An Airborne Glass' Blurty Entries [entries|friends|calendar]
An Airborne Glass

[ userinfo | blurty userinfo ]
[ calendar | blurty calendar ]

[13 Sep 2004|02:38am]
It's gone.
6 black eyes| Throw a punch at me

[23 Aug 2004|02:03am]
All hail from Southeast Texas

Today I officially moved into the dorms at Texas A&M University, but first I may interest you in the events that let up to this moment.

It rained on Thursday, and I felt the extreme urge to go outside, so I went to White Rock Lake, in the pouring rain. No other cars dared to roam the wild, savage onslaught of water. So I was walking really close to the water's edge, watching wildlife and the rippling tank of a lake. It is quite a sight. If you haven't, you ought to see the lake during a heavy rain, it is magnificent.

So I was walking back to my car, still close to the water when a cop pulled up on the side of the road. He stalled there for a bit, so I kept walking. He just sat there and stared at me, and when I got pretty close, the man rung his flood alarm thingy that sounded like a cross between a overzealous ambulance and a disinterested fire truck. Then he asked if I was okay or not. I said I was fine, and it was not what it looked like.
The cop looked confounded, but then apparently he got it and laughed and told me to watch for safety during heavy rain around lakes and rivers etc etc. Well if I were just a bit drunker I would have elaborated, but if I were just a bit drunker I would not been let off so easily. All good, overall.

Friday I went out college shopping, and ended up seeing Garden State. It was a excellent movie, only 20 people populated the theatre for 500+, and it was on premier day too. Disappointing. The movie was very good however, especially the first part with the funny little gags here and there, the ending part was a bit drawn out and artificial but still manages to hold water. A solid effort from Z. Braff, props, but more more importantly was the performance of Natalie Portland. Aside from the point that she is hot hot hot, she really showed that she can act in this one, throwing in everything she have and manage to give credulity to the otherwise unhuman Sam. Marvelous.

Saturday I think I did packing or sleeping, maybe both.

So now here I am. Generally carrying the stuff up wasn't mouch of a problem, I did get a ticket (first of any kind in my life) for overparking at lots with limits. I think I will fight it, even though I have no good reason or excuse.

College station is okay, too hot and humid for its own good. Rains very suddenly and stops raining just as fast. However, I hate one thing. The water here taste like ass-washing water that's been soaking oil cloths for centuries. IT is ThAT bad.

1 black eye| Throw a punch at me

[18 Aug 2004|02:00am]
If you look at the window after dark, you can see a collage of silhouettes of buildings, trees, and utility poles compressed into a single sheet of folding paper. A lego-like form tape upon a still background, like a magnetted picture on the refridgerator door. The familiar forms that glance by your eyes everyday fades into obscurity, the tossed parts of a sculpture. Life flashes before your eyes: Oh look! There is the store where I tasted my first ice cream! There is the field where we ran like young antelopes, chasing down the soccer ball. There is the hospital where I dreaded the marked plastic tubes and the smell of halls too clean for its own good. There is the telephone pole where I wrote her name and she wrote mine...

It snaps, laughter from the Mexicans upstairs pulls you away from your petty little dreams. The black man of apartment 117 talked loudly with his friends on the porch amidst the jagged symphony of a summer night. The sad boy next door banged desperately on his piano, burying his sorrows into forms that words cannot describe. Your broken porchlight blinked, and blinked again, buzzing like the insects that circled around it.

What difference does it make? Are we made to drift? To fly? Does life exist only in episodes? Like the shriek of your alarm clock as you put cruise control on hitting the snooze button. If it does, then why must all the episodes before it come back and haunt you? Call me Gatsby, but we'll all lived in the past one time or another, doing ridiculous things to try to reenact the lost musical, where your soul danced and your mind flew high. We've all had nostalgic moments, gazing over the soccer ball that you were scored on over and over again by your friends; that notebook where you wrote down your first fears of some incurable disease; that record you played for her, and she loved it. You then fight that thing within you, as a part of you, and you realize that you have never lost it at all.

But tomorrow you would have forgotten again, making prank calls with your buddies and hanging out by the lake tossing rocks into the water, hoping to hit a duck. With your cell phone ringing and your throat singing, it vanishes. meaningless like a hangover on sunday morning. You forget the times you wanted to come back just like you forget what drinks you had, or didn't have. You would crack out jokes like farts after a bean eating contests, and stare at girls with telescope eyes, only to have another night under a pancake moon with a bottle of mysterious liquid in your hand, listening to that album that she said she liked. What now, you sad drunken son of a bitch? You know it ain't ever coming back.

And you say that you do anything to live it again.
Throw a punch at me

[13 Jul 2004|11:55pm]
The world is like a revolver, as soon as it goes around, you got no shots left.
Throw a punch at me

[10 Jul 2004|01:35am]
I've always considered my self as a part of the domesticate generation. I stayed indoors most of the time, got around in my faithful '96 sapphire wheezer Corolla. I guess I never counted on any changes, always sort of rebelled against the fickle. Whatever that comes my way is usually accepted and taken for granted. Well, anyway, mostly I just planted myself around what I consider normal people and forgot about those nighthawkers and hitchhikers that loom the streets after the retirement of the sun. One of those things that never came upon my mind.

