Street Spirit

Rows of houses all bearing down on me
I can feel their blue hands touching me
All these things into position
All these things we'll one day swallow whole
And fade out again and fade out

This machine will not communicate
These thoughts and the strain I am under
Be a world child, form a circle
Before we all go under
And fade out again and fade out again

Cracked eggs, dead birds
Scream as they fight for life
I can feel death, can see its beady eyes
All these things into position
All these things we'll one day swallow whole
And fade out again and fade out again

Immerse your soul in love
Immerse your soul in love

"Street Spirit (Fade Out)" by Radiohead

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I love this song.

"Street Spirit is our purest song, but I didn't write it. It wrote itself. We were just its messengers; its biological catalysts. Its core is a complete mystery to me, and, you know, I wouldn't ever try to write something that hopeless. All of our saddest songs have somewhere in them at least a glimmer of resolve. Street Spirit has no resolve. It is the dark tunnel without the light at the end. It represents all tragic emotion that is so hurtful that the sound of that melody is its only definition. We all have a way of dealing with that song. It's called detachment. Especially me; I detach my emotional radar from that song, or I couldn't play it. I'd crack. I'd break down on stage. That's why its lyrics are just a bunch of mini-stories or visual images as opposed to a cohesive explanation of its meaning. I used images set to the music that I thought would convey the emotional entirety of the lyric and music working together. That's what's meant by 'all these things you'll one day swallow whole'. I meant the emotional entirety, because I didn't have it in me to articulate the emotion. I'd crack...

Our fans are braver than I to let that song penetrate them, or maybe they don't realise what they're listening to. They don't realise that Street Spirit is about staring the fucking devil right in the eyes, and knowing, no matter what the hell you do, he'll get the last laugh. And it's real, and true. The devil really will get the last laugh in all cases without exception, and if I let myself think about that too long, I'd crack.

I can't believe we have fans that can deal emotionally with that song. That's why I'm convinced that they don't know what it's about. It's why we play it towards the end of our sets. It drains me, and it shakes me, and hurts like hell every time I play it, looking out at thousands of people cheering and smiling, oblivious to the tragedy of its meaning, like when you're going to have your dog put down and it's wagging its tail on the way there. That's what they all look like, and it breaks my heart. I wish that song hadn't picked us as its catalysts, and so I don't claim it. It asks too much. I didn't write that song."

-- Thom Yorke

Tick Tick Tick

tickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick

I am up at 2:15 am when I don't really need to be. Why, you may ask??

BECAUSE I'M WAITING TO FIND OUT IF I'VE BEEN SENTENCED TO SEXILE!!!!

I had probably actually slept a good hour so when my other roommate woke up to tell me that we had been asked to leave through a text message from our other roommate. With much cursing and groaning, I woke up but refused to budge unless she came and kicked me out herself. I have nowhere to crash -- my engineer friends have midterms tomorrow, and my dear friend J is no doubt sleeping at this hour.

tickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick...BOOOOOOOOOOOOM. fml fml fml.

Heads Will Roll

Off off off with your head
Dance dance dance till you're dead

-- "Heads Will Roll" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Somebody needs to throw an Alice-in-Wonderland-themed dance party to this song.

----------------------------

I have so much respect for Beyonce after watching this video.
(The girl is an 11-year-old with leukemia.)

X______X

Well... I wouldn't say that the results of my chem test were disastrous...

But fuck. I need to work harder to beat the curve.

Pulse 1

Seeing how busy I've been these days, I may just resort to writing "pulses" so you know that I'm alive and why I have disappeared.

I forgot about what it's like to work. Like those moments when you quarantine yourself from the rest of the world with only your books, your pens, and your mp3 player with the skullcandy headphones. My work ethic requires a large activation energy, but once I finally force myself to work, I can sit there and study for hours. On the plus side, I love the good feeling you get when you know you've been productive.

So basically, I take my first test tomorrow. Wish me luck.

I'm taking a break to update my life, for those of you who no longer attend the same school as me. I can't really think of important things, but let's see what's on my mind. And I really shouldn't be doing this, so consider it your present from me.

1. I am currently taking EMT Basic classes in addition to my Duke workload. Yes, I think I'm a little insane. The hours for this class are ridiculously time-consuming. I actually just came back from my 6:00-10:00 pm class about half an hour ago. On the plus side, if I become a certified EMT by the end of this year, at least I know I have job options open.

2. I have two roommates. I have a ton of stories about F, the one who likes to party, but those are stories for a different day. Last week, she managed to hook up (her definition: make-out) with this guy in her Spanish class she'd been keeping her eye on. I have to say, I definitely noticed this guy when I first saw him during O week. I've never found anybody who quite fit the image of Rhys I had in mind -- until I saw this guy. And unsurprisingly, it turns out this guy is a model. I don't know how many shoots he's done or if he's a runway model -- but F and I found out that there definitely are pictures of him on Google. And this guy, as it turns out, is in my EMT class. I have a slight fear of beautiful people -- it's hard to shake off the feeling that they think they're too good for you -- but so far, this guy has been pretty nice. He even complimented my backpack.

