moana
|
::
2006 4 January :: 1.52am
My life, my life, my love, my life.
My life, my work, my work, my work.
My life, my dreams, my life, my life.
My life, my life, my life, my life.
|
|
moana
|
::
2006 1 January :: 2.12pm
Curtains on a pretty sucky year. Curtains on what promises to be a better year.
Happy New Year! ^-^
Criticize
|
|
moana
|
::
2005 23 December :: 10.54pm
:: Mood: shocked
:: Music: Deathcab for Cutie - A Movie Script Ending
I really see you upside down.
What am I waiting for?
Criticize
|
|
moana
|
::
2005 20 December :: 2.51am
:: Music: Gorillaz - Green World
Don't desert me now.
The thing about me is, you have to get past a lot. You have a lot of defense mechanisms you have to get through, and a lot of protests and contradictions. I rarely come right out and ask for help, when it matters anyway, and a lot of the time, right after I do, I'll yell at you for helping me. You have to get past the brutal sense of humor, the pretentious indignation, the hostility and then, the tears. Some layers are omissions of facts and other layers are just downright lies. Some layers are truthful to the bone, some layers are just for show. And deep down, when you can get past the big hair, the glasses, the odd clothes and the sneakers, when you can get past the jittery stance and the gait and the high-pitched squealing voice, when you can get past the book-smart talk about nothing at all and the contemptuous snort at everything that is important, then there’s me. A little sad, a little happy, a little brave, and very scared.
The mismatched earrings, the autographed shoes, the childish whine, the chalk-stained jeans, the odd-sounding laugh, the charming enthusiasm, the nerd and the bimbo, the cheerleader and the loner, the musician and the mathematician, if you can get past that, it’d be great.
But if you could get past all that and still like me, still consider me a friend, still consider me a loved one, a family member or whatever it is I am to you now, then that’d just make it all irrelevant, wouldn't it?
2 Critics |
Criticize
|
|
moana
|
::
2005 18 December :: 1.59am
aaaaaaaaaaaaand semester
Done. Over. Through. Oh yes.
I'm gonna miss my new people though, those that aren't coming abck. Rodell, Marz and Lydia, for one thing. Rodell especially. My gay boyfriend.
I guess that's all there is to it, then.
By this time tomorrow I'll be back in Kuwait.
I'll see you then.
1 Critic |
Criticize
|
|
moana
|
::
2005 17 December :: 2.29am
I just left the A building. It's 2:30 in the morning.
I am so screwed.
I did a 100x140cm self-portrait, a 50x70 self-portrait and an A2 reproduction of a charcoal portrait. Between 3pm and 2am. I'm hungry, I'm tired, I'm covered in charcoal and bird shit, and I'm cranky.
I hate freehand drawing.
Criticize
|
|
moana
|
::
2005 14 December :: 10.19pm
:: Music: Suede
Intensive care.
Only twice in my life have I ever said to my mother, "I will never forgive you." At the beginning of my senior year, when it was time to join MUN, to write up the research, to hand in the summer assignments, my mother said to me, "You can't do MUN anymore."
I didn't argue with her. She said that MUN was taking time away from my studies, that it was a distraction that I didn't need. I didn't argue with her. I just said to her, "I will never forgive you for this."
It hit a nerve, because I had said it once before.
Up until the seventh grade, I took French and Art as my electives at the same time. I loved art, and once upon a time, I loved French. But art was everything to me. I held onto a childhood dream of being an artist. When I was in first grade I told my teacher, "I want to be an artist." When seventh grade came around, I could no longer take two electives at the same time, and I had to make a choice.
My mother made the choice for me. I took French. But right before I gave in, I said to her, "I will never forgive you for this."
That was a long time ago, and I've grown into a different person. I love the academics, I love science and math, I love literature and history. Art was not a part of my life, art surrounded me as part of the environment. I had abandoned art as a passion. And now, here I am, doing it all over again, falling in love with it all over again, learning to be exceptional at it all over again.
I think in a parallel universe, there's a me that took art throughout her life, took art in seventh grade, eighth grade, high school and so on, and then went to college and became an engineer.
