It’s been six years since I started this blog. At eighteen, “ironically” (as the most truthful things are) starting a Teenage Angst™ blog while I could still call it that- sarcastic and starting to realize there was a cost to being “So mature!”
Unwittingly drawn to the poster child persona that so many of us from more unsual backgrounds or unconvential upbringings feel obligated to, so caught up in the ways we were better, more capable, than our age-peers.
When every introduction leads to you being quizzed on your scholastic skills, you learn to finesse your replies.
“No, I’m not lonely.”
“I have a lot of friends, in fact. Last I counted was around 120”
“I find I have a more diverse friend group than most, for example, I am currently apprentenced to Dr. H., who is a dear friend.”
“Admittedly, my math skills are sub-par, but I can make a bow, my English is impeccable, and I’ve consistantly placed in national competitions in the United States- Not many my age could say the same”
It was a long time before I let myself be. And then it all sort of slid out, wrapped in three layers of irony and earnest sarcasm.
And so, lamenting an end to the age of “Teen Angst” write offs, I started a blog to be as extra and venty as possible, to catch up on lost time. (This would spill over into a side tumblr blog as well.)
It’s been an interesting journey, and I’m glad I took it. Turns out “welcome to my twisted mind” isn’t a cliché for nothing. (In fact, I even released an album by that very name last year!)
Along the way I’ve learned a lot about myself that I perhaps didn’t want to when I started. I learned that if I had stopped trying to distance myself from others, I would have found a lot more common ground than I’d thought.
I learned that you don’t need a big reason for people to not work out. I’ve learned that sometimes even people who love you will forget about you and it’s no one’s fault.
I’ve also learned that I really, really like MCR, and that they broke up years ago. ^_^
And now? I’m in a strange and unfamiliar part of a country I never thought I’d call home. Living thousands of miles from anyone that ever knew me through my formative years, or spent any real ammount of time with. I’m standing on the brink of so many things, in a place where no one ever knew me, surrounding myself with people who I hope will know me, and hoping I can make this life with something.
It’s funny- I’ve always felt I was doing fine, but looking back, it was never quite so. But now? I feel like I’m OK. Maybe in the future I’ll look back and laugh, but for now, “OK” is miles better than it was two, four, six years ago.
If I can let go of who I was, maybe I can be who I want to be.
And on that note, goodbye.
((Wherein I copied bits of writing))
A expanding selection from here and there.
“One sticks one’s finger into the soil to tell by the smell in what land one is: I stick my finger in existence — it smells of nothing.
Where am I? Who am I? How came I here?
What is this thing called the world? What does this world mean?
Who is it that has lured me into the world?”
“The masters all painted baskets of fruit, Why? What is it about fruit, That demanded such passionate expression?
Was there a lucrative market of fruit lovers to exploit?
Personally, Fruit doesn’t bake my cake, if you know what I mean.
Now naked babes in the grass, That I can understand, But apples on a dish? What is it they’re trying to say?
Do they tempt us like Eve,
“Buy the apple painting, Maude, big, delicious, juicy, red apples on a porcelain white dish. Buy it, buy it, buy me,”
Whisper the artist’s serpent strokes.
Or maybe It was some deep psychological need – That compelled the depiction of fruit.
There they sit, Inert, In a bowl, or basket or dish.
The artist as pear.
Brimming life immobile. Contained within-
A precious seed Waiting…”
-Kaitlyn Paige Nakamura **, https://joindiaspora.com/posts/1126777
“to me, knitting is exactly like sex.
I can only do it for myself, or someone I hold very dear, and only out of love.
I would never think of doing it for money”
((Last revised: August, 2012))
Made In Paris 2
Pretty much my favorite Breakin’ video
The Prince’s Tale: The bitter tale of Severus Snape.
ALL MY WHAT.
I was thinking that I should start writing here again, and after reading through some of my old posts, found a few old drafts that I’m hoping to wrap up soon. Year old posts about to leave limbo! I’ve changed quite a bit since then, but will finish them in the spirit that each one was started. After that…. NEW CONTENT??????