3. Speaking of my backpack, I have been getting some attention regarding my backpack. If you didn't know already, this is my backpack, except in a magenta/hot pink sort of hue:

Yeah, pretty bomb, huh? There was one time, I was buying pearl milk tea at this campus cafe. When I turn around from the counter, I see a group of people eating a table all staring at me. I start wondering if there's something on my face until I realize that they're looking at my backpack.

4. The former editor-in-chief decided to take a stab at writing for The Chronicle. Unfortunately, I don't think I plan to stick to this. It sucks being at the bottom of the food chain again, being forced to run around all over the place to track down quotes and interviews. My article is due tomorrow, and I haven't even written it yet. With all the phone-chasing and treks across campus for interviews, I feel I should be paid to do all this work. EMT is taking up enough time already.

5. I love IV!

Alright, ciao darlings.

The Pane of Glass

Some days, the rain falls. Trickling down the pane of glass between me and You, a modern-day Pyramus and Thisbe. I can hear your candy-coated words, strung together like a caressing noose of promises -- but I can't see it. I can't feel it. I can press my lips to the wall between us, but all I taste are the saline beads of water streaming down down down, and I can't help but wonder if those are tears trickling down your face, or if I'm just licking away my own sorrow from the glass again.

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"I Wrote This For You" is holding a caption contest for the above picture. Photo credit goes to Jon Ellis. All inspiration credit belongs to Iain Thomas and his phenomenally ethereal writing.

The Walk

You could have just walked right past the love of your life this morning as you hurried down the city street, bundled in scarves clinging onto the hope you won't miss the next train.

But you're never going to know the truth, will you? Because even if there ever comes a time when she will walk beside you, you're never going to remember every single person who has walked against you.

----------------------
H: Do you really think there is only one perfect mate?
L: As a matter of fact, I do.
H: Well then how can you be certain to find them? And if you do find them, are they really the one for you or do you only think they are? And what happens if the person you're supposed to be with never appears, or, or she does, but you're too distracted to notice?
L: You learn to pay attention.
H: Then let's say God puts two people on Earth and they are lucky enough to find one another. But one of them gets hit by lightning. Well then what? Is that it? Or, perchance, you meet someone new and marry all over again. Is that the lady you're supposed to be with or was it the first? And if so, when the two of them were walking side by side were they both the one for you and you just happened to meet the first one first or, was the second one supposed to be first? And is everything just chance or are some things meant to be?

-- from Ever After

Studying like a College Student

1. 7:40 pm - Return to the room after dinner. Upon sitting into desk, is immediately sucked into the black hole known as the Internet
   
2. 8:50 pm - Manage to stumble out of the black hole and force self to read William Faulkner's As I Lay Dying for English class inside the walk-in closet because roommate is asleep (so the lights must remain off) and because Facebook is singing like Odysseus' sirens
3. 9:25 pm - Feeling woozy from the closet's pervasive smell of dirty laundry, decide to trek down four flights of stairs with a week's worth of laundry
   
4. 9:30 pm - Wonder why laundry costs aren't included in the horrendous tuition fees; one would think that 50k a year would qualify for private ladies-in-waiting and a personal chef. Continue reading Faulkner on the bench in the laundry room while listening to mp3 player -- doing so guarantees staying awake and feeling productive, for it is all too easy to fall asleep or be distracted while in the room
5. 10:00 pm - Washing machine chirps to announce completion of the cycle. Wet laundry is loaded into a dryer. Wonder why anyone bothers paying $1.50 to dry clothes when the sun has been shining every single day for free.
6. 10:30 pm - Despite the discomfort of the bench, sleepiness prevails. Trek back up four flights of stairs. Immediately upon opening the door, the laptop begins to sing like the sirens.
7. 11:00 pm - Read sparknotes for As I Lay Dying. Find an interesting link at the bottom of one of the pages on the sparknotes website and discover a blogger named Dan who has been blogging/critiquing Twilight and New Moon with biting sarcasm. Almost feels like looking in the mirror and seeing oneself, cynicism and all. (Click here for a snapshot of his post on the first two chapters of Twilight. For the index of "Blogging Twilight" posts, click here. )
8. 11:40 pm - After retrieving freshly laundered clothes from dryer, log onto Blogger and decide to share with the uninterested public how the last three hours of a college freshman's life has been squandered.
   

My Favorite Things

• Time of Day: Night
  
• Sitting cross-legged on the warm beach with eyes closed, listening to the ocean breathe in and out
• Eye-catching earrings
• Color: all dark hues
• Dreams, whether good or bad
• Receiving a handwritten letter in the mail
• Fashion icon: Rihanna
• People-watching with Rogue
  
• Rewriting song lyrics to make parodies (i.e. Gov. J's farewell speech)
• Food: dark chocolate
• Songs in minor keys
• Bittersweet story endings
  
• Flower: Orchids
• Fractured fairytales
• Greek myths and legends
  
• Current song on repeat: "Rooftops" by Lostprophets
• Puppies
  
• Singing when nobody is listening
  
• Most prized belonging: this blog

There was a girl who was in my high school French class several consecutive years. She was a self-described music-lover and made very clear her opinions on what qualified as "good music." While I got along with this girl fairly well, I would like to make the point that I am not fond of those pretentious music czars and czarinas who saunter around the realm of music as if they alone know what is deemed "worthy" of listening. These include:

• Youtube users who leave snippy comments for music videos of songs featured on Guitar Hero/Rock Band, bemoaning how their favorite song has now become "mainstream" -- and thus, uncool
• People who claim to be music-lovers but deem classical music as "boring." Hey, you try writing a orchestral symphony or a baroque fugue, and then let me know how boring it is.
• People who complain when their favorite formerly "underground" band becomes mainstream. Right, just because people know who they are now means you can't like them anymore.

In any case, I have my opinions on what is good music to my ears, but I'd rather not impose these personal judgments. And I don't even think music is simply about what sounds good. I believe everyone has at least one song that is attributed to some memory, and that they will listen to this song as a trigger for remembrance. These are the songs that stick to you for a long time, whether or not something is "mainstream" or "underground" or simply forgotten.

The Playlist:

• "Naturaleza muerta" by Mecano
• "Kuroi Namida" by Anna Tsuchiya
• "Somewhere in Time" composed by John Barry
  
• "Sing Me to Sleep" by Waking Ashland
• "Libertango" composed by Astor Piazolla
  
• "All is Full of Love" by Bjork
• "Future Foe Scenarios" by Silversun Pickups
• "Papercut" by Linkin Park
• "Elegie" composed by Sergei Rachmaninoff
• "It's All Over But the Crying" by Garbage
• "Plus le coeur a ca" by Mademoiselle K
• "The Ocean" by Mae
• "Cupid" by OLIVIA
  

Fragment .02

"So it was four or five of everything, as you are no good.
I saw it through the frame and through my face.
Covering my eyes, because we are nothing,
and never quite the same from a black and white summer.
With photographs that showed our rails and razorblades.
I think it cured my pain, again.

Promise you will go down my neck.
Just like those pills and your cigarette."

-- "December" by Lydia

Only a single photograph sits on her desk. A reminder of her single biggest regret. She doesn't look at it much anymore, save when she awakes in the morning to discover that it has fallen off the corner of her desk again during the night.

Until now, Freya drove blindfolded all her life, oblivious to the signs that flashed by in the margins of her life's story. The candy-coated metal of her life's vehicle was but an armor, keeping others out and shutting herself inside. It was her instrument of freedom, and yet it was her cage.

But the blindfold is gone now. Ripped off of her face, she is blinded yet again -- not from darkness, but from light. The signs are everywhere. The conveniently vacant seat on the bus, for instance. She knows what she could have -- should have -- done. But she followed her gut reaction instead and recoiled from the opportunity in the opposite direction.

She's heard the terms thrown around in her psychology class. Cognition. Conditioning. Stimulus. A rat is conditioned by an electric shock to avoid sitting on the platform. Birds learn to avoid the deliciously beautifully yet bitterly poisonous butterflies. Freya almost expects to find her own picture in the pages of her textbook.

"Human girl is conditioned to respond fearfully to deceptively handsome faces, in fear of reliving the memory of her photographs again."

Fragment .01

Freya hasn't dreamt much since she's been Here.

Her bedside is perched by the window. There's not much of a view during the day, save the waxed green fanning of the magnolia tree and the occasional bird that flits from branch to branch. But there is something soothing about the night, when the row of glowing windows fade one by one, like rectangular shooting stars being swallowed by the dark.

You could spend days and nights memorizing the angles and lines of a person's face in a dozen photographs and yet never truly see the person. For some people, it's the eyes or the hands that becomes the imprinted ID to connect a name and a face. Yes, she had the deepest and warmest almond eyes -- or, he had the most elegant fingers and yet the most promising handshake.

For Freya, it has always been the voice. She never truly met a person until she heard her name spoken from his lips. She thought about her inglorious encounter with Lennox for the briefest second and then drowsed off to sleep with her copy of Antigone in hand.

That night she dreamt. She can't remember what she dreamt of anymore. All she knows is that when she woke up this morning, she was still crying.