I think in a parallel universe, there's a me that found herself disoriented and confused, frustrated and angry, the bottom of the food chain after being the top of the peer group. There's a me that discovered or rediscovered a love for something that she didn't think she could ever incorporate into her life, or her plans for the future.
I think this me from the parallel universe and the me you all know have at least that much in common.
Criticize
|
|
moana
|
::
2005 13 December :: 3.41am
I deserve to be with someone that can make me happy.
|
|
moana
|
::
2005 12 December :: 10.55pm
:: Music: The Breeders - Do You Love Me Now
Do you think of me like I dream of you?
I haven't slept since Friday. If I don't get some sleep tonight, the shakes will start. I don't like the shakes.
Criticize
|
|
moana
|
::
2005 8 December :: 1.16pm
:: Music: music
When and if I finish this portrait, and when and if it turns out the way I want it to, then I will finally put my insecurity to sleep and admit that yes, I am an artist. Happy now, Rose Nose?
2 Critics |
Criticize
|
|
moana
|
::
2005 7 December :: 6.35pm
:: Music: The Breeders - Little Fury
round up, holler girl
If I can't love you, then I will die for you.
That's the logic of the suicides.
And no, this is not a sad entry. I'm actually quite chipper. *giggles*
Criticize
|
burn667
|
::
2005 5 December :: 3.59pm
ahhhh.. thirsty
I wake up in the morning
I look up tp my father
And I see his eyes.
In them is a reflection of mine...
Lord I see the thoughts you have..
Many of them of me
More vast than the ocean
as countless as the sand
Halleluiah,
Praise the father
His beaty reflects on the sky,
His creation shows his perfection.
His love pours out over me.
Criticize
|
|
moana
|
::
2005 5 December :: 4.57pm
:: Mood: focused happy
:: Music: Muse - Microcuts
Are we the last living souls?
There's a place on campus right behind the A building where all the trees cast shade all the time, and the marble is really cool from the air conditioning inside. There are grassy areas to your right, and the high fence of the university to your left, wrapped in vines. It's almost always breezy, the wind goes from your right to the left, so there are always leaves blowing around, making little circular dances and pretty things to look at like that. It's not always quiet, but it is at night. The area is shaded off from the glare of the spotlights that come on at six, but it's still bright enough to see the sky through the leaves. It's on this circular step thing, an entryway into the building that no one really uses. An ashtray/dustbin is there, an eyesore, to balance off the perfection. Around this area are three prominent trees, and a little fourth one a little ways off. Under each of the three big trees is a dead animal. On the sides of the trees, facing the people sitting in this spot on the steps, are three different epitaphs.
Isn't it odd how people come and go to this place by the dozens everyday, to enjoy the scenery, to have a quick cigarette, to sneak a phone call to the one they love, and they're completely oblivious to the pet cemetary?
It's easy to be at ease when you're ignorant.
Criticize
|
|
moana
|
::
2005 2 December :: 5.53pm
:: Mood: contemplative
:: Music: Gorillaz - O Green World
This is how I pour my heart out.
I can only stretch this weary heart so thin across this bread. It's caught between the urge to help and the desire to beat. The general concensus seems to be, "I must live." Must I?
Indifference was only a distant dream when my salt-water mask seemed permanent. It governed my fate so that I rebuilt my lego plans over and over in my future head, reworking and rewriting the systems until it all crashed and burned into ashes that can only be coaxed into slight unrest if I sell my soul to a smile.
If I stick this finger far enough into the back of my throat, i can regurgitate a tear or two for drama. These droplets of would-be sadness can fool for only so long, like dead butterflies fluttering before an electric fan. When they drop as lifeless as before, it is as if they were never there, but the active face before me is at ease now that the butterflies have taken flight.
I can only stretch this weary heart so soft against this butter. It's lost between the want to feel and the need to die. The general concensus seems to be, "I must feel." Must I?
2 Critics |
Criticize
|
|
moana
|
::
2005 28 November :: 9.21am
Lift our eyes, big surprise.
Criticize
|
|