Bjork obsessing.

i'm the path of cinders
burning under your feet
you're the one who wants me
i'm your one way street

Bachelorette, Bjork.

Hate people who post lyrics in full as entire entry because ofttimes is repetitive and pointless as we have no idea what they mean.

I want to taste your skin and melt into you.

There I was, at the site of so much heartbreak and hurt, and all I could think of was him, curving his arm around my waist, brushing electricity through me. The cheery interior betrayed none of the pain inherent in so many triangles.

How wonderful and ordinary and melancholy it must have been to live back then, surrounded by such luminaries.

I visited the Charleston House today.

...

Slight misunderstanding in previous post. Thanks to Marie, anyway. I meant to ask what have you never done including anything at all?

Typing from Leyna's computer.

Reformatting my laptop.

Feel like I've lost a life, but am gaining a new one which will be much better minus spyware, viruses, etc.

Sigh.

Field trip tomorrow to Brighton and Charleston House. Feel like will be trapped, as friends in that class are mere acquaintances. And must spend from 8AM-6PM with them. Deepen the friendships?

Hopefully.

I can't let go of you, and your eyes, and your smile. Idly, you will surface in my mind, and I'll wonder what you're doing, how you've been. A friendly haunt.

...

Update: Okay I am freaking out. My computer is basically having a meltdown. Anyone know a good computer repairman in London?

So I'm a wimp. Flying back to New York in two weeks for a weekender.

I like walking, except when I have an urge to just fly across the ground, running. I feel like I'm being pulled forward, sometimes, by my momentum and my legs can't keep up.

I have to remind myself there's no hurry. Slow down, breathe, take it in.

My Irish professor says 'thirty' like 'teahrty.' It's disarmingly cute.

Never have I ever seen name of ANY classic childhood films. What have you never ever? Be anonymous, if you like.

Post Secret is losing its charms for me.

I want to be someone's muse.

Bitterness in my mouth.

Not from food but from supposed friends who are doing a shitty job of being a friend.

Should it be so easy to let go of a friendship like that? I want to do what I do normally, cut all ties without an explanation and let them come to me, but this is immature, and I know it.

I don't have the patience, though, to wait and be hurt again.

Being away shows true colors. Duly noted.

I can't analyze anymore.

Back from Paris.

I've eaten more butter than I usually do in two weeks, and that's saying a lot.

I had a conversation with an older French gentleman named Joseph for ten minutes. In French. He complimented me on it.

Pure joy when I could read the signs and adverts and what have you. Finally, a language I can use in everyday life.

I am drained and rejuvenated.

Montmartre Cemetery was peaceful, not creepy, and beautiful. Sat on a tree-lit avenue which divided the graveyard and breathed in. Time felt slower there, sluggish, lazy.

Wanted so desperately to capture non-touristy Paris, but realized this is impossible as practically all of Paris consists of tourists.

Sigh. Back to England, with Parisian chocolates and cheese in hand to get me through the months.

Pounding has started again.

Errant woodpecker? wonders Leyna.

Who knows?

Felt Italian today so bought a proscuitto and sharp provolone sandwich on ciabatta bread. Added my own tomatoes and presto chango!

It didn't taste as good as Florence though, with wine and bread and amazing provolone on wet grass with the girls.

Yesterday watched in delight as a businessman in a flowy coat leaped in one graceful motion to catch the backend of a bus. It was beautiful.

Raisin scones turn me into a scone monster.

Attempted karaoke last night ended in drunk me laughing at a tiny old Indian woman in a wheelchair at the student bar who was smoking with two drinks in front of her. Another old man had me in convulsions as he kept staring goggly eyed into space and laughing for no apparent reason.

I thought of him again today. I imagined him kissing her, caressing another. Lips and emotions far apart. It pleased me, my guilty pleasure.

Greenlit leaves through the window.

Incessant pounding somewhere resonating through the building.

Sex? wondered my roommate.

If so, congratulations. Solid four hours, and going strong.

Parched throat, un-cooperative mind. At times I want to gulp down glaciers of water and gobble fruits bursting ripe with juice to satisfy my neverending thirst.

I read somewhere that because of my 'fiery nature' I need more water.

When I read that, I pictured myself as a ravenous raging fire which evaporated all liquids nearby.