The conference started innocently enough, gleefully I told myself to just enjoy. I was damn sure that was going to be the case too, it's not too often that I get to be tracking through the grass all by myself. I lined myself into the check-in line, started some amicable discussion with a good-looking girl about the unlogical arrangement of the check-in line and the overzealous parents who formed a even longer line than their offsprings. It was pleasant at least, didn't really mind the hot weather. I dragged my bag, supplies and myself over to the halls into my lair of the next three days. The engineering math test was a breezer, easier than cutting a cake.

Wasting time is never my forte, so I thought that I would just go for a stroll. The majority party seem to be eating in the dining halls which seemed to be overpriced. Why not walk off campus, maybe get my course catalog too. Christ I swear every time I walk from the commons over to the MSC, it seems like the road just multiplied and mass-reproduced itself. Felt like an eternity walking over, my fake mocassins rubbed the skins of my foot, turning it crimson red. The MSC closed about an hour early, apparently for the conference or something. Heck, that's the first thing that went wrong today. Turning my head to go join the crowds, another unfortunate soul drifted up. The only difference is that he isn't really looking for anything at all, just walkin' around, he explained diligently. The dude's got a shirt with cutoff sleeves, steve nash hair and a louder-than-thou key chain that sounded like a portable drum set. He pretty much started talking. Like the sound of his own voice no doubt, but since I had nothing do to, I didn't mind. Turns out that he drove here and has a truck, and offered to drive me off campus. Hell why not, and there it went.

So he told his stories, and I told mine. Made down the road with the truck that makes a weird noise when it turns left. He explained how his sister hates him and backed into his car 3 times, and I conjured up the time when I was hit by the parked car (classic). It was worth some laughed, and he made me wait because he needed a haircut (don't blame him). We found the place with the biggest ad space and catchiest slogan. (Eater-tainment). Which turned out to be gatti land. Fine with me, I have no problems with flavourless pizza, as long as it comes with frozen coke, I was glad that it did.

I walked around the campus later that night, went to the rec center. Didn't have the shoes, so I couldn't do a whole lot. Chilled a little bit, watched some Indian dudes play badminton- a true badass sport, lifted my head and spectated some rock-climbing, and sat around and people-watched as the runners passed on the tracks. Talked to some random people that I didn't know and don't care to know later, made some one day only friends, and chew around the fat until people started to get tired.

Day 2 was a bunch of busy work, obtaining my ID cards, setting up the computer accounts, going to a whole bunch of meetings that talked about things that I already knew or don't care to know about. They all said the same things really. I skipped lunch to explore MSC a little bit, then the Rudder compound, and finally West campus. Lost a couple of pound or so, made my day.

Then it occured to me that it was strange that no one from my school was in that conference. Not even anyone that I knew or seen before. All the sudden I felt the strong urge to take myself out. I forget how well I get along with myself all the time. So I took my trusted CD player and walked out on my drowsy roomate who is really so much more civil and educated than I was. I took myself over to the Rudder place thing again, found a good bench, and sat around experiencing the joy of music and freedom of thoughts. The water in the fountain bubbled and churned. Lights scattering and melting like food coloring in the water statue. The bright statue moved relentlessly, mocking the dim streetlights that populated meekly around the rumbling giant. The water was the color of the blood and heart, but I saw the color of her eyes- a dusty emerald green that spoke more than words can mean. I shook my head, and stared again. There were no green in the fountain, but it was in my head. Her long, dark chocolate hair hanging effortlessly down her shoulders. A reflection in the fountain, no, in my head.. but the fountain. It bubbled easily, leaving me with no explanation, no help. The giant was not laughing at the streetlights, he was laughing at me! Lonelines filled my pool of thoughts, exhausting, bubbling through the fogs in the uncertain atmosphere. Like the molten irons in the cauldron, it flew down the stream of my consciousness, pushing and eroding the banks of my ability to deal with this sudden outburst. It was hot and cold at the same time. Hot in my eyes, cold in my heart. Afraid of the possibilities, I rushed home, losing my way a few times, and went to sleep.

The day after the spiel was a normal day, nothing precarious or chaotic. More meetings left me with few chances to think, which I tried not too. Father could not pick me up from the station, so I needed to find a way home by myself. Thought about asking a friend, but I didn't know how to get in contact with them, and those temporary friends I made were mostly from Houston or takes too long to decide their courses. After I picked my classes in thirty minutes, I thought I would use the public transportation system to get me home.

I missed the first bus to take me to the greyhound station by just a few steps. My feet were hurting badly and my bag was heavy so I decided not to run for safety reasons. The bus only come once an hour, so I waited. The next bus came ahead of schedule, I got on it and made my way into downtown bryan. At the transfer station I had to wait, tried to read the newspaper, but most of the articles were not interesting enough ( I am not into politics or pop-culture). The new bus came and dropped me off at the greyhound station.

There was this mexican woman with her little kid in the station, and some other people. The little kid apparently thought I was "papa" (that's what he tried to call me), and tried to grab my CD player. I was too tired to do anything other than just sit there, I am not particularly found of little kids. The mother was apparently too tired to do anything either, she just sat there most of the time talking to herself, probably self pitying too.

There were a lot of empty seats on the hound, I set me up a real nice seat next to the window and tried to sleep. Instead, I found myself watching the uniform landscapes of the surrounding. The Aspalt river ran between the banks of trees. Utility poles occasionally rose above to scarecrow the green flock. Clouds bent and twists, writing the keys of the symphony on the grand staff of electricity and telephone wires. My places in the world, traveling around by my self, catching one bus after another. Loneliness. Loveliness. They interwined in my head, shooting at each other. Yet all I can think about is those green eyes that looked at me, wanting to tell me a story that I would pay anything to hear, but refused to even listen.

