretly afraid that we set our expectations too high and feel too much. So everyone pretends. When you're not pretending, it's art, which is great and all but emotionally taxing to reveal. Humans...

--
Oops. That was out of character.

thaaaat's what you think. all of those tapes that you took of yourselves? sold to dr. g. mr. powell is, like, soooo totally over you. [if he ever was really under you. which i doubt; those videos looked pretty choppy.]

sure. or because you're small, squinty-eyed, and otherwise mole-like [though those also describe asians. coincidence, i'm sure... or else an evolutionary epiphany...]

nope. apparently your asian radar has been stumped.

betchpleaaase. i don't drink.
drinking is soo softcore.

yeah... those dates are how i got my grade, too.
but only the paper ones.
you think that you're loved because you scored with baggett?? well, swallow this [yes, swallow it, ho]: i got mr. noga, and he's gay. that takes some skill.

i do not!!
[mine is pikachu.]

...i'm hoping so.
but any kid who's being followed around by some fergie-blasting sadist at his personal tragedies is indubitably [yup. indubitably] so profoundly screwed up that no one can use him as a basis of comparison to the world's general population.
but, like, why does a minor key evoke sadness? we all know that half of a horror movie is the music, but why? it can't just be conditioned, because it's internationally recognized; if it was only conditioning, then it wouldn't be so widespread.

yeah... it's not even like art, which can play on perceptions of norms, etc... except, on the music line, how do different colors have those effects? hmmm... [well, that one is easier to explain than music, so never mind, but whatever.]

very paradoxical. but you're right; even though logic kind of breaks it, the reality of emotions/thought override the logic. katelyn once showed her mom this insanely emo poem that i wrote, and i still cringe at the thought. when i was first creating my gallery here, and my parents were looking/ sending the link to various other adults [grandparents, godmother], i felt awkward even about the titles that i gave my deviations. i switched out some of my more creative ones for generic alternatives that seemed less embarrassing to be seen by them. i still do that, really: that's why so many of my shots have really bland titles.

--
♫ This is how it works:
You're young until you're not.
You love until you don't.
You try until you can't.
You laugh until you cry;
You cry until you laugh.
…And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath. ♥♪

Mr. Powell is mine. I got to put the penis, err, peanuts in his Coke. You whore! He's not even into white girls.

No, I honed that skill by myself. It was doubtlessly enhanced because of being Asian.

NOOO! I can always tell what flavor Asian people are. Always! And, I can always tell if people are, in fact, Asian. Filipinos can be tough to identify, though. I didn't know my brother, Eric, was. And I can't really figure out what I am, either. But, as for everyone else...

You heard me. You'd have sex for a song... about algorithms. I know that for a fact, but I guess you were a tad to drunk to remember last summer?

Well, that's good. I was getting a little discouraged. Yes, we did. She kept tallies. It took me forever to figure it out. But I got it. And I had such a good grade in that class. Those extra credit date points (The ones on the top of the paper, not the ones I earned at her house. Who's better loved now, whore!!!) put me over the edge. My grade in Mr. Noga's class is good. But not better than perfect.

You hang on to that small piece of Asian like the Hello Kitty vibrator that everyone knows all Asian chicks own.

OMG, I was just thinking about that a few days ago! Why does music put you in a certain mood? What is it about one note to another that makes a person feel something? My mother said it was because you associate it with something. But if you played "My Humps" at all of a child's sad occasions, he still wouldn't be naturally inclined to feel sadness from it. Right...?

Smells are nostalgic, as are tastes, so they can make you feel. Touching can always be explained by evolution and association. Loud sounds can trigger fear, again, evolutionarily speaking. But what is it about music? Rhythm makes us think about sex, but music doesn't (always) turn us on. So what explains that?

Once my mom read one of my poems, which sucked (the poem and the reading). I had a breakdown. It was ridiculous. I wanted to show her that I could do better, but I didn't want to show her anything at all. The more people know me, the harder a time I have being myself with them. It's oxymoronic, but it's true. I guess it's something like... they already know me and like me, why jeopardize that by taking risks? Illogical and too logical at the same time.

--
Oops. That was out of character.

...can't we spend some time on the couch first? please?

