The Angel with an assault rifle

I think of my role models at times like this.
Lady Gaga (a questionable but still very relevant role model)
Poppy Z. Brite (because she's morbid as muffins)
Russel Brand (because he's weird as mutant muffins)

Why is it my role models are people I've never met? And more importantly people who either a) are going through a wonky phase and will normal out eventually or b) the biggest attention whores in the history of pop culture?

I don't know. At 1am my brain begins to wander. Grand Total of Friends for the summer? 0.
And I bitch and moan about this a lot. Probably more than I actually need to, but when I think about it, there's only three people I can actually enjoy the company of and I am down right terrified of having to lie to someone to get away from them.

The simple equation still stands to be proven wrong: my liking someone > someone liking me.
Perhaps it's the mirror I broke freshman year, or the dynamic change from drama tease to silent psycho. But don't let the internet be your guide here.

No. The tone you read this with will most likely come across as highly negative. It isn't. It's indifferent. You see, me and emotions don't really get along. Must be these soulless black eyes, mmm yummy. Why this topic for a post tonight?

Tonight on the news, there was a report about a study where women and stress are bad together. Oh yes. Very bad. Stress in itself is bad. But women have so much more to deal with besides the recession and children. It's hard carrying a uterus. TO solve stress, simply drink red wine (but not too much), exercise, and be social. People who are social live longer. Which makes sense, because generally things that bring pleasure into your life aren't causing stress, stress kills, therefore pleasure makes you live longer. I drink red wine. I exercise. But I'm not social. Not if you actually know me. I'm picky, and shallow, and a bitch. But if you're intelligent, good looking and tolerate my weirdness (and give me cookies) I take it upon myself to be your guardian angel.

Do I have an angel? No.
Do I want an angel? Maybe.
Do I need an angel? Yes. I'm simply a hazard to the world if left to my own devices.

Deep down in the place of my soul where wishes blossom, I hope that this De Anza thing will bring with it a new armada of interesting people worthy of calling friend. I'm incredibly happy all my classes are in the evening though. I work so much better at night.

Lashing out like a cat on fire

I don't like to talk to people about how and what i'm feeling. Usually I just lash out at anyone who comes close enough and fuck up that friendship, only to return ten minutes later to apologize. /sigh will I ever learn?

Haven't talked to anyone really since I got back. Except 4 people I consider essential to my existence. I could make more friends. That's not hard. But keeping them...I tend to lose interest within a few hours? Days? I'm running out of distractions to help time pass and I don't even know what I'm running from. My past maybe? But I don't even remember that. It seems like some far off dream, even though it was only a few months. Maybe I'm blinded by jealousy. That might be it. And I never really understood how it comes up and how to kill it. Is it fear? Or maybe, just maybe I'm actually normal and there's nothing wrong with me just that I want something to be.

Before the trip, I was in love with the thought of my death. Like it was constantly on my mind, thinking about open the car door and sliding out on to the pavement, going for a late night drive and slamming into a wall or off a hill side. And I'm small so pretty much anything will kill me. And the reason none of that came to be? Simply the fear of not having anyone come to my funeral. Because death by itself is pretty lonely, but if no one came in my last few minutes above ground? Well then I've been dead a very long time. And who would make sure the right people knew about my death? What about Prava and Jeremy, and maybe even Jacob? See most of friends don't even know who they are.

After the trip, I stopped caring about my death, and the lack of actual friends I had and Kayleena and Lawrence helped with that I guess. But Kay's gone, Lawrence is leaving, and now my father is leaving for Trinidad soon. I don't remember exactly what I was trying achieve here. By one, coming back to California in the first place, and two being Zakkarrii. But I don't think I'm that person anymore. The drama queen, attention whore, bad Lady Gaga remake. Nope. Don't see any traces of that.

Maybe my biggest fear is slipping back into that person. It feels like standing in the dark, with a door to the past just ajar and tempting. I could go back to what I know. Or I could keep going further into the dark and finding out the presently unknown.

Or I could sit and smoke and waste more time than ever. Lol. Decisions, decisions.

Learning the trade.

SO I didn't go the fashion show. I was yelled at on first day in Trinidad, because people didn't collaborate together to make something work. But it's okay. I'm going to look up pictures and see that it's not as big as John Galliano's shows and feel better. Ash will have a good time. I probably won't see her for while I'm here. I probably won't see Ravi again, but that's how it's supposed to be. I'm too young for him and he's got a life. I just want to go out and party and drink till I can't stand up straight. LIke i did last summer....I just want to sleep. July 17th won't come soon enough. Like everything that's supposed to be good in my life, it's just a disappointment. I wish I brought my medication so I wouldn't have to feel anything.

Or better yet. That I had just waited to come down with my mom. Shame though, he was incredibly lovely to be around.


Jesse's just leading me on with coming here. So why am I so disappointed? MAybe this is what I get for not going to SFSU, for being the best that I could be. Day one of a fucked up month and a half complete.

Did I mention that I can't smoke because all the doors are locked with one pound heavy weights? Fun. My mood regulators are out.

Departure Part 1 (San Jose to LAX)

Sitting at the terminal an hour prior to boarding, I've begun to wonder. What made facebook popular? There's hardly a thing about it that would cause the entire population of computer consumers to freak out if it crashed, disappeared, died. It doesn't even allow for personality to shine through. It's a one size fits all type of of gig, and you know what's curious? If people actually stopped to think about it, they would see that they are exercising their herd mentality.