I know what a roamer feels like.
I know what it is like to be alone.
1 black eye| Throw a punch at me

Du Pont [11 Jun 2004|12:03am]
[ music | The Decemberists- Odalisque ]

Canada was quite a place eh?

Well, seeing that I am now a Canadien, so I thought it would be fun to learn some French. Those crazy languages, with the gurgling "r"s and silent consonant endings and "h"s that don't do anything. If you ask, my time in Canada was boring. Mother was against entertainment I think, she didn't bother to get a TV and get this, OR A COMPUTER. I was given 40 dollars to spend for 2 weeks, and since I had no automobile, I had to resort back to the lovely public transportation system that I have not been acquainted since those China days. It sparks memories, of those lovely times when I ran in futility after a departing bus, and the times that I was forced to donate my hard-earned seats to elderly ladies with shiny purses and walking sticks. Most of all, when I am standing in the middle of the floor, rubbing coat collars and shirt sleeves with anonymous white males and mysterious chinese men with beards, it brought me back to the days where I stood in the middle of a bus on a Beijing street, rubbing military uniforms with chalkboard-faced soldiers and mysterious chinese men with beards.

I lived in a decent neighborhood in northern Calgary, by decent I mean the bus stands are not covered with graffitis and the sidewalks are free of bums. There weren't a whole lot to do other than listening to radio, peruse a few books, and hop on the bus (after waiting for 20 minutes at the stops) and climb the closest hill I can find. I even tried to get a job, and actually got one, but it was offered to me 2 days before I was supposed to go back to the States, so draw your own conclusions on that one. The summer days in Calgary are exceedingly long, it does not get dark until well after 11 pm, and lights up at 5. It indeed messed up my daily routine very much, which involves sleeping at 2 and waking up at 11. It appeared that one does not sleep to 11 when the sun is shining in your face at 6 am (Yes, I have blinds, but that's beyond the point). So I toil in the bed as long as possible, usually losing the battle at 8 and get up for my morning job, which mostly involving running for about 3 miles then completely losing my breath in the cold, dry mountain air, walking at retirement-home speed, and collapsing on the pavement gasping for the french-scented air (the last part is very false).

It was an exiciting time, the Calgary Flames made it to the Stanley Cup finals. I, of course, became a Flames fan. Flames flags were flying on cars, windows ornated with signs chanting "GO FLAMES GO", people dressed in red acting like independence day, and beer flowing like the bow river. On game days, I went downtown to join the festivity (after waiting 20 minutes for a bus), and placed myself amonst the "C of Red" on 17th Avenue, which was the club street that leads to Saddledome, the stadium. It's quite the wild festivity, Girls Gone Wild were sighted on 17th Avenue, supposedly on the hunt for flashers. Unfortunately, I did not locate any. I heard they were inside the clubs, but I could never manage to squeeze myself into one of those clubs, this is one of those times where being Asian does not come to help. I tried to get into the dome on away games to watch jumbotrons (remember I had no TV), but they were filled, always filled. Then after about hearing the honking of horns and chants of "Go Flames Go", my feet usually get sore and knees start buckling, so I return to seek the refuge of the bus back home (after waiting for 20 minutes). It's too bad that they lost, I really thought they had it. Even though their talent level was not as good as Tampa Bay, I thought their hard work would get them through it, but apparently they lost some steam in the end... understandable. Go Flames Go.

At the risk of being too verbose, I will cut my Canada adventure short just for now. Maybe if I feel like it, we'll sit around a fire and some marshmellows in hand, and I'll bring out my guitar and finish the rest of this little diddy we got here. But now I will leave you with some interesting commericals on the Canadian airwave...

- TrueGreen Lawns (Landscaping product): "Hi, I am Peter Marr, and thanks to True Green, I am high on grass!"

- The Beds Depot (furniture store): "The Beds Depot, we are GREAT in bed"

- Canadian Legal Will kit: "Do you know that over 70 percent of Canadians DON'T have a Legal will?"

Okay, those crazy Canadiens.

Thanks for reading, byebye.

2 black eyes| Throw a punch at me

[24 May 2004|11:46pm]
[ music | Neutral Milk Hotel- Two-Headed Boy pt. two ]

It is said that a person's life can be paraphrased into one word

The hapless child swayed tumultuously, rocking with the click of the train's clumsy wheels. It was then that he made his first departures. No memories, no thoughts, just the fear as he burst into a cry without tears, only to be stopped by the milk bottle between his teeth. Little did he know as he slowly fell sleep to the murmurs of the passengers and the dimming light, departure would be his only constant for many years.

Music affect people in different ways.

A usually cold night for november in texas. No rain, no clouds, just a stubborn moon dictating the sky. The only light in the house was my computer screen, the only sound from the speakers- a wailing voice:

"All of them milking with green fleshy flowers
While powerful pistons were sugary sweet machines
Smelling of semen all under the garden
Was all you were needing when you still believed in me
Say what you want to say
And hang for your hollow ways
Moving your mouth to pull out all your miracle for me"

I sat frozen in the chair; my mind on overdrive. Did everything in life make sense? What am I missing?

