dearest joy, 10-30-2005, letters to a writer

i could see realities of partnerships getting tangled with insecurities and selfishness. you're not there yet and that is something to be grateful for. others are in a hurry, trekking yahoo and msn messengers, and delving deeper into the high school yearbook to find the handsome lad of youth who is ever so uncommitted but who is willing to give up freedom for a life in the first world. that is so pathetic. your john frusciante is just around the corner. he might be lurking within the walls of your ward, or not. jerks are also aplenty so you need to be careful. some crossed paths with their blokes through watering holes and clubs. others settle for porters. others meet through a book club, or wonder of wonders, pinoy parties. i know we would not be happy with blokes who cannot spell led zeppelin but would you rather settle and forever be heartbroken or wait for mr. right?

always, shiv

Dear Shivaun, 10-14-2005 letters to a writer

I should be asleep but I drank the rest of the coffee that I made earlier to keep me warm instead. I'm always illogical when I'm alone. It could be the screwed body clock from the nights I'm a slave to the dollar. Coldplay's Shiver is emanating (again) from my i-tunes courtesy of free Limewire, for which I have Melissa to be thankful for. I am just filled with thoughts right now.Caffeine and reverie.

Is it bad to aspire for the Matt Damons and John Frusciantes? or is it just plain inconcievable for the likes of me? The days are getting shorter and the cold is in my bones. Soon the dead trees and the muddy slush against cruel cold white shall come and I shall literally be living the metaphor.

A kind soul has asked what I want for my birthday, and I told him it's to forget about it. Pummeling myself with work would be good but I'm afraid people would care enough to remember. I'm weird. That has become a universal truth. I could not help it. That is how I AM.

Funny how I thrive in angst and misery. Wish people wouldn't push my face into that pavement and sprinkle my wounds with salt on top of it. I'm the tall girl people like to whittle down to size, I once punched into my textmail. Sigh. There are days that those words seem all too awfully, blatantly true.

I'm fantasizing about going to New York on my birthday like I did last year but this time alone, not letting a single soul know where I am. I'll just kill time getting lost in the Guggenheim, go to Central Park, bring flowers for John and George and spend the rest of the day in Strawberry Fields just reading Jane Austen, Salinger or maybe Sylvia Plath.

I'm also mulling over getting the Nirvana boxed set that I have been wishing and longing for in my angst-filled heart-shaped box. But I'm torn between that and that little black number from Victoria's Secret. And that is just about how my life is in a nutshell on this part of the Atlantic. Go figure.


Joy.

....me timber? or me, timber? 10-06-2005

Lord help me why this song has been playing inside my sleep-deprived head over and over again.

I am in waking delirium.

My official favorite Coldplay song.

My official favorite Coldplay video.

Undulating. Unassuming. As it breathes onto your skin, walks its fingers down your spine and sink into your consciousness slowly, surely, irrevocably like a bloke. Just the right kind of bloke. A Chris Martin bloke. A Jon. A Will. A Guy. The music, like the video stark and bare-bones ( for Coldplay). Just well worn speakers and and one busy dolly ( I think, I'm no director but my sister is ). Just the inexplicable irresistable lure of young men in jeans, shirts, vintage sneakers, guitars, drums and five o'clock shadows (hopefully some timely showers somewhere in the mix too) jamming consumingly under the behest of an invisible muse. Intellect. Youth. Passion. Rock 'n Roll. Caffeine. Good intentions. One perfect muggy afternoon. Indoors.

A great song to get knocked up to.

Sleep.

Lord knows why this song keeps playing over and over in my head and in my i-tunes.

"Shiver"
by Coldplay from Parachutes

So I look in your direction,
But you pay me no attention, do you?
I know you don't listen to me.
'cause you say you see straight through me, don't you.

On and on from the moment I wake,
To the moment I sleep,
I'll be there by your side,
Just you try and stop me,
I'll be waiting in line,
Just to see if you care.

Did she want me to change?
But I change for good.
And I want you to know.
But you always get your way,
I wanted to say,
Don't you Shiver? Shiver, Shiver

I'll always be waiting for you,
So you know how much I need ya,
But you never even see me, do you?
And is this my final chance of getting you?