I hunger for so much.

Karaoke tonight. Likely to make a giant fool of self singing such hits I hate to love such as Britney Spears and Spice Girls.

Perfect happiness strolling through Leather Lane market, admiring the bright colors of swingy skirts and searching for that perfect necklace I can't seem to find anywhere. Simple coral-red translucent beads in a long strand, with heft and a cold mineral feel to them.

Everybody Marie tonight!

So tired of ethnicity/origin questions by the Indian cashiers who pop up everywhere. American, I tell them firmly. But they continue to probe, pick, wheedle it out of me that my parents are from Taiwan. It is then, only then, that they nod with satisfaction, as though I have fulfilled some very important part of their life.

I imagine them at home, going through a list--did I meet a Taiwanese girl today? Check!

Like it is their sole purpose for living.

I have everything to say (procrastination is a writer's best friend) and I want to write it all in a frenzy. I listened to that song, the one that brought to mind winter and scratchy sweaters and a cozy fire and cold tempers, and I realized it's so in the past I can't be immature about it anymore. It's done it's over it's gone.

I was so awkward then, and he was lonely and now I regret not being able to comfort him to the fullest because of what you did to him. But not that much.

At least he was open with me, where you were/are not.

People here are meek day mice and loud night boors.

I am seeing connections I never did before on well worn musty pages and for once I feel like I am learning in class. Shock amazement awe. I know. Still unable to prevent naps in class.

Eating brown rice and salmon with tomato sauce. I'm not even hungry.

Je vais voyager a Paris pour le week-end et je suis tres excite!

Don't think, he said, just write, and I am doing/going to do this. Doesn't even matter what will come out; crap will reign supreme. Good luck to my reader(s).

My roommate is an amazing writer. Such a way with words; they are written raptures.

Yesterday I had a pear that tasted like plastic.

I cried this morning.

I still don't know what love means, but I have fallen into it.

I want to run and leave everything behind and be a stranger and smoke cigarettes and speak a foreign language and cook in a tiny apartment in France.

The beauty of things overwhelms me constantly.

I have to bullshit a 6 page paper today.

I am drained and exhausted and I want New York in my hair my clothes my face.

Hold strong.

I have been in a blogging mood of late.

The value of items becomes more apparent when their past is clear. What would a bundle of papers be worth if they were not the earliest printed version of Shakespeare's first folio? What would this house or that dress be without the famous person or history behind each?

The same applies when it comes to people. Their pasts, their actions, their experiences are important to forming their person. There are certain parts of pasts, however, which are to be delicately touched upon, either due to pain or embarrassment or whatever reason... and it is this part on which I've been musing on lately.

There are definitely parts of my past I would wish had never happened. I'm someone who tries (and usually succeeds) in not regretting the past. But my self-consciousness about particular silly things remains--things that people would most likely laugh at if they ever found out. Usually these moments remain buried in my mind, else I'd never be able to walk around without a care in the world, but when one surfaces, all the others clamor for attention too. Anyone else find this to be true?

My point is, though, do these blush-worthy things add value to me? Have they somehow formed me into a better person? These secrets are not pressing ones; they are not important or news worthy, but should they remain a mystery (espeically to loved ones)?

Somehow I think so.

...

Sometimes I imagine them together, with perverse pleasure. I know I should most likely feel hurt, or jealous, but instead I like to do this.

That is human nature, that people come after you, willingly enough, provided only that you no longer love or want them. - A.S. Byatt, Possession

Does this not capture so many things perfectly?

I never expected anything to come from that night.

The roof was dark, and windy. You sat next to me, and I couldn't help sneaking glances at you every so often, to make sure you were real, that you were still there. He has a marvelous smile, I thought to myself.

And here we are, four months later.

I am his, he is mine.

There are no words.

In memoriam.

I'm in London, and it feels like it's been a year since I've seen any of my friends.

:(

But hey, I'm in LONDON, as my roomie keeps saying with much excitement. And it's been sunshine and no rain, so far. Knock on wood.

Saw Matt D. last night. I had one strong mojito and started to fall asleep while he was talking. Sorry about that, Matty. And thanks for the drink.

I'm also looking forward to fall break. And my five day weekends.

I miss everyone and love you lots!