"And I know they buried her body with others
Her sister and mother and 500 families
And will she remember me 50 years later
I wished I could save her in some sort of time machine"

I resisted, not wanting to give in, not wanting to see, but the voice persisted, floating across the depth, dissolving everything in its way. The premise of my stand crumbled. Who am I kidding, there must be an explanation.

Jeff Mangum's voice trembled upon a sea of unknown substance, feeling as if the voice would sink into the sea any moment, but it just barely, and desperately stays above.

"Goldaline my dear
We will fold and freeze together
Far away from here
There is sun and spring and green forever
But now we move to feel
For ourselves inside some stranger's stomach
Place your body here
Let your skin begin to blend itself with mine"

I couldn't take it anymore, and my hand moved toward the mouse to stop this madness, but it could not happen, and I know it. Just barely could I control myself, sitting there frozen in time and space. The air was dense, but it seemed that time slowed down, and a moment would last forever, and each strum of the guitar would be an eternity.

"Blister please with those wings in your spine
Love to be with a brother of mine
How he'd love to find your tongue in his teeth
In a struggle to find secret songs that you keep wrapped in boxes so tight
Sounding only at night as you sleep"

Every emotion I could think of rushed back to me at the same instant. I was overwhelmed, but it didn't bother me. It was overflowing, and drowning water rushing through me, but I float, on top of it all. Whatever it is, tears, triumph, confusion, desperation. It all reached a pinnacle, the summit.

"Two headed boy she is all you could need
She will feed you tomatoes and radio wires
And retire to sheets safe and clean
But don't hate her when she gets up to leave"

It ended, but it perisisted. Still sitting, I understood it all.

There is an end to any suffering and pain.
And it will be something different, something that takes a long time to comprehend.

"What a beautiful face
I have found in this place
That is circling all round the sun
And when we meet on a cloud
I'll be laughing out loud
I'll be laughing with everyone I see"

I will be laughing, just wait

"Can't believe how strange it is to be anything at all"

A roundabout way to say goodbye is "I'll be back".

I'll be back.

Throw a punch at me

[16 May 2004|09:19pm]
[ music | Xiu Xiu- Apistat Commander ]

Time for a real update!

So the past two weeks were the AP exams, which means one hour less sleep in the morning and one hour more in economics. Kaneps has been on the edge for the past couple of days, so has mrs Dunham. It amuses me to see teachers about to blow up from their own incompetence.

Let's see, BC Calc kicked me so hard, it left a boot print on my soul (whatever), I knew I ought to have studied more and did more intergration crap and co., but it didn't interest me, so the price i pay is probably a 2 on the AP. English was semi-easy, so we don't need to talk about that anymore. Chem is hard, on the essay part, mostly because of the mandatory electrochem essay and the fact that I know as much about electrochem as i know about Zanzibar and marsupials. Gov was a nightmare, i remembered vaguely studying for it the night before only to fall asleep at the chapter about congress and senate, i am sure the congressmen are SOOO much more interesting than that. Econ was easy, okay?

Graduation is next week, pretty darn cool. Then afterwards is Canada time for a couple of weeks. Got to find a job when i get back, wallet has just 10 dollars left, can't even afford the concert that I want to go to. Need to save up for lollapalooza, must see flaming lips and modest mouse. Plus there is the plea for peace tour with Cursive and co., so yeah to those.

Tomorrow i get to skip school to go to The Station instead, have to talk to some advisors about things about people, should be fun, then other stuff. Thursday have to go to that Scholarship banquet or luncheon, and saturday is graduation.

I will change.

Throw a punch at me

[09 May 2004|11:27pm]
What do I want to say?

I don't know what everything means, nor do I see anything past my next step. Maybe it's the cassette in the tape deck, spinning the inebriated moans of Tom Waits; maybe it's the whisper and the howls of the wind, crashing upon the last inches of my rolled-down window. No, it's not disappointment, which requires regret and long, heavy sighs of resignation. No, it's not lonliness, that comes with the desire to have company or be with someone. It's not uncertainty- the shade of gray between fear and guilt. It is indifference.

It's much worse than I thought
3 black eyes| Throw a punch at me

[21 Apr 2004|10:16pm]

Loud shrieks of "cuckoo-cuckoo" woke Joseph Hastings from his deep stupor. He remembered that he has been delirious with sickness, but it didn't bother him. He enjoyed the fictional world that he created in his semi-conscious state of mind, it was pleasant, almost too pleasant for the fall from the world of his imagination to the world in which he sleeps when his eyelids flutter open, helpless against the cyclical flows of nature. The cuckoos rang in his ears again, as he closed his eyes, revolting against the orders from high above on the wall. It was a maroon-red clock left to him from his father- the only thing left to him. It has been in his family for generations, an original Bavarian Meisterwerk, the fading paint and the cuckoo birds on their tracks spoke the reminder of the ebbing time impeccably. Joseph despised this clock, but it was one of the very few things that he cared for in the world.

The July sky draped high like a curtain, with the occasional ornamentations of clouds wrecking its perfection. It converged upon a point on the vertex, forming a dome around the entire world, and the bricklike buildings of Jarvis University.

