Hey, whoever's reading, which is no one. This would be my first blog, and I'm not sure what to say, not knowing anyone to have ever done this before, and I sure am not one for proper introductions so I guess I'll jump into it. It's midnight after all.
So it's 12:28 AM on this extremely early Monday morning and I haven't slept for three days now...roughly. I am sitting on my couch, as often we do when it is late (or I suppose early), Monday, the summer, and you had seen your friends and been in societal contact for so long that the inside of a home, where you could really do absolutely nothing so visibly progressive, feels good, and the thought came upon me that I was bored. I had been in the company of teenage American girls for quite a while without breath, which anybody should know is quite the tiresome experience, and so I opened the family laptop. Yes, the family Dell. I'm 16. I learn to share. The lap top on my lap, butt on couch, I automatically check my email, do SAT prep q's for no good reason, check facebook, become exasperated, get megavideo on to watch some reruns of Star Trek and then, voila: I wonder at whatever happened to Wil Wheaton (aka. Wesley Crusher) find his blog, read it, join twitter, and then watch a blog tutorial, and suddenly I'm speaking to the phantom of audience, and then I quit twitter (I'll leave quitting facebook for another day). I really do wonder whether people ever should make decisions past midnight, or rather past three days and two midnights. I suppose they shouldn't, as I have just burnt my finger with a candle, but then again, bad judgement really must be needed at some times in order to make those beneficial decisions which you never would have made thinking straightly. So I suppose I'll be impulsive, not that creating a blog that nobody will read is very impulsive anyways. You'll learn a lot more about me. I guess I should give you a summary. Hold on, it follows soon. If you are amused at all, stay. If not, enjoy the sunlight. All right, here it is.
Gender: female
Birth Year: 1994
Ethnicity: Japanese/Ecuadorian
Religion: Catholic
Residence: Bay Area (but soon to be France)
Interests: Art (painting), philosophy, music (everything... mostly), literature, cooking, film
Instruments: horrible clarinet in marching band, even worse piano, self-taught acoustic guitar
Favorite Books: Sherlock Holmes, Les Miserables, Brave New World, Rimbaud's poetry
Favorite Films: Stand By Me, Finding Neverland, What's Eating Gilbert Grape?
Note: I am ridiculously crazy about four things: The Beatles, Leonardo da Vinci, Shakespeare, and good literature.
Wow, truly, congratulations if you stuck through for so long, that is until the bottom of this page, here. I guess that sums me up rather poorly, but you'll catch on as you go, I guess, and if you are out there in existence, I will read your comments and get to know you too, ghostly friend, so see you (figuratively and hopefully).
PS. I love the rain. If I could marry it, I would, and we would dance endlessly at our wedding to some of our water music.
I love daffodils because they are yellow and perky. They grow in clumps and make you giggle with the surprise of spring. If I could pick them, I would put one in a jar, but then I would be horrible, and no longer will I bear to look at daffodils.
I love the woods because they are conventional and they are ancient.
I love fire because I am a moth.
I love cigarettes because I've never smoked one, and they create tinges in an instant, on screen, that demands one to enter a group of many submitting.
I love fog. I love hardly anything more than fog. You enter fiction when you witness fog. Booth says we like it because it is ironic. Well let that be, and therefore I love irony.
I love the young dead because they have lived more than most, and we have to say that because otherwise it'd be cruel. And I think of young death often, but I have not lived enough.
I love the mountains because they make you want to yawp.
I love echoes because they carry your yawps, and they make conceivable the concept of not being forgotten.
I love Prague because she is cheery and aged and wise at once. She is the graveyard of genius and the womb of despair, anguish, balconies and bridges. Those ones that you see countless towers and domes from, lined with saints, tradition, the luckiest of homeless men.
I love the French, for I am a dejected, regretful, wretched, miserably artistic and sorrowfully abstracted American.
I love time. Time and I have never been concerned with each other. And I opt for love. Between love and bitterness? You'd think it would be obvious. For me it is, and for that I am very thankful.
I love the darkness because it makes me feel special.
I love loneliness because it makes me feel tortured.
I love the absolute because it provides me a direction.
I love surrealism because it allows me to kid myself.
I hate oceans because they are mysterious and ominous, as is outer space. I hate literary features because they are snobbish, fake, and yet necessary.
What I hate most of all is sleeping, for it is the great killer. That and hatred, for it is yet another vice.
More than anything, I love books. I love books, I love books, I love loving books.
