Before my long babble, I'd just like to point out that spent the entirety of September 24, 2011 reading The Great Gatsby to celebrate F. Scott Fitzgerald's birthday! Such an amazing day, and I have a new favourite book. :) Anyway, back to the actual blog post...

I recently promised myself that I will no longer re-read The Catcher in the Rye because I'm already over that angst-filled stage of my life blahblah the whole pseudo explanation can be found here. But after creating a T-chart of the pros and cons of moving out for university, I've come to realize that although I am happier and much less (I can't think of the right term so pardon me for choosing this) emotionally unstable, there's still a part of me that will relate to Holden. I denied it because honestly, I don't want to be someone who's like him. He's not really the most likeable character out there, and I like to think of myself as likeable. But my favourite human being in the world pointed out in one of his videos that I am not likeable, and secretly (although I admit to it not so secretly anymore now) Holden Caulfield is "the guy [I] know myself to be". So I revoke that promise I made to myself. I will never ever again tell myself to not read a certain book again. No matter how much I dislike it (The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, Blink) or how much I'm afraid that I will dislike it if I read it again (The Catcher in the Rye). I once had an English tutor (an amazing woman, by the way) who told me that in order for me to fully understand and appreciate a book, I must read it at least five times. And so far, of all the hundreds of books I have read, I've probably read at most only 20 of them five times. (not counting the children's books I read for Jacob, though) I love reading, and I'm on my way to become an English major. I think I should give every book (which I haven't read five times yet) a chance. Yes, even Twilight. Though I don't really plan on reading it again anytime soon. Hehe.

***A side note (notice my love for side notes lately?) : I blogged twice in one weekend! Proud moment here. And I'm planning on reading TCitR by the end of this year to celebrate its 60th anniversary.

Labels: i talk about books sometimes

**please excuse the immense amount of typos. I was typing this through my dad's iPad and I already make enough typos using a normal keyboard, what more if I use a touch screen one, right?
Hi
Ugh I have this entire poem already mapped out inside my head ENTIRELY about Evan Rachel Wood. Actually I've even written down a few lines/stanzas but i still lack the motivation and time to write the whole thing down.
And... I'm slightly fearful that my obsession with her is becoming very unhealthy, especially since the poem is in the point of view of a man having romantic feelings for her (though he denies it). So I have theories 1. that the poet inside of me is more masculine the feminine. Or 2. I adore the idea of men actually expressing their feelings of love through words that I subconsciously try to bring this to life by... being the man myself. That's quite sad isn't it? I prefer sticking by the first theory/

In partially related news, my thoughts have spoken in the language of stanzas, verses, lyrics. My walk home from school would mostly consist of possible first lines of poetry I would never even write. There is so much inspiration, and my head is screaming at me to take advantage of this, but typical of me, I let my laziness and procrastination take over.

Well I could always use the alibi of school and being too busy. It is my last year of high school, and everything feels... rushed. It's just the first week and I've had assignments every day, which might not be saying much but honestly, this has never happened to me last year. I used to have on average around two assignments due every week, not this much. I mean look at me now! The only time I have to blog is at 2 in the morning, during a three-day weekend (which actually is going to be spent doing homework). I know that I reallly really shouldn't complain since there are more people out there who have more homework but I normally never do homework. This is a huge change for me!

I still can't believe I'm here. (haha actually I've been playing around ideas of surrealism in my head lately. lots of thoughts about that in my journal.) (Just a side note: how bogus is it that I have a journal, a blog, a tumblr blog, and a twitter that I all use pretty actively? Heh. Guess this just proves how much I observe things then overthink them.) Ugh. Well I guess now's the time for me to read a book and hopefully get my mind off of this.

Oh! And I actually watch this new (don't judge me!) MTV show called Awkward. It's actually really good. I mean, sure, some parts make my roll my eyes because of its typical high school plotlines, but just look at it's title: Awkward. It may not be so obvious in this blog, but I am extremely awkward. And i absolutely hate it when people say that ("I'm awkward") because almost always the people who say that are NOT at all awkward. However, I am legitimately awkward and just the tiny detail that I haven't admitted it until now (since, clearly, I'm not really proud of it) proves that I really am. I think it's just fitting for a person who's sincerely awkward to actually like a TV show called Awkward. The script is actually really good. Good lines, and as a person with a love for words, good lines is an extremely important part in a TV show for me to like it. And the girl there blogs! I mean, she's why I'm staying up late here to blog right now! She inspired me! Hah.

That was a joke.
I just have a lot of thoughts lately. Which hopefully I'll be able to escape from once I move on to the world of literature. Here we go.

Labels: nocturnal thoughts

The idea of sex intrigues me.

Humans, by definition, are animals. And animals act upon instincts. They mate when they need to, not necessarily because they are attracted to the other.

But then we humans always denied the fact that we're animals. Being called an animal is considered an insult. We all think we're better than that.

So. Do we follow our animal instincts and have sex with whoever whenever just because we feel that urge to do it or do we follow what society tells us: make love instead of have sex, wait for the perfect person who we think we'd be with for the rest of our lives?

**side note: This was actually my second thought in the morning. My first thought was a verse of a poem about Alexander Skarsgard. The lines just suddenly flowed along with images of me nuzzling in the "familiar" crook of his ocean scented neck. I didn't write them down though because this sex epiphany jumped into me and instead of writing down the poem, I chose to put this epiphany into typed words.