Joseph Hastings walked among a crowd of new students; he was not very tall, and his bony tan face absorbed all sunlight, yet he stood out in the crowd. He did not follow the fingers of the upperclassmen, directing the minds of the curious tourists from window to window, from wall to wall. He looked up in the sky, and wondered why he never seemed to like it. It puzzled him, because it always seemed to trouble him in ways he could not explain or understand. The mob started to move again. Joseph shrugged, and flowed deeper into the sea.
Throw a punch at me

[11 Apr 2004|01:07am]
Garrick Windroff sat in his bed.
The balcony door of his room flew open, and the white curtains danced in the wind, scattering the rays of the moonlight that blinked upon the floor. Stacks of paper levitated and fell down to earth after their brief flights. One flew upon Garrick's legs. It crumpled thoughtlessly into his hands, and was launched into the night sky. Everything in the room moved, except for a body, glued to the earth like a monolith. It seemed to hold everything together, and the room, amidst its chaos, was a photograph, a second of time frozen by deep gazes from the grey eyes fixed upon a spot on the floor.

Garrick Windroff stood up, and smiled.

It was not a smile of joy, nor was it a smile of regret, but more of a smile of mockery. It did not animate the room, nor did it thaw the world from its shadowy silence. A breeze of the chilled November air rushed into the room and Garrick walked onto the balcony and looked down. The sign of Hemble's Donuts still swirled in a red circle, and a dry cleaner's sign buzzed on and off. His eyes stopped at a peculiar spot beside the street, where a billboard of Gerald's grenadine stood; its red color faded from rain and snow, and the bottle was covered with graffiti. He turned around and walked into the room and the doors closed behind him with a whisper. The hate has begun.
1 black eye| Throw a punch at me

[06 Apr 2004|11:51pm]
[ mood | tired ]
[ music | Grandaddy- Underneath the Weeping Willow ]

Let it ring, let it roar.

"Adversity is a motivation"
I don't buy that, especially when there are multiple.

Graduation is not far around the corner, I'd like to thank myself for not working hard enough in school to get enough money, and I'd like to thank my parents for changing their minds about giving me money for college. I regret that I didn't start begging for money earlier. I hate it that I always talk about money.

This past week was hell, simutaneously doing 5 scholarship essay at the same time and having to read about 2000 pages of book to cover that, I declare that I am tired of this, but for what? I still have to do more and more anyway. Often it takes me deep into the heart of the night. When the clock strikes two, I, still with my brows contracted, eyes squinted, fingers hurting from attacking the keyboards, probed deep into my empty head in quest for those few educated-sounding words. It is not well, I haven't gotten to talk to anyone wholeheartedly for a while, my mind always seem to wonder from that gay man Dorian Gray to the unreal Howard Roark to trying to boast myself to chemistry equations, with the vivid sounds my parents haranguing me in the background beyond my broken door. I am imprisoned in my own literary nightmare, by nothing but reappearing letters flashing upon the blank screen, meaningless, lifeless, senseless. Now I just have The Fountainhead (which by the way is a very good book) and Dorian Gray essay to do. Joy? No. I am starting to realize other things. I forgot to put reference names on scholarship apps, forgot to write achievements and excurriculars, mispellings in essays. All of this stuff adds up, together without enough sleep. I want to have some fun dammit, but it's hard to have fun when you have the entire burden of college tuition hanging upon your shoulders.

Mother is leaving for Canada tomorrow, maybe I am glad, who knows. I am not sure what I want anymore. I'll go to Canada as soon as graduation happens, stay there for a week or two, then come back. I'll be alone for about a week or two then father might come back until dorm opens. I don't know. I am not thinking about summer. Only two things are sure- 1. I need a job. 2- I need to relax. Maybe bash a few things and pass out a few times, that'll get me to forget all the problems. I am disheartened.

Maybe someday everything will be different, maybe when i get those scholarships I will feel better. I don't like it when I am living a life entirely devoted to materialism, but if I want to go to college, that's what I'll have to do. If you have extra money and/or are rich, feel free to donate some for a good cause. Every asian kid needs college, you know.

There must be more to life than waiting, I have to do something.
But not too soon, not too soon at all.

For those of you noticed that I am a bit less vocal than usual (if that can happen), there is another reason, but don't worry. I'll be okay soon. Not like you would care anyway.

Go to sleep.

Throw a punch at me

[02 Apr 2004|12:25am]
I like to look in the mirror and remember what I felt like exactly a year ago, at this time, at this hour. When yet another page of life is flipped and disintergrated into nothing but ashes of memory, what does it feel like. It's unique, a slightly bitter brew that lingers upon your tongue for hours. What is feeling? Emotion? Are they above reason and thought? Are they really necessary, or are they just an excuse to disguise what a person really is. We say a person is sentimental, or sensitive. What does that really mean? Each person's own definition is different, but the process is repeated so many times that there is no longer a definition, only a law, and it does nothing but limit and restrict.
Throw a punch at me

[18 Mar 2004|11:22pm]
I finished Cat's Cradle.

There are two ways to look at life.

Either everything has a purpose

or nothing has a purpose.

It's just a matter of how you look at it.
2 black eyes| Throw a punch at me

[16 Mar 2004|11:50pm]
[ music | Death Cab for Cutie- Expo '86 ]

So with all this talk about politics and economy around us, I have remained fairly tight-lipped about these stuff, but here I will share my (really long) two cents:

So now this country seemed to be facing the following issues: Economy and the War. Everyone seem to have something different to talk about Bush, and others even accuse the US of attempting world domination, but I think there is something else that we are not getting, something more important.