And who am I to sit on your fragile little dreams of individuality? Why, I'm the person who joins these social networking sites at a year before you even know it exists. Maybe that's why I have such a negative perspective. The second it becomes of remote interest to the general public I want out. It loses the value that made me fall in love with it in the first place.

I need a smoke before they send me up to the air. Ick. Designated smoking area? Airports are not smoker friendly.

The End of an Era

You know, this graduating business seems like tricky business. All the emotions tied to it, you'd think that I would feel something. But I don't. I've come to terms with my good byes, my disappointments, my brilliance radiating on the blessed few. It's over, let's move on. I'm finished.

But the thing that bothers me most of all, is that my entire high school career has gone full circle. Freshman year, I was in English class with three girls singing Yellow Submarine. Senior year, I was with those same girls singing Chasing Pavements. The boys who I fell for are almost a perfect mirror image of each other. The confidence, the way it shone, the way it died and the way it grew again, not to what it once, but better...it's all just astounding. And yet while that may seem trival to some of you, my looking too deep into things, it fits perfectly, because through it all, I did whatever it is that I wanted to do and the era of our youngin' days ending, just shows how much I need to cling to that.

Lovely. Now on to this traveling business.

I'm terrified. I've never traveled alone before and it's not like going you know, Florida or something. It's a different flippsy country. "Flippsy" here having the meaning of an explicative not an insult to the country and its cultural values. Trinidadians are entirely different from the people I know. How do I know this? Simple, the way my cousin behaved when she was here. Stranger comes up and chats you up, polite, open, warming. Our take on the same situation, is grab your purse, defend yourself verbally, and have 911 on speed dial. And why is that? I don't know. Seems silly now that I think about it. I'm also afraid that I won't be able to keep myself amused long enough before I start to yearn for human entertainment, like you know communication. And worsty of all! I'm getting sickish. My tummy has been upset all day and I can barely talk. *pouts*

I know right? Poor me.

Off to the librachie to get my read on. Au revior pets.

Opening up, Looking in.

They all had dark eyes, every color of the rainbow. Lucinda's was violet, Julian's green, Gabriel's a wicked shade of blue, and the Youngest's was orange. They kept their eyes narrow, for if eyes are the window to the soul, shouldn't they be able to decide who comes in?

Lucinda, the original Youngest, sat far across the room from her. She was disturbed by the child's silent nature. People who kept quiet either knew more than they let on or knew nothing at all. She couldn't be trusted. And as Julian almost shared his twin sister's feelings toward the newcomer, he knew they should treat her kindly, and show her the ways of the City. But neither Gabriel or Lucinda would allow that, talking in their backwards ways to confuse the observant child.

"Have you ever wondered that maybe it's someone to blame for what happened to us?" Lucinda whispered. Gabriel scoffed.

"They had a chance to save us from ourselves, and look what they did. Turn their backs on us without a second glance. And yet of all the people in this godforsaken City, you keep going back. They don't want us."

This used to be a blow to Lucinda, a feeling as if being stabbed in the heart would blossom in her chest, but tonight there was no feeling. She had successfully nummbed herself to that pain. "No. There's something there. I need to know."

The child frowned. Reason. Curiosity. That's what drove Lucinda.

"But," Julian joined in, looking apologetic to the Youngest, "If you're asking that question, you already know the answer. You always do."

"I just want to proven wrong."

Gabriel's sarcastic amusement diminished into annnoyance. He shook his red dredlocks, "Maybe two months ago, you would've been wrong. But after what we did, and what they've done. There's no way you couldn't be wrong now..."

"What are you talking about?" A small voice came from the lips of the child nestled in the couch. Jack, their gaurdian, had dressed her in white, like a doll, which Lucinda found entirely too eerie for her. "Who are they? Why does Luci care about them? Why is Gabriel mad?"

Gabriel looked at Lucinda, "Don't answer. She's aiming for ann emotional opening. Did you catch the tone?"

Julian tried to defend her, but it lacked conviction. "Oh come Gabe. She's just a child."

"And so were we. We were the same age as she when we started. But people were dumber then, and had no idea what we wanted."

Regret. Sorrow. Confusion. This is what gripped them and they protected themselves by being distant. It was...pitiful.

"How cold." Lucinda stared directly into the child's eyes. "You think because we're distant, we're to be pitied. But we're not distant because we're hurt. Not entirely. We're distant to present a challenge. How far would you go to get in? How much do you really want to know?"

"Seems like you're asking a lot of people who don't know you, yet. Why not be open?"

Julian and Gabriel who had been day dreaming, immediately turned to Lucinda at the word "open". It was a part of Luci's problem, opening up. But she laughed. "Why don't you be open with us and see where the problem really lies?"

Manip. You. Later.

Some people would find to be a disgusting trait. It is in fact an art, in that it uses the mind alone to craft a masterpiece of illusion and conviction. It's like acting only on a far more psychological level than distracting someone from reality. I can't help it. I admire the manipulations other people perform, I have to. It took time and effort and real thought and if the results are horrific and painful, I'm only elated by them.

Does that make me an ugly person? No. The ends usually justify the means don't they? Won't they? And if at least one person is benefitted from the ruin of another does that stop it from being bad? Perhaps. See, manipulation is black and white, China and United States. It's the Frenchie bit of society, a bit questionable, a bit artistic, and a hell lot of fun. If it done properly.

So the goal of this summer, find the grey of manipulation and use it to get the one thing I want most. It's tangible before you go thinking it's some emotion a person cannot achieve in the solace of his mind. It's very tangible and the best part?

If I can pull it off, it will be my best work to date.

And, being me, I do have a lot of "best works".