So I’m not a writer. Point taken.
April 7, 2010Earcandy: Going Going Gone | Stars [ever feel like a song is talking directly to you? I’m turning 19, but how can that be? ]
Mood: unshakeable malaise
You want to be a writer? If it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it. Unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don’t do it. If you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your typewriter searching for words, don’t do it. If you’re doing it for money or fame, don’t do it. If you’re doing it because you want women in your bed, don’t do it. If you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don’t do it. If it’s hard work just thinking about it, don’t do it. If you have to wait for it to roar out of you, wait patiently. If it never does roar out of you, do something else. If you first have to read it to your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your parents or to anybody at all, you’re not ready. Don’t be like so many writers, don’t be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers, don’t be dull, boring and pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-love. The libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. Don’t add to that. Don’t do it. Unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness, suicide or murder, don’t do it. Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it. When it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. There’s no other way. And there never was.
- Charles Bukowski
Very… inspiring? T_T
My prognosis is grim.
Me: Unless nothing, absolutely nothing comes out of your soul even when you’re high on drugs to evoke the muse, DON’T DO IT.
Ah, fuck it. Let’s go party instead.
Happy Birthday to an imouto and a sempai!
April 5, 2010[God, why the fuck do I have to blog everytime before I go out? Do I post because I’m scared it might be my last trace on earth? Fair reason, since night out after night out I get worse and worse. My face gets shittier than shitfaced, I puke out more than my one-meal a day, and DUIs are piling up. Thanks, Daddy for saving my arse using your underhanded methods so I can go home and get stoned, listening to Tom’s Diner. Feeling infinite. Frankly I’m not afraid of dying, but I do hope I die feeling as stellar as this.]
Pre-party:
2:30PM - shop for outift
4:30PM - meet up with bitches at spa
6:00PM - have a bottle for a kickstart
6:30PM - dress up
9:00PM - BLOG. Yes, it takes me that long to dress up.
10:30PM - pick up bitches who take longer than I do to dress up
11:30PM - arrive at the club.
12:30PM - drink 20 shots for the friend who’s turning 20. And pray to God I don’t die.
4:00AM - driving home. That is, if I don’t die.
Listening to: Let the Bass Kick | DJ Chuckie (original mix)
Want instant party atmosphere? Listen to that track and get stoned, then drop Daft Punk’s One More Time. Meanwhile I go poison myself yet again.
Arrivederci.
Blog before the party.
April 2, 2010Things that made me laugh this week:
Prejudice,
“I’ll have a pack of Marlboros please,” Ash said tipsily to the young Filipino guy behind the counter. We were on our way from a party to another one at Brian’s house and we stopped by a convenience store. Nicki and Cassie were wrapped up in a drunken jackassery of taking crazy-angle pictures with the innocent counter boy. He was torn between grinning toothily at Nicki’s cameraphone and addressing Ash’s question and giving her a puzzled look. His resulting expression made him look like he was suffering from a toothache.
“Ah, saan ba dito–ay, teka.. ” he scratched his head and laughed sheepishly. He placed black, red, green, gold and blue Marly packs on the counter and said to Ash, “What you like, Miss? What your preference?”
“She prefers girls! Sorry dude!” I said and we giggled like drunken loons.
The counter boy handed Ash the reds. Ash smacked him on the face.
Be polite,
Across the lawn my 6-year-old brother Gian was teaching our golden Lab how to sit by sitting on the poor dog and yelling commands like “Zuo! Sit!” but Zack merely collapsed on the grass under my little brother’s weight with a huff. Gian took a piece of meat from the patio and used it to lure Zack into sitting up. After Zack would get up, Gian would coax him into sitting on command again with a chorus of “Zuo! Zuo! Zuo, bai chi!” as if the dog understood Chinese. After several repeated efforts, Gian plopped on his butt on the grass facing the dog and said resignedly, “Qing zuo, Zackie-boy.”
The dog finally sat down and wagged his tail.
Qing zuo = please have a seat.
Way to be optimistic,
“Ohmigod I’m pregnant! Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod!”
“Babe, calm down. I’m sure it’s nothing–”
“Fuck you! Shut the fuck up, you did this!”
“I know, and I’m not leaving you okay? I’m not–”
“My mum’s going to fucking kill me! I’m fucking–”
“Get a grip Samantha!” I interrupted her. Samantha was drunk and her boyfriend was having a hell of a time calming her down. Our little house party was going fine until Samantha guzzled down shot after shot of tequila telling us that she was “trying to kill it”. We were wondering what she meant until she finally burst out that she was supposedly pregnant.
“Are you absolutely sure? Did you test yourself?” I asked her. She was slumped against her chair sobbing hiccups and shook her head at me.
After rolling her eyes, Ash stood up from her seat and sighed, “You’re worrying over nothing. Stop crying, I’ll get you a test.” Ash went to her parents’ bedroom and came back with a pregnancy test. She handed it to Samantha who stood up. She held it in her hand and stared at it then fainted.
Everybody was on her in an instant, trying to wake her up. I grabbed the pregnancy test that had fallen to the floor. All over the packaging were pictures of babies.
You know it’s a party when,
I wasn’t really in the mood to go out. Everyone was at a superclub’s re-opening and I was still in dishabille in bed. I texted one of my friends who told me only 30 minutes ago that she had just arrived at the club.
Me: How’s the party?
Lex: idss frkcng cookn asewme
Me: i’m going right now
Don’t tell mum…
|
Blood makes me nauseous.
I dislike relationships wherein I feel tied down.
I guess what I hate in a dispassionate state are apparently what I like in a… state of passion.
grain of truth
March 31, 2010her face was narrow like a grain of rice, so that I couldn’t help thinking that one day she too would be thrown into the pot just as I had been, and would fluff up white and delicious, to be consumed.
- Sayuri/Chiyo p. 280 Memoirs of a Geisha
Such a beautiful novel… it’s a shame that there happens to be a lot of bullshit in it too.