Our country pride ourselves of being democratic, free, and humanistic. People makes all the decisions, people make all the choices, and pratically everything that's done nowadays is aimed to please one group of people or another, but somehow i think there is a misunderstanding somewhere in this system. There are some things that the politicians failed to understand in evaluating the people's wants and desires. This is present in the economic sector. The prosperous 90s acted somewhat like a tranquilizer that put people under the false dome of invunerability. We thought that the richness would last forever, but of course it couldn't. The business cycle hit us unprepared, so the economy was badly hurt, not so much as physically than psychologically. We we now afraid, afraid of doing things that we would normally do, even though we are now technically in an expanding economy, many of the people in the labor force have never tasted a recession, so they don't know how to feel except for panick. Those with jobs clasps to their job desperately with fervor, and companies refuse to invest. We are losing a lot of the jobs not only because of the lay-offs, but because the people with jobs are refusing to leave them, so there is no job fluidity within the economy. The job market is sorta like musical chairs, different people get chances to sit (have job), and the one guy without a chair will eventually get a job if everyone keeps moving along, but in our economy right now, nobody is moving, so the one guy without a chair is always without a chair. That's why it looks so bad right now.

I think Bush is trying to do the right thing to stimulate the economy, we is cutting taxes, increasing spending and all, but it doesn't seem to be doing anything. Why? I believe the reason lies in the psychological nature of economy. Although these rules of economics are laws, they are still applied on people, and people must respond to them in order for the policies to work, it is not automatic as many people thinks, everything the government tries to do, the consumers MUST cooperate. Bush's problems is that we are so scared that everyone is hanging on to what they have, so even though we have more money from the tax cut, we are not spending it as the policy supposed us to, and even though there is a bigger pool of money from the government spendings, we are not using the money fast enough (money velocity is not fast enough) for the spending to have any kind of drastic effect on the economy. The first and foremost thing for the president of 2005-2008, whoever he may be, is to somehow get people away from thinking so conservatively and get them to spend money, invest, quit jobs to search for better ones. We must feel the confidence to be able to do what we did in the 90s.

One way to increase public confidence is through war, and I think Operation Enduring Freedom in Afghanistan did this. Everyone was pumped out and all patriotic, really to do what the government suggested. IF the government has taken advantage of that high spirit to act and switch our focus to economy, we would probably be much much better than what we are in today, but Bush made his mistake here, he started the War on Iraq.

The Afghanistan war got us out of thinking about the bad times to be more patriotic, and the psychological barrier was lifted, but just when we are prepared to be optimistic about the economy again, the government focused too much attention on preventing further terrorism. They made is sound so bad that we had something else to worry about, our safety. The War on Iraq was even worse, as it completely distracted us from focusing on the economy, so instead, we are now on another war. War brings war discontent, and the discontent is what is hurting the economy right now. People feel uncertain about the government's actions, so they are relunctant to be more free about their economic decisions. They have concerns, and when people are worrried, they don't tend to want too much change and are generally not very adventurous.

However, I am not denoucing the war itself, just the timing of it, it just disrupted a very good looking economic recovery. Bush did not make the wrong choices, because I think sooner or later we will have to fighter Iraq anyway, but he picked the wrong time, much like his timing with the tax cuts. No, Bush is not stupid, the only real stupid president is Warren G. Harding. Bush just have bad timing, maybe it's because he was from texas, where time doesn't usually matter.

Anything the government wants to do we must approve, and we are not approving it right now.

2 black eyes| Throw a punch at me

[14 Mar 2004|11:37pm]
[ music | some Iron & Wine stuff ]

So that was spring break, the reveries has passed, now it's time for serious meditation and reflection. yes.

It was uneventful as it usually is, but it was tremendously welcomed. There simply isn't enough weeks where waking up after noon is the status quo. I was feeling really tired and jaded for the entire week, after the acdec and all the make-up work that followed it, it was a good time for a chang... but no, I had to "help" my parents to move to the new apartment complex. Since they are moving to Canada after school is over, we needed a place with a shorter lease.. etc etc. Well it turns out that they didn't want to pay for a moving company, so I became the laborer. I tried to get a couple of friends to help but father haphazardly scowled at me, so I took that as a no. The move itself wasn't too difficult, just mindless physical labor. Friday night I took all of my stuff over, which isn't much (books, a keyboard, guitar), and slept over in the new place, the building next door played loud mexican music all night long, so conviniently I didn't sleep very much, just to find that the dishwasher leaked water, the oven and stove didn't work, and the microwave does not heat anything. So there I was, alone in a new apartment, surrounded by broken appliances national forest, and serenaded by accordions and fiddles streaming from the mysterious white window across the lawn.

Saturday was the formal "move", father and I hauled all the heavy stuff from the second-story room down to the Uhaul, and mother pointed out constantly what we were doing wrong. Accused us of not using our heads. I don't know about you, but I personally find it difficult to think logically towing around sofas and tables. She didn't care, of course. So all the stuff got there in near mint condition, and Sunday and Monday were dedicated to arranging, again with mother telling me what I was doing wrong.

The rest of the week was rather uneventful, just some spending some quality time with friends, basketball, football, etc.

Friday night I went to the Grandaddy/Saves the Day/Fire Theft/Dios show over at Granada theatre. Being the disorganized person that I am, of course I did not buy tickets in advance. Drove over at about 6:30, bought the overpriced tickets ($22.50!), lined up, got my hand marked, and went in, got a place where we could sit, and waited.

