Reading is great. I spend most of my reading time marveling at his or her ability to articulate his or her thoughts. The subject matter is often mundane and/or seen before, but the way authors write out thoughts, as if they were actually meant to be written out to begin with, enchants. What they're doing is like photographing wind. Writing a breath. Sliding down a rainbow. I went one too far.

Expecting a lot from people is a chore. I've come to believe its less a burden on them, than it is to me, to hope. How disappointing it is to realize that they don't seem to understand our moods actually depend on their decisions! Petty things, small things. Say, I ask you to critique my writing, and you are well aware I'm a person who'd rather hand in a rough draft than have you look over my writing--whether it be out of pride, or self-worth, or a desire for mystique. You should know better than to say, I'm busy. Have we met?

"Knowing your audience" is one of the first things I learned in Medill.

Mom and I have had this discussion numerous times. Dad and I haven't had this discussion, but we've felt it, about each other. The truth. When we like someone enough to say out loud we like them, we'd also like them to know certain things about ourselves without us having to explain them. But actually, that's what knowing your audience means, right? The most valuable things must be found, not told. Found, felt, fondled. Fuck, sometimes I feel like I'm trying to blow air into a fishnet, expecting it to balloon.

Maybe I should hang out with more Medilldos.


Guichanaso. 

In high school I shared a locker with two other girls, best friends at the time. One was prissy. When we would share a cup to put our tooth brushes in, she would make sure to have her brush not touch either of ours. I didn't really mind. Everyone has different needs.

One day, she came up to me and asked why I never cleaned the cup. I didn't even know the cup needed cleaning. In fact, she ventured out far enough to ask me why I didn't clean my toothbrush very well. That was my first my real encounter with the concept of "manners." It wasn't nice. I didn't understand why it needed mentioning. I didn't understand why she thought it was okay to try and implement her way of doing things to me. To me, that wasn't good manners. To me, that was humiliating. I no longer wanted to look at that cup. I cleaned my toothbrush, thinking, I didn't need to experience that. She didn't need to happen in my life.

Manners didn't leave a good first impression. And vice versa, I'm sure. Irony?

I had hoped that its first impression would be the last. Like most things I don't deem important. I thought it would evaporate. But it stayed rather incessantly. It remained, remains, to jab me in the knee whenever I seem to feel comfortable. Manners are about small sacrifices, said Emerson, or someone like that, I honestly couldn't give a fuck at this point--but shouldn't our differences allow us to levy different decisions on those precise sacrifices. What if, to me, being told what to do is the biggest foul of all. Do I get a say? Do I get to say, I wasn't raised that way. I guess we were raised differently. Well, yeah. Kudos to you, for stating the obvious.

Acceptance would be nice, I said. And meant, with all my heart.

Guichanaso.

Guichanaso.

"Perhaps love is the process of my leading you, gently, back to yourself."

- Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Tired of talking about feelings. Teachers taught me to show, not tell. I will show, not tell.

Guichanaso.

Today I had a 9AM class that I had to rush through breakfast for.
Nothing, I realized, is worth rushing through breakfast for.
I roamed the unfamiliar streets of Edgewater, Chicago,
searching for photographers to ask questions,
many of whom declared they "did not have the time" to give
a simple 5-minute interview about their take in Instagram.
"You were all just loitering when I came up to talk!"
Frustrated, I walked down back to the Berwyn El stop,
near of which I found a vintage clothing store
brimming with 80's designer goods.
That was the highlight of today.
There was a kelly green Lacoste cardigan that I had been searching
for months.

Guichanaso.

So this dude is quoted in like the introductory quote, the ornamentation, of this book that I'm reading for a class. The dude says, partially, art "created the fascinating imaginative realm where no one owns the truth and everyone has the right to be understood." This is not the main thing he says, but still it stuck to me. This is a little less purposeful than what Gabriel García Marques said in his Nobel Literature Prize lecture. He basically said the purpose of story and poetry is to connect people through a narrative. Improve sympathy. Share and expand and identify the "common." More or less what this short story author whose name I cannot recall who visited my school said. The practical purpose of literary works is to connect people.

I think a few things. First, no shit duh. Why do people write in the first place? Even if the author did not intend in any specific emotion to tap into the nerves of sympathy, any coherent story will create a coherent atmosphere that one can feel and relate to. Second, why must it be any thing near practical anyway, although it proves to be, somehow, most of the times. Third, we don't have enough people knowing how to listen. If we listen and know a person, we can distinguish that persons' words exactly into their thought processes. I can understand your words, however they may be. Fourth, the artist cannot and I would even say should not fully complete their reason with their work. Reason limits certain choices and perverts it as well. If something irrational is necessary, execute. In other words, you cannot plan everything in your work. Somethings must be unforeseeable and surprising, and even if you try to plan everything, you cannot guarantee that it will be received as you wished. So do not plan, sometimes.


Mothagesso.

Today I saw something so incredibly real. I wanted to be real, too. Not just theoretical. And I want to be real in a great way. Ever get the feeling that you want so much for yourself, and you're reaching, in theory, far, to grab what lies ahead, but all you get is a fluff of air that escapes your fist, ever so fucking evasive, so delicate, you must always strike a balance. Even randomness is difficult to achieve; it would be silly to assume an organized goal to necessitate any less effort. Or, I wonder. Is my head in the clouds? I think my father is a tad frustrated with my lack of real thought. Mother wants me to dream on, I think. I'm right there with you.

As for now, I'd like to see more and feel more and think more. Do more, too, eventually. But I need time to plan things out. I need to know exactly what I'm getting myself into before my feet are in the waters. Also, writing this, I realize I'm a terrible teller. Open up my head and look at what I'm thinking, everyone! Listen in on my thoughts, because I can't  explain. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Guichanaso.

Many struggles we all have, and had. And tad bit too many people probably wrote about it, sang about it, talked about it, drew about it, cried about it. Regardless of all these scenarios and scripts, it still seems just that hard to come across that resonates with you, that enlightens you, guides you, and you immediately identify with. I guess many factors play into this, be it regional or temporal differences. I struggle to see myself in a more third person way by trying to be as first person as possible sometimes, and dealing with second persons always just confuse me a lot. But yes, searching, in order to find things, and make a list of who I am. And while that goes on, searching to explore life, world, and emotions, as well as people. Yes, even philosophers want to be kissed.

Mothagesso.

Things to do, and an Education.

- profile: contact Manojlovski
- art: first topic. should we focus on increasing funding for space exploration? happy sad / same sex / american. Hiro, little child, Bernatz, or maybe even Sona, cosmology professor