Sing it loud and clear.
I'll always be waiting for you.
I'll always be waiting for you.
I'll always be waiting for you.
Yeah I'll always be waiting

And it's you I see, but you don't see me.
And it's you I hear, so loud and clear.
I sing it loud and clear.
And I'll always be waiting for you,.

So I look in your direction,
But you pay me no attention,
And you know how much I need you,
But you never even seen me.

quiz result 9-14-2005

Morpheus


?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla

You are Athena, goddess of wisdom. You know how to
react appropriatly and have a mind of your own.
Just dont let your self become a know it all or
too uptight.


Which greek goddess are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

another soundtrack to the mean reds or why i want to bear sting's children 8-24-2005

Disclaimer: With all due respect to Mrs. Trudie Styler-Sumner, this is all wishful- thinking cause you've got to love a man who could rhyme apprentice with Scylla and Caribdes ( sigh. swoon!) BUT if yours is an open marraige and for the sake of spreading Mr. Sumner's exemplary genes (or as we call it in our language "palahian")....

King of Pain
by the Police

There’s a little black spot on the sun today
It’s the same old thing as yesterday
There’s a black hat caught in a high tree top
There’s a flag pole rag and the wind won’t stop

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running ’round my brain
I guess I’m always hoping that you’ll end this reign
But it’s my destiny to be the king of pain

There’s a little black spot on the sun today
That’s my soul up there
It’s the same old thing as yesterday
That’s my soul up there
There’s a black hat caught in a high tree top
That’s my soul up there
There’s a flag pole rag and the wind won’t stop
That’s my soul up there

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running ’round my brain
I guess I’m always hoping that you’ll end this reign
But it’s my destiny to be the king of pain

There’s a fossil that’s trapped in a high cliff wall
That’s my soul up there
There’s a dead salmon frozen in a waterfall
That’s my soul up there
There’s a blue whale beached by a springtide’s ebb
That’s my soul up there
There’s a butterfly trapped in a spider’s web
That’s my soul up there

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running ’round my brain
I guess I’m always hoping that you’ll end this reign
But it’s my destiny to be the king of pain

There’s a king on a throne with his eyes torn out
There’s a blind man looking for a shadow of doubt
Ther’s a rich man sleeping on a golden bed
There’s a skeleton choking on a crust of bread

King of pain

There’s a red fox thorn by a huntsman’s pack
That’s my soul up there
There’s a black winged gull with a broken back
That’s my soul up there
There’s a little black spot on the sun today
It’s the same old thing as yesterday

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running ’round my brain
I guess I’m always hoping that you’ll end this reign
But it’s my destiny to be the king of pain

King of pain
King of pain
King of pain
I’ll always be king of pain
I’ll always be king of pain
I’ll always be king of pain.

London Calling... 8-20-2005

Roused by a madly vibrating mobile from my head's burial ground of pillows, fighting through a stuporous haze from two nights of hard work, battle scars and more varicose veins, I pick up to hear the voice of a dear, dear, dear friend, Jeandel. Mrs. A_____ to be exact-- true blue super nurse, capital human being and most important of all, fellow rock 'n roll fan. And now, soon-to-be MOM!

She is based in the UK, like so many of my friends whom I love like blood, so painfully far from me, our friendship literally hanging by a Web and thin alloy wires. Guys, if you're reading this I miss you all so much. It just sucks to think we were like family one moment and to be suddenly just mere memories of each other the next, albeit happy ones.

We talked for a great hour of battery depletion for my my cell. CC got married to a former highschool heartthrob, had a honeymoon in Boracay, a double one at that with our other friend Pup the One & Only (she's no diva she's Puppy)... and how touched to tears I was to see an angel like CC looking so happy as she deserves to be, that it seared through the email she sent me... She tells me that Tin, our quirky waif friend and fellow E-head fan, is also married... Marvi-lous, Puppy's equally talented sister is also hitched... Jeandel is expecting January next year.... Everybody's getting laid except me!!!

We laugh. Loudly. Play catch up. Gossip a bit (no, a lot!!). They had a reunion in Sunderland where the then engaged Pupster got bit by the claws of a crab fighting from being dinner and the first thing that came to her head were the words, "With this ring, I thee.. whatthe@#$%^&!!"

I tell Jeandel I went through very rough times and lots of growing up the past few months since we last talked. And that she doesn't know how much the mere sound of her voice bearing news of people that I love safe and happy means so much to me at that moment. So MUCH.