Today is the first day of the sixteenth incarnation of National Novel Writing Month.
By now everyone on the internet has chosen sides of either “You should totally write a novel! Anyone can do it!” or “Writing a novel is impossible magic and implying that anyone can do it, especially in the space of 30 days, is tantamount to pissing on the literary greats.”
Fuck that. Fuck everyone on both sides of that. Because the truth is that you won’t end NaNoWriMo with a novel, you’ll end it (if we’re being optimistic) with the first draft of a novel. If you want an entire nooovvelll, well… there’s a lot more work you’re going to have to put into it beyond forcing out that first chaotic attempt.
If you’re doing NaNoWriMo because you’ve always wanted to write a novel and/or you have a story you need to tell and/or you’re going through (or have been through)…
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It’s been a while, hasent it?
Well, I’ve had a few drafts kicking around, but nothing got finished.
One of them has been chilling for over a month now, and I’ve kinda forgot my first intent with it.
I guess I’ll post it anyway soon. Just a few thoughts on fire.
I’m a bit of a writer, that is to say I write occasionally, but I rarely think it merits reading; I take my pleasure in the act of writing, be it ink on paper or the keyboard.
Having given story writing a try (NaNoWriMo), I realized it’s rather pointless for me to sit down and write seriously a story I love.
I read a lot. I love reading. Kids used to say I’d end up marrying one and drilling a hole in it so I could fuck it. I pointed out that it’d ruin the book.
But I read subjectively, that is to say, I follow the tale. Good writing is less noise between me and the story. Good writing gives me the chills, makes my hair stand on end. It can raise my heartbeat, cause my muscles to tense. But it’s not immediately noticeable.
I don’t think “The prose is delivered finely”, nor do I always understand why it is good writing. Hell, I had to look up “Prose” to be sure it what exactly it meant. I don’t understand, I don’t have a feel for the structure.
It’s like I see a website and I don’t know how it’s coded, I don’t know exactly what it is, but it clicks, and I think “this is the froodiest webpage to grace my brain-juices.”
So the result of all this is I end up writing a load or drivel where nothing happens.
Because, maybe I have an idea. A vivid dream.
Okay, maybe there’s a girl. She’s magic. She doesn’t know it yet And there’s a talking cat, also magic.
Maybe she runs through a back yard, when Bam! twilight zone time and she’s offered tea and cakes by magic people who will mentor her. And….
Well, therein lies the rub. She’s all set up good and I’ll drag it out because I don’t want bad things to happen to them.
I don’t have an epic quest, or a wyrd to seek. I’ll write to a point and I’ll be too comfortable to leave.
I don’t want them to suffer, or I don’t know how to translate the images I have into words and… well, Drivel.
But I have a plan.
I will write something that cannot be taken seriously. One of those so-bad-it’s-good bits. and I’ll take care to keep it bad. Because the only thing worse then shitty fanfiction is mediocre fanfiction.
Which is what I plan to write. Fanfiction. Fanfiction of fanfiction. The infamous My Immortal, to be exact.
Suffice to say, it’ll be an Ebony/Britany pairing (She is bi, remember?), I’ll explore the pasts (all dark and tortured, of course) of Hairgrid’s forbidden longings, why Vampire Potter fell for a prep, Brittany’s twisted upbringing, Dumbydore’s repressed life and more.
And now, I leave you with this. I found it when google auto-completed ‘Draco’ with ‘bonsoir. it is i draco malfoy. your lover’
Starts at 3:59
So, let’s see, there was:
That Time My Parents Almost Got Legally Divorced
Driving Lessons: Perceptions Vs. Reality, and other misconceptions
How much my work is awesome
English usage in Taiwan
How I Accidentally Asked A Girl To Buy Me An Adult Novel At Fifteen (Or sixteen?)
Courage Wolf and Spiritual Beliefs
How My Friend’s Love of Step Up Caused Me To Discover The Funk