...well, i'm still maintaining a very, very close relationship with mr. powell.

oh-- that's part of being asian, too? curiouser and curiouser.

she is filipino and chinese, but it's because she spoke so many languages that she said 'si', etc... apparently, she was known for lapsing into spanish at south river.

knowledge slut? excuseh?

oh, the tapes. even i can't understand those, but it's not b/c of mr. noga.
what i miss most about baggett is that people actually took her seriously when she talked about participation grades. no one bothers to answer in noga's class anymore, because no one believes that he'll actually take any points off of their grades. and he doesn't. so my asianness forces me into an unwilling position of class answer-giver. and i hate it.

i prefer the 'weekly world news'. hahaha.
what i'd like to do is somehow find out [with minimal work, of course] how/why music affects people the way that it does. for example, how we manage to assign moods to different keys/tempos, etc... that just occurred to me yesterday, and now i really want to know.

i know. even if my parents visit my gallery, they won't look down here... i hope... sincerely...

--
♫ This is how it works:
You're young until you're not.
You love until you don't.
You try until you can't.
You laugh until you cry;
You cry until you laugh.
…And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath. ♥♪

thx for the comment :]

--
~there's a hole in the world like a great black pit
that is filled with people who are filled with shit
and the vermin of the world inhabited~

Darling, it's time for your electroshock therapy. So lie the freak down. We're about to start.

Keep Ms. Korona, you dumb fraction of an Asian ho. I've got Dr. G. He's a doctor. And Mrs. Doyle. She's a stoner.

That's where the running/burrowing skills come in.

hahahaha. I just snorted! I didn't know she spoke lots of languages. She always confused me. I thought she was Hispanic, but everyone said she was Filipino but then she said "Si" instead of yes. Wwaaaaahhh!!! I don't understand.

We can now officially classify you as a knowledge-slut.

I felt like I learned a lot more from Mrs. Baggett than Mr. Noga. Now I'm completely useless. I only understand written French. Before, I understood every word they put on those damn tapes.

This afternoon, I was salivating over candy in the grocery store. I looked away, so I wouldn't be tempted to chew through the wrapper right then. My gaze fell upon the latest issue of The National Inquirer. I want to write for the National Inquirer. Who cares if it's gross? It's so human-interest. I don't have the interest, but people who do fascinate me. Sort of like sex...

haha, it's a good thing my little sister never bothers to visit my page. In my head, I saw her greasy little eyebrows raising at that last sentence. And every other sentence involving sex.

--
Oops. That was out of character.

haha.

It's true! You're in denial. But one day, you're going to have to come to grips with your similar headshapes and it's going to hurt. I'm only here to help, which is why I charge $600 per session, wear stupid looking glasses and prescribe lots of pills.

I'm almost glad we don't end up in more classes together. I can get real nasty when it's competing for the love of a teacher.

I think being able to do something vaguely resembling communication in one extra language is enough. Luckily, humans are all rather apt at reading body language and the more obvious gesticulations. If I ever land myself in a foreign country, that's how I'm going to get by. Otherwise, I guess I'll learn to run very fast.

How do you plan use your English-French-Latin-Cyrillic-Arabic skills, anyway?

By the way, do you always understand exactly what Mr. Noga says? I would imagine so, Miss Teen Language America. I've given up. Gradually, I went from full understanding to picking up every other word... it degraded to this, where I pick out one of every five words and piece together a pretty English sentence from it. Unfortunately, pretty isn't always, you know, correct. I need to up my exposure. The mid-term listening part blew right over my head. The only word I knew I heard for sure was "shampooing". Sad. The time has come for another 6-hour French language film marathon.

I'd like to be a social psychologist. But I don't know where I'm going to apply that... I don't want to perform controlled experiments. I know I'll be able to get by, but I actually want to succeed. I don't know what I want to succeed at, though.


no. no, no, no. i'll never believe you. you don't undertsnad. this is the foundation of my sense of reality. my headshape is unique! this has been a Vital Truth for my whole life. keep your pills and your psychobabble, you sadist!

oh, whore. nothing can come between mrs. korona and me. nothing. even your little asian slut self.

until you wave at a south african! oh, my.

...you see, mia, mrs. echiverri is my role model. i want to be just like her, so i must learn foreign languages until they become a jumble in my head and i can't speak one at a time anymore.
[my next course of action will be to surgically remove about two feet from my height.]

...yes; i actually do understand him. it's like a curse-- sometimes, slumped into my seat while going over something because i'm tired of being class spokesperson, i look up to see him craning his neck around abby's shoulder, in fervent, vain hope that i have my hand up. it's terribly vexing, indeed.
[and that was quite a run-on. i'm rather impressed with myself.]

i know exactly what you mean about the psych thing; it fascinates me, but i have no interest in studies or in psychiatry.
so i, like you, am just waiting for things to take care of themselves.

--
♫ This is how it works:
You're young until you're not.
You love until you don't.
You try until you can't.
You laugh until you cry;
You cry until you laugh.
…And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath. ♥♪