Looking back through the years at the parade of caring faces and endeared names, I realize that I have been awfully endowed with lots of friends. GREAT ONES. I don't know what I did to deserve them. Not bad for a girl with black hole sun periods (love you Cris Cornell) and loner/antisocial tendencies, who at age eleven somehow foresaw that Suzanne Vega's Left of Center would be a recurring theme song. With all the chips and cracks they have somehow seen worth in this weird little curiosity. With all the grains of salt to desalinate the Dead Sea, they have considered me their friend. So much love... so much love...

Everyone around me seems to be hooking up, settling down and having babies, while I.... still remain their kooky friend. And I feel fine (love you Michael Stipes). These are really really good people. They've humbled me (I would have been a jerk if it wasn't for them). If ever bliss was handed out in gift baskets, they should be first to have them. Me? I shall always remain blessed just to have them in my life and be the world's coolest aunt.

P.S. Jean, hope you're still up to that ChiliPeppers concert we promised each other eventhough you have the baby. I'll make you usherette and your baby ringbearer or flower girl in my wedding to John Frusciante. Hahaha.








FRIENDS... Until Michael Jordan drops his gum...

a soundtrack to the mean reds 7-30-2005

Disclaimer: My apologies to the late great Audrey Hepburn, my idol and role model. Hell shall freeze over if I shall ever attain a smidgen of your innate ethereal grace and beauty. Ditto for the artists, The Posies and Holly Golightly and to Truman Capote. I truly, truly apologize for sucking your art into my minuscule little world and parlay myself as an original. They just happen to reflect my general wretchedness at the moment. Thank you.

Going Going Gone
Released on Dream All Day: The Best of the Posies, 2000
Also released on the 'Reality Bites' soundtrack
Written by Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow


When the words that you call your own
Have a very very foreign tone
And you feel like you're alone
And the message that you didn't mean
Stops a dirty mouth from coming clean
And the right to be obscene

Well I don't think I'm getting nowhere
Someone somewhere undestands
Nearly missing all my marbles
This is not a perfect plan

And it won't be very long
Til I'm going going gone
And is there really something wrong with me?

And if you hide in the meadow maze
You'll look back on apathetic days
And you'll feel like mayonaise
Amd the faces that you call your friends
Are expecting you to make amends
Well I guess it all depends

And it won't be very long
Til I'm going going gone
Yeah it won't be very long
Til I'm going going gone
And is there really something wrong with me now?

Where is all the healthful breathing
I'm not leaving until I know
Waiting for the resolution
I can't seem to let it go
And it won't be very long
She is ? on dry September
Mr. Member crying ?
I don't meant to change the subject
I just want to shut it out, shut it out, shut it out

And it won't be very long
Til I'm going going gone
Yeah it won't be very long
Til I'm going going gone
And is there really something wrong with me now?

from angelasworld from johnflove@mysmart.com oldsecretinfatuationangst 06-12-2005

These little green monsters come out often, taunting me in their rough unformed state.

Sometimes they can be delightful with their googly eyes & indelicate table manners around cookies.

Then,

they can also be as ugly
as the rantings of a tortured madman

-conjuring images of barbed wire,

straight jackets,

or maybe,

the blood spattered floor

of a Seattle green house.



Monday, November 17, 2003 0115 night shift at sndh with zolita fighting off the sandman with 500ml of Barako caffeine...

one day, alone in the caverns of an eggshell...06-05-2005

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road



Music by Elton John
Lyrics by Bernie Taupin
From the album Goodbye Yellow Brick Road



When are you gonna come down
When are you going to land
I should have stayed on the farm
I should have listened to my old man

You know you can't hold me forever
I didn't sign up with you
I'm not a present for your friends to open
This girl's too young to be singing the blues

So goodbye yellow brick road
Where the dogs of society howl
You can't plant me in your penthouse
I'm going back to my plough

Back to the howling old owl in the woods
Hunting the horny back toad
Oh I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the yellow brick road

What do you think you'll do then
I bet that'll shoot down your plane
It'll take you a couple of vodka and tonics
To set you on your feet again

Maybe you'll get a replacement
There's plenty like me to be found
Mongrels who ain't got a penny
Sniffing for tidbits like you on the ground