8 o'clock Dios the opening act came on, they were suprisingly good, a mixture of acoustic things and heavier rock, but it was a nice mix, plus they did a cover for "where is my mind", but most of the people were just coming in or talking, so people generally did not pay too much attention. Fire Theft came on next, there were a good numbers of fire theft fans among us. They played a fairly short set, it was good, not spectacular, but good, then the venue started to get packed. A LOT of Saves the Day kids came in, apparently just for the one band, and i am proud to say that the band sucked, horribly. All they ever did was sound like a bunch of tired pop-punk kids and swayed around and sounded the same for every song. I may have slept through that set, but after they finished, 1/3 of the room left before Grandaddy even came on, what a waste. They were really good, not breathtaking, but very very good. The video was awesome as well, the crowd was really into it, and the band was rather pleased with the audience reaction it seemed. They played mostly newer stuff and basically straight off the album. I was disappointed that they didn't do more stuff from Wester Freeway and Sophtware Slump, but it was still good nevertheless. Overall a wonderful show, except for Saves the Gay, and lousy adults that debated about home decor.

Saturday I got myself a laptop, which should be good for college and beyond, took a stroll at night in the rain, it felt good.

It's back to school again tomorrow, I didn't really do a whole lot constructive, read a couple of books, that was about it.

oh well, it's not like it matters anymore.

Goodbye my fellow denizens of the night.

Throw a punch at me

[12 Mar 2004|02:20am]
[ music | Grandaddy- Yeah is what we got ]

Due to popular demand:

I waited in the car as my mom waited in the bank with a line as long as the one at the post office on April the 15th. As I fiddled with the radio tuner, an old car backed in front of me and stopped. Its painful roar ceased as that pair of red eyes lost their shine, and an old gentleman stepped out of the car. He was well dressed, with a flawless suit and detective hat, just a pipe away from a Sherlock Holmes. Then all the sudden, I fancied that I saw the wheels of the car move. How peculiar, the wheels of a parked car moved. Finally, it hit me. Maybe it wasn't really parked, and my faced contorted into a clown's face as the Cadillac started to roll backward. It was quite a suspenseful sequence, as the car slammed into mine with the amazing speed of a turtle and gave out a very soft whimper at the point of impact. An equally slow and painful "ugh" escaped from my lips. Anxiety crept upon me, and I panicked, as any teenager would do at that point. What am I going to do now?
The gentleman turned and beheld this disaster. He made a clownish face not dissimilar to my own and walked toward my car. I got out and tried to tough, but my heart was a hornet's nest. If I don't get out of this jam, my mother will kill me! I have to somehow get her to? "I'm Sorry", the man frowned as he broke my strain of thought, "Are you okay?"
That question triggered something inside, and memories flowed back to me like a terrible story.
It was the week after I've gotten my driver's license. I was going through one of those "look, I can drive!" phase, and decided that I wasn't cool enough unless I drove like James Bond every time my foot stepped on the accelerator. My dad and I just finished playing tennis, and as I pulled out of the parking lot, I decided to do a 90-degree backlash spin, although my father was sitting next to me and a man was getting into the car behind us. Sure enough, I was distracted and rammed right into that car's back bumper. I've hit a parked car. "I've done it, now that guy is going to call the police and then we'll have to pay for the damage and my dad will take away my car and?" I quickly got out of the car, and so did the victim of my mischief. He inspected the accident and looked at me. A faint smile surfaced upon his face, "Are you okay? My car is fine, so you can go. Just be more careful next time." I was completely caught off guard at his benevolence; I didn't know what to say as my dad thanked him, shoved me into the passenger's seat and drove off quickly.
"Are you okay? I am really sorry. I didn't set the parking brake on" The old gentleman awoke me from my reverie. "Oh I am fine!" That was my chance, and I knew it. "It's okay sir, my car is fine, don't worry about it." He looked at me somewhat bewildered, but then a smile surfaced upon his face. "Why thank you", he said, "Thank you very much." His face blossomed into a daisy, and he re-parked his car.
I didn't tell my mom the real story at all, but instead told her that I tapped a post when she saw the scratch marks weeks later. She took away my car for a week for being inconsiderate, but I didn't mind. Come to think about it, it was rather funny. How many of us have been hit by a parked car anyway?
Then it occurred to me. This was just what our turbulent and conflicting world needed right now, a little bit of forgiveness and compassion from all of us.

Throw a punch at me

[04 Mar 2004|12:30am]
[ music | The Flaming Lips - The Gash ]

Three notes to self:
1) Never leave all the calc hw to one night
2) Never actually try to do the calc hw when you have all 14-night worth of it to do
3) Alcohol is not a good idea while doing calc hw

Thus I will begin, taking a break from doing all of the calculus homework (14 nights worth of them) to bring you up to date to the wonderful conditions of my life.

Acdec is over, I sucked to state plainly. Did not meet my goal of 8300, and did horrible on Super quiz, Lewis and Clark should die, oh wait, they are dead.

Father got really mad at me for not winning it, so I am "grounded" for spring break, since I am "grounded' so often and I don't really know what it means anymore, I'll just do whatever, they can rage and fume about it all they want, I can care less. Then problem is however, in the money, since my parents have decided to provide only limited financial support for college (around $3000), I would have to get about 10 grand a year from scholarships and grants and stuff like that, i am 1/4 way there, and that means I would have to apply for another insurance school incase I can't afford UT or A&M, and as much as I hate to say it, I am applying to UTD, as an insurance policy.

