Sitting in my history of art lecture, studying the art of Kara Walker. I think I’ve found another artist who I am a fan of. (Who…whom?) I’ve always found something exciting about silhouettes. The mystery of what truly forms those black shapes, what lies within the boundaries of the shadows before you.
Running on sidewalks at one in the morning, sweat dripping down my face, breathing hard, but I can barely hear it over the beats from my mp3 player. My legs are aching, but I run faster and faster gaining momentum as I run downhill. Drunk strangers on the street yell lewd comments that I ignore. I’m running and running from what, I don’t know.
cinnamon & vanilla & spice.
Oh my gosh, there's another one →
I’ve been surfing around the web, looking at food recipes and baking sites, and I’m getting that feeling again. The one where I sit and imagine, where I get this sort of itching feeling to go and bake and create and indulge.Yum, yum. I face the world with whisk in hand, patches of errant flour powder on my cheeks.
My guilty pleasure →
That there are so many mean people in this world. That I tried to be nice, your friend, & held nothing against you because I knew it wasn’t your fault. Did you know that I didn’t know? Did you hold it against me nonetheless? Consequences of my actions, my ignorance, coming to haunt me now. I was naive to think that people would stop to learn and know before judging and...
It’s 12:37 in the morning, and I still have two pages to write for my art history paper. Wait, scratch that. It’s 12:37 in the morning and I have three pages to completely edit and enhance in addition to churning out two more A+ pages in the hopes of possibly attaining something higher than a B+ for my art history class. Normally this wouldn’t be too much of a problem, since I...
Need, must, need...
Eyes feel tired, lids heavy as I try and fight this growing weariness. Papers need to be written, assignments completed, presentations worked on. Schedules need to be planned, subletters found, exams studied for, notes taken. Is life anything more than a series of tasks that need to be completed?
“I have an itch I can not scratch, It’s somewhere I can’t see. But though I can not see this itch It always bothers me. Sometimes it rests and does not roar An insistent, nagging, throb. Though at times it flares and screams and I must hide my muffled sob For I’m a slave to this tricky game This small thing; it consumes me My mind can’t help but wrap around This...
Rockband in the background, a tier of cupcakes on a table Warm red faces & trilling laughter. Serious conversations in dark bedrooms Arguments over beds and blankets Whispers in the dark Pancakes in the morning, and pho in the afternoon
Cardboard Love. →
Keep smiling Keep singing. Be excited, try to find joy in the simplest of things.
Inside this monstrous cage of flesh and bulk. Self conscious worries take root and grow, watered by insecurity, dropping corpulent seeds of self loathing and worry. Finding strength in a tired and weary mind.
The crunch of ice between your molars, the relief brought by cool air as you enter a building, splashing water in a fountain, lapping water against the sides of a pool. Hiding in shadows beneath the lush, green leaves of a tree. Doesn’t it sound lovely?
It’s basically a form of non-consensual sex between bacteria.– -Some guy in my PMB13 discussion talking about horizontal gene transfer by bacteria in the mouth.
What would Rorty think?
Do you use your words as weapons? Sharp, biting things that hurt and burn? Are your words no more than invisble bullets, unseen by the eye, but felt on the heart? Do you use your words for seduction? Slowly coiling, wrapping around a person’s heart and drawing them closer to you like a snake with its prey. Words for happiness? Dancing, lyrical words that chirp and sing like water splashing...
Wittgenstein would approve.
Words, words, words. I am surrounded by words; they are my thoughts, my dreams, I breathe them in, they are oxygen for my soul. What are poetry and songs but musical words? What are thoughts but words taking shape in your mind? Your very dreams are words play acting as you drift into unconsciousness. What in this world is greater than words? You may feel love, but you can never express your love...
It was a pretty mediocre day. Class in the morning, sproul in the afternoon - flyering, frustrating sudoku, delicious oranges, & contemplating jumping into the newly cleaned fountain - class again, work till seven. Then things started picking up. I went to the SMILE mentor alumni dinner, where I got to eat and judge lots of delicious home cooked food. Om nom nom. Afterwards I stopped by...
Blows dust into eyes Tears are streaming down faces Drying out our skin
Oh how I love you.
I’ve been writing letters to people, but I never seem to send them. I wrote one to Yuri at the beginning of first semester, several to Gary, one to Julie, Patricia…others. This is something that I’ve been doing since middle school, writing letters and not sending them. Why is that?
Christine: Jane, instead of saying, "I'm going to go eat" or "What is there to eat" we should insert the word, "Nom"
Jane: Actually, I know people who do that
Christine: *hearty sigh*
There are no more original ideas in the world anymore, unless it’s like, I want...– -[Tired] Christine Fukushima
Sometimes I talk to provide a comfortable background noise.– -Christine Fukushima
Okay, fine ignore me. I’ll try my best not to care.
Pictures fall from my wardrobe, hitting the ground like leaves in the fall. They wilt, and corners peel away from wood like decaying bark.
strange. My eyelids feel heavy, wanting to close, but my mind is blazing at 100 thoughts a minute, what’s going on? My stomach hurts, but I want to dance and sing! Oh how I long to sing. I watched the Overtones Showcase, and they sang so beautifully, angels voices filling the room in Dwinelle. I want to burst out into music, and sway my body to the notes and rhythm. I wish I could be an...
Stop eating after 9PM. Go to the RSF & work out/swim at least three times a week. If not, run!
spider hiding in the leaves behind the roses. more than it seems.
Sometimes I sit on my soft bed and look out my window. Bare legs are crossed under warm blankets as I press my hand against the cold glass. I look down and watch as people cross the streets, set up booths on the sidewalks. Rain drops obscure people’s faces, others hide under umbrellas. Neon lights flicker in storefront windows, at night the are covered by black, iron bars. On planes I...
Marie Digby - Traffic
tightrope walkers, dancing on a thin line, taunting death for admiration.
“We are the children of the night. Crawling from the darkest of shadows, slithering, creeping slowly and silently gliding down streets. Devouring . In the stark light of day we are thin, beings. Mutilated, haphazardly arranged, frightened. Smaller.”
I want to write my wishes, ideas, and words of encouragement on slips of paper. Then I’d fold them into paper planes and send them flying from the top of the campanile. I don’t know about you, but if I found a paper plane with a big smiley telling me to have a nice day, I’d smile.
I kept on waking up all night because I was coughing. Next thing I know, I was awake at 2 in the afternoon, and I thought it wasn’t even 11AM yet. Interesting contrast to yesterday.
Today I woke up at 8AM, and I had this crazy adrenaline rush because I thought that it was Monday, 1:30 in the afternoon. Basically my first thoughts were, “OMG! I HAVE TO TURN IN MY PAPERS!” Then I looked at my cell phone & realized that I woke up way earlier than I needed to. Anyways, I decided to stay awake and read Paradise Lost, but I kept on nodding off in between lines....
I read it in your tumblr!!!– Christine Fukushima