© 1973 Dick James Music Limited


Note to Sir Elton: My apologies. Your art my convenience. Thank you for the words. From a girl who's lost for them at the moment...

eric draven's babies? 5-25-2005

The rustling and the squeaking had been happening for weeks: around my bathroom, the hall outside the bedrooms. Only when my roommate finally announced that she heard them reverberating in her boudoir did I acknowledge it was not a figment of my imagination and portentous of my sanity. We first thought they were hapless squirrels trapped inside the hollow of our walls. How they got there we could only speculate. A friend enthused it could mischievous chipmunks. Whatever they were the thought of (Disney's not Gaiman's) Snow White's friends dying with our apartment walls as their coffin,didn't sit very well, not to mention the thought of the stench of their rotting carcasses permeating throughout our pretty little pad - usually smelling like pretty bachelorettes, sweet little girls, stabs at homecooking and neuroses- that no amount of incense could mask. I'd considerred calling maintenance while trying to prepare what I was going to say without sounding like a flake. I've also opted out letting my John Malcovich door open inside my closet for the apparent reason that it happened to be behind my underwear drawer.Meanwhile, the rustle had become more vigorous and seemingly frantic, the squeaks to squawks almost like cries of help torturing my conscience.

My roommate found out today that they turned out to be birds, yes birds. She saw one trying to make it's way out of the oven, yes the OVEN. She opened the oven door and the kitchen window and one eventually flew out. There was still noise in there echoing through the dishwasher and the aircon vents. While my roommate was asleep in her room, I opened the oven door again and eventually another bird hopped out. It was a baby crow.

I loved The Crow as a college kid undergoing a quasi-goth phase. I thought it was the friggin' most romantic movie ever made. I was going to marry a man like Brandon Lee. Good genes. Rock star. Artist. Poet. A love that would come back from death to avenge yours. Blurred the lines between fiction and the mundane. It was the first movie that ever made me cry and pull me out teenage apathy. It didn't help that the sequel, although it didn't quite live up to the original, featured Vincent Perez, the man whom I vowed to be the father of my children. The sight and sound of such birds would always make me smile, like I received a secret message from a lover, comforting. Ah, adolescent obsessions.

It took a quick tour of the kitchen, hopped unto the stove trying to sample our precious leftovers, nonchalant of me trying to shoo it towards the open window. It gave me a look and flew out until I lost sight of it. On the microwave and on my roommate's fancy coffemaker, it left souvenir droppings, the thanks I get for letting it out into the world.

Jordan Catalano fixed 5-21-2005

I wonder how many days has there been off my life I spent wasting away in my jammies laying on some flat, soft enough, comfortable, horizontal surface held hostage by the tube, sucked into a life that seemed to be but I wish was mine paralyzed, immobile, delaying the really important stuff like bills or hygiene or proper food, watching your life pass before you in marathons of reruns and cable specials. My life seems punctuated by Han Solos and red Jansport backpacks over and over again. Happiness seems to be anticipating the next Star Wars and the Nirvana boxed set. How does one delineate between content ...and being in a rut? When does the comfortable and familiar end and life begin?Tomorrow is another day, my dear Scarlett.

another peck out of the shell 05-21-2005

I'm hungry again. Will this hunger ever end? Will I ever be thin? Visions of warm strawberry milk swirl inside my head as my digestive juices eddy in concert. 6 + 8 = 14. I'll be up at 2pm or 3 or 4. Must turn my phone off. Thom York shall lull me to sleep or Lenny Kravitz or Bono. Got stuff to do. But above all, must sleep.

pecking out of the shell 05-21-2005 at 02:35 AM

It's 5am eastern time, my mac is warm with hours of activity, Viva La Bam bellowing on the telly and into my brain. I don't get MTV anymore. Disenfranchised by a franchise intended for the disenfranchised. What a wicked coil we're in. My bones ache for bed and I'm fighting the sands off my eyelids. The reason why behooves me. I don't know, I don't know. Michael Stipes in Daysleeper says, "My night is colored, headache gray, don't wake me with so much..." I'm probably just delirious. At least I know I exist. "I think therefore I am." I think of Michael Stipes. God bless the man. There is a God. There's a Michael Stipes. Must sleep.