Labels: matutinal thoughts

with my hair always down, i've forgotten what it's like to feel the wind passing through the back of my neck

***
here's me taking a moment to write a post about 9/11. we may not have been affected by it personally but it's part of history and just the mere fact that we were alive when history happened should be enough to affect us. i hope nobody ever forgets.

Going to the library with my friends THEN to a book store with my sister right after brought me to make myself a reading list. It's still short since I've only started working on it today. I also made a teeny description after it so I'd remember why I wanted to read it. Here goes.

Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand

• I borrowed this from the library. Actually I was supposed to borrow The Fountainhead but the library didn't have it *sigh* so I decided to take a stab at this. I've read reviews about how this was better because the Objectivism philosophy of Ayn Rand is better explained here. Why not right?

The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand

•  Last year I read maybe 1/4 of this novel but sadly school got in the way and I had to return it to the library without finishing it. I admit, Howard Rourk intrigued me very much and it sucks that I couldn't borrow this now because I really want to finish it!

The Great Gatsby by Fitzgerald

• I think this is obvious. I had this book back in the Philippines but I always delayed reading it because I was a naive teenager who only read chiclits. Well I did a little bit of growing up right now, oh and John Green is talking about this book chapter by chapter in his vlog, so as soon as I get a copy, I'm reading it.

The Republic by Plato

•  Heh. Whilst hanging out in the Philosophy section of a book store, my sister saw this book and asked me if I read it. I told her I already downloaded the eBook like two years ago (before reading what it's about), then I learned it's about Communism and immediately decided against reading it. Like I said I grew up a little and became more open minded in different political theories so here it is. Also my sister said I should read it because almost all of the people she knows who are in/going into Arts have read it. Well I wouldn't want to be left out, yeah?

Inferno by Dante

• One reason: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.

As Simple as Snow by Gregory Galloway

• Honestly, I don't know much about this book. I heard of it like 2 minutes ago. John Green says this was the book that loosely inspired him to write one of his books (Looking for Alaska or Paper Towns? I don't know. Will research on it later.) and it's "one of the best books you'll ever read." If John Green (or even Hank Green actually) says it, I believe him. 

Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card

• Been suggested by a friend (or two) who are both in love with this novel. And maybe Chris Carrabba had a lot to do with the fact that this is here, too.

Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger

• Please refer to this.

Labels: lists

breathing in the scent of philosophy books as i sit on the floor of a bookstore will probably be my new favourite hobby

on this sunny day i went to the park with my sketchpad, my new hardbound black notebook (which i absolutely adore), and a pencil to seek some inspiration.
wasn't able to finish anything, but i will share my favourite from all the bits of random babble i wrote

i am your gravestone in this town.
the only reminder of your presence
is the sorrow on my face
and the unshed teardrops in my eyes.

wrote a bunch more of possibly unusable poetry (or parts of poetry. i cannot tell.) about random things like spaghetti for dinner, red double decker buses, evan rachel wood, and london boys with english accents. hopefully i could make magic with those. theyre pretty awful.


school starts tomorrow. somebody please shoot me now? :)

 ***I was rereading this a while ago and noticed how extremely rushed the ending seems. i'll edit this when i find the time. Extremely dislike the "it would be perfect" part.

someday,
we would meet at a starbucks. you would enter the store with your hair a bit damp
from the rain because you forgot to bring a hoodie. i would notice this and glance
at my umbrella on the chair beside me, and i would think of how two people
would fit perfectly under that. you would walk to the counter and order coffee,
black, no sugar. as you wait you would stand near my table and watch me
with my 3 year old macbook that i named hemingway. i would hide behind the tower
of law school text books pretending to not notice you watching me type my paper.
the barista would call your name and you would look. and i would look.
and our eyes would meet and it would be perfect because at that moment
i would know your name and you would know im interested and
nothing
else
would
exist
but us.

you are in love with a writer

there you are
eating your pecan pie in the local coffee shop.
the background music is some song by the beatles.
you don’t know which song it is but you know it’s by them.
they have hundreds of songs;
it’s so hard to tell which is which.
you don’t bother figuring it out.
you smile at the barista,
who has been eyeing you since you came in.
he’s very handsome:
young, and he has passionate eyes.
“Probably a musician,”
you think to yourself.
you don’t like musicians,
only writers.

half-way through your pie
the coffee shop door opens.

you are in love with a writer,
and there he is.
he walks to your table and he is all you see:
his shaggy brown hair
his pale skin hinting how he doesn’t leave the house much
his pretty green eyes covered by black rimmed glasses
his big smile
oh his beautiful big smile
and his scrawny built
wrapped in a blue plaid shirt he got from a vintage store
you can see yourself wearing that plaid shirt soon.

his presence blurs the entire coffee shop.
he shows you his writing and tells you
that you are his muse.
you are smitten by his deepness
the emotion in his prose
and his careful choice of words.
he whispers sweet nothings to your left ear
then kisses you.

you kiss him back and soon you forget.
you forget who you are
you forget that you have a huge test tomorrow.
all you know is
his smartness
his deep thoughts, put into writing
his eloquent poems
and that you are his muse

you are who he writes about,
and that is who you are

you are in love with a writer, but he abandons you in the local coffee shop.
you look down on your plate

he has eaten all that is left of your pie

Labels: i wrote a poem