विज्ज़र्द ऑफ़ something

Tomorrow is your last tomorrow. The time it will take the sun to blossom out of the eastern horizon, arch, and dip down into the western waters is all the time you have. Where do you spend it? with who?doing what? why? Does your behavior change? do your actions? what would happen if you lived everyday like that? I've always heard that religious epiphany or dependence arises in the face of extreme hardship or near-death instances. Understandable- if one has no control how nice would it feel to be taken care of ( by god pressumably), right?
Growing up is the worst. When i was a kid, I was convinced that i was a prophet. I never told anyone because as much as i held it to be as true as 2+2=4, i realized it sounded far-fetched. Now I get it. I'm not a prophet, im a person. A person in a group of people, lined up on an infinite vector extending into the past and future and i just happen to be a point in the present. I wish i was a prophet.
I guess i wish a lot of things.
First and foremost, I want to be babysat again.
Independence is my strong suit, but it would be so, so nice to have a vacation from looking out for myself, especially in a stage where my usual steadfast confidence in by capability to do so is clouded. I make stupid decisions when my head is this foggy. A barred crib is not what I'm after, maybe just the security blankie and bottle would do. I'm feeling suffocated by my own anxiety and it's knawing away at me inside out.

I need to go home i need to go home i need to go home. I mean, i am from kansas. Isn't saying it 3 times the trick. ( insert clicking heals, here.)

Tenacious E

Lemmmmeee at ittttttt.

THERE HAVE BEEN SO MANY TIMES THAT IVE WANTED TO WRITE AND I COULDN'T BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE A COMPUTER AND SO IT'S BUILDING IT'S BUILDING IT'S BUILDING AND IF I HAVE TO DEAL WITH THE CLUMSINESS OF PEN AND PAPER FOR ONE MORE WEEK I'M GOING TO IMPLODE!

Response To the Facebook Thread asking me to say anything about womanhood

The first time my heart beat was inside a woman's womb. The first person to feed me was a woman, and the sole witness to my first word was a woman. The immigrant who kept me out of mischief while my parents worked was a woman. And the teacher who taught me how to spell 'Octopus'? Also a woman. The caregiver who taught me self-reliance way too early, but taught me nonetheless, was a woman. The tears I've shed have been evoked mostly by women. Still, my triumphs could not have been achieved without the security of a safety net comprised of mostly women below. I've seen my reflection with no distortion in the eyes of my closest female friends.
As a result of all of the above, that little voice in the back of my head telling me 'I CAN', giving me strength, courage, wisdom; humor, joy, epiphany;sorrow, empathy, motivation; ambition, confidence, curiosity; identity; is the crafted, collective creation of women building me up and breaking me down and for better or worse making me, Me. We are all little compilations of great women. To the person who doesn't like a woman, I have no margin to argue with a subjective opinion of a singular person; but to the person who dare say ' Women are _____' , i'd argue is not only insulting the family and community that nurtured them, but also expressing self-doubt. Afterall, if a shade of red is off hugh, then its combination and creation of any secondary color will deviate too.

कार्रोत face

April is the most ambivalent month of the year. Stuck in the middle between winter and summer, her stability falls victim to the circumstance as she oscillates between the beckoning of a Saint and a Siren. So April showers, so what? Have some empathy: how would you feel if fickleness was your soul/sole predictable trait? Like a stranger to yourself,that's how. Not a reflection to trust in the world. April is trapped in a tug-o-war; maybe I don't know why the caged bird sings, but I do know when, and it's in April.

Flowery language aside, April, to me, is a discussion of freedom. I can't think of a month with more, or more contradicting, hallmark and historical dates: Earth Day, Girl Scout Cookie Season, Passover, Easter stuff, April Fools, Hitler's Birthday the anniversary of Columbine, 4-20 and the list goes on. All together, April makes me think about freedom. It's all about the power struggle of the human condition- the complete freedom to Be (think/feel/behave) however we please, but only within the parameters of a pig pin.And that's life.
I am free to do whatever I want, go streaking through the oval office, whatever. In my mind, freedom is neither defined by a lack of consequences, nor a game of probabilities: it's all about the existence of a possibility.
My inner Id is a little depressed about this topic. I'm not bothered that there is only a minuscule chance that I will be able to exercise the Oval Office streaking freedom, what gets to me is that the most radical off-the-cuff idea I came up with was to remove my man-made garments and run. But perhaps that is actually a crucial element in the desire to be free: strip oneself of the petty layers we've created and conceptualize as the part of the human condition and just live how our bodies are born to, element to skin contact, to eat and be eaten and not utter a single prayer throughout. Freedom is deviant; if not, it wouldn't be considered freedom, it would be a social norm.
And i hate to be a Downer Debbie, but i usually feel somewhat caged or shortchanged when it comes to freedom. The discrepancy between imagination and reality almost makes me wish the two were mutually exclusive entities and a person inherited one or the other. Dangling a mouse in plain view of a caged snake all day is just cruel.

Automated Response-Up Yours, Samsung

This is my rage against the machine.

My theory: humans are becoming robots.

Don't write me off, the only conspiracy about this theory is that it's so hush-hush for such a blatent phenonmeon. I know the claim is on the lofty/paraniod side, so I'll guide you through my reasoning. Look, I'm not saying Hu-bots are good,bad,inevitable or anything; alls im sayin' is that the evidence is is pretty significant.

1.Plastic Surgury: Plastic makes perfect, right? Calculators don't have to wait,contemplate and work before getting the output result it wants, why should we? Skip the middle step ( isn't "work ethic" just empty national progoganda to rally the people and boost the economy?), go get those calf implants.
2.Cochlear implants: Becoming bionic. Here is where i sound like a callous, coldhearted bitch: diveristy and handicap can be cumbersome and undesireable for the individual, sometimes even taxing on society, but it's great for humanity. I'm in no way opposed to any person getting cochlear implants ( my dad is in about 7 years) because I accept that we Americans each live like the leading protagonist in our own life novel. I know I do. I'd get the implant. But I'll leave it at this: where would art and knowledge be or not be if all of the handicapped and drug ridden Greats had percieved the world in more or less the same way as you and I. Bheetoven, Freud, Vango, Edgar Allen Poe ( well, most writers and alcoholism), Einstein ( dyslexia), Khalo,and on and on-deviation breeds creativity, enough said. I can wait until globalization really does it's thang, I had enough novel stimuli as a baby, give me homoginization yo.
3.Genetic Engeneering: give me mutants, or give me death.Literally.
4. Linguistic Loops: language limits and defines our thoughts and thoughts loop back and demand a lexicon of words to articulate them. Back in the day, people likened how our brains to pipelines in everyday laymen's metaphors. How novice. Along came computers and cars and BOOM! Our brains are processing and computation devices filled with neural circuts and higher order processing capabilities. BOOM! Our bodies are machines, which have ideal shapes for their model. BOOM! Food is fuel, to sustain our metabolic meters, with measured calories ( energy units) in and out to keep the machine running. We don't get tired, we're 'run on empty.' If you considered literary devices to be a form of creative communication ("art"), then the real funny part is this: it's life imitating art ( i.e. likening our minds computers) ,which were created to replicate a component of life (an ideal physical manifestation of human cognitive processing.)
5. That's what the monkey's said. All you doubter need not look further back than the last human hybrid with the monkies. I'm pretty sure they were unaware they were morphing into us because it look a while, and likewise...well..ill let your minds wander.goodnight.

deep purple and navy

No, Indigo:
There's more than one anwser to these questions, pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine.

I'm trying to find a ruler. My life-line has gone crooked, and I need help straightening it back out.

Music helps. Art helps. Busy helps. Thinking does not help. Presentations, papers and midterms also do not help.However, finishing them helps. Showering compulsively helps. Cleaning helps. Uncle's dying does not help. Take back the night helps at take back the night, but does not help when the crowd takes their empowerment party favor and disperses and it makes being alone feel like being lost. Sugar helps. Caffine helps. Spontenaity helps, impulsivity does not.Venting helps, suspecting yourself as the culprit of tainting a disproportionate amount of negative conversations does not. Family helps- maybe not mine, but being around other people's. Deprivation+overachieving= the ultimate high.Invincibility.Helps like magic. Trying to untangle those two factors while experianceing withdrawal from that high does not help, short term, present term.

There's no need to worry about me and this , by the way. It's just a stupid funk. Everyone gets in funks. I just am really trying to pull myself out of it before I fall in too deep because there are only 3 weeks left of school.

Deforrestation

In the rainforest, the canopy protects every living organism beneath from the brutalities of the livid noon sun or unyielding curtains of rain. It is a natural buffer, calloused skin covering the vulnerable permeance of the ruby fresh layer beneath it.

When the canopy goes, beams of reality, drops of extremity and leaves ( once a vibrant green, now wilted and pale) fall down with it upon it's posterity which lies beneath.

In this case, I lie beneath. For the 4th time since I've been at USC, I lie beneath. Burried in a pile of leaves, fragmented memories, reigning family patriarchs and matriarchs call out 'timber' time and time again until it is literally raining family patriachrs and matriarchs as they arch towards the unknown, potentially, and i ache to drop that prefix and have it all be known.

I get verbose when I feel, so sue me.

My Uncle jack's funeral was today, and i wrote this eulogy as catharsis about 10 minutes after recieving the news. It literally hurled itself onto the word document; it was written in about 5 minutes.

I'm a big fan of putting the emphasis on celebrating a life over a grieving death. I want to share with everyone was a terrific soul he is:

Uncle Jack was nothing short of inspirational; much like mygrandpa,his brother, he served as the family Confucious.Granted, physical distance between Jack and 
Frieda and my nuclear family after we moved to portland made it so my in person interactions with him were limited; 
however, they must have been significant because what I gained from him simply through observing his character is an 
example I have with me now, will be with me forever, and i aspire to one day achieve. Rarely is a presence so calming 
yet powerful; rarely is such respect demanded through content silence; rarely does a smile like his illuminate a room; and 
rarely do humility and modesty error on the side of wisdom and kindness when tempted to morphs into superficial vices 
of financial sucess. Uncle Jack was an artifact of the moral, family values which were killed a few decades back and my 
generation has the obligation to bury without the time to grieve the tremendous loss. A man of valor, a man of stability, a 
man of unwavering generosity: my uncle Jack deserves my time to reflect upon and respect the significance of his life 
and celebrate the closing of the curtains to an awe-inspiring show. The concept of celebrating death makes sence to 
me--although this is physically the end of uncle jacks life cycle, his soul lives on through a the effect of linked chains, lke 
myself, which will carry him with us and pass his legacy down to the next link, until forever. Until forever Uncle Jack, i will 
remember yo, respect you, and honor you until forever. Thank you for being you.