I have the strong desire not to stay home during spring break and go out and do something, but I don't know what, maybe I'll get someone to come to the movies or a concert with me, since it's been such a along time since I have enjoyed the simple pleasures of life, it's just work work work, and ends up for nothing.

Now I am on song 88 of the 150 song list, 5 hours ago I smarted calculus, then I am 3 sections away. I think I should go back to do it, but really I don't want to. Somehow i got the highest score on AMC than anyone else in the school, so I am thinking god must be blessing me in these few days, so maybe if i just leave the homework on the table, it might complete itself... Let's see if it works...

It's beginning to rain outside, and the poetic side of me is surging forward, not a good thing when you have to do calculus, then finish filling out scholarships, don't want to get creative there.

Don't feel like writing anymore, so I'll leave you with another lyric, pretty soon I'll put one of my own up here but for now you'll have to deal with this

Have fun

After all these implements and texts designed by intellects
we're vexed to find evidently there's still so much that hids
and though the saints dub us divine in ancient fading lines
their sentiment is just as hard to pluck from the vine.

I'll try hard not to pretend
allow myself no mock defense
as I step into the night.

Since I don't have the time nor mind to figure out
the nursery rhymes that helped us out in making sense of our lives
the cruel, uneventful state of apathy released me
I value them but I won't cry every time one's wiped out.

I'll try hard not to give in
batten down to fare the wind
rid my head of this pretense
allow myself no mock defense
as I step into the night...

Mercy's eyes are blue
and when she places them in front of you
nothing holds a roman candle to
the solemn warmth you feel.

There's no measuring of it as nothing else is love.

I'll try hard not to give in
batten down to fare the wind
rid my head of this pretense
allow myself no mock defense
as I step into the night..

Night everyone

Throw a punch at me

[25 Feb 2004|12:09am]
[ music | Modest mouse stuff ]

Well, instead of studying like I should be doing right now, I've decided to waste about an hour of my time to write this, so I hope you hate it as much as I do

So this is the night before San Antonio, the weekend to determine if all of those hard work would pay off, in the form of the greens, of course. Well, partly because I can't sit still right now, having a case of the ADD and beer syndrome all mixed together. Of course then, this is pretty damn important, since I really don't want to see my month of staying up until 2 reading about plant hormones go to waste completely, that would be fucking tragic. You know for once I want to beat those fucking smartasses for once, those valedictorians and Indian dudes mumbling how he got a perfect score on the SAT. I know I am not the smartest guy in the world (not even close), and I usually don't give a damn about school, but heck, maybe just for once I'll be better than them. I have never won anything in a State level competition before, maybe this will be the time that something different happens.

Other than that, I am going to have as much fun as possible, you don't get to be away that often... well, at least not for another, say, 4 month of so. We'll have basketball fun and film our behind the stage (or in this case behind the 17-inch binders) movie, provided that Ming finds a blank tape. I thought about bringing a musical instrument, but pretty sure I'll just screwed on the plane somewhere, so I didn't.

Now it rained all day today, which makes me happy. Most people see rain as really gloomy and dark and forboding and so on, but the rain brings out something in me, it makes me feel more like a real person, not just a projection of something that others want me to become. The light drizzle taps the ground so gently, making a rhapsody of notes, bending and flying above the clouds. It's refreshing how it washes the debris from the air just to make the sunshine of the next day brighter and lovlier.

So that didn't take an hour, oh well. I guess I'll have to find other ways to waste the night away. Good luck kids, I'll leave you with this:

What a beautiful face I have found in this place
That is circling all round the sun,
What a beautiful dream that could flash
on the screen in a blink of an eye
and be gone from me soft and sweet
Let me hold it close and keep it here with me.

And one day we will die and our ashes will
fly from the aeroplane over the sea,
But for now we are young let us lay in the sun,
And count every beautiful thing we can see,
Love to be in the arms of all I?m keeping here with me.

What a curious life we have found here tonight,
There is music that sounds from the street,
There are lights in the clouds,
Anna?s ghost all around
Hear her voice as it?s rolling and ringing through me,
Soft and sweet
How the notes all bend and reach above the trees.

Now how I remember you,
How I would push my fingers through your
mouth to make those muscles move
That made your voice so smooth and sweet,
And now we keep where we don?t know
All secrets sleep in winter clothes
With one you loved so long ago now he don?t even know his name.

What a beautiful face I have found in this place
that is circling all round the sun
When we meet on a cloud I?ll be laughing out loud,
I?ll be laughing with everyone I see,
Can?t believe how strange it is to be anything at all.

3 black eyes| Throw a punch at me

I am not rich. [23 Feb 2004|01:31am]
[ music | Xiu Xiu- Apistat ]

I was bored:

You're The Great Gatsby!

by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Having grown up in immense wealth and privilege, the world is truly at
your doorstep. Instead of reveling in this life of luxury, however, you spend most of
your time mooning over a failed romance. The object of your affection is all but
worthless--a frivolous liar--but it matters not to you. You can paint any image of the
past you want and make it seem real. If you were a color of fishing boat light, you
would be green.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Yeah, but I am not rich, not at all.
Throw a punch at me

[ viewing | most recent entries ]
[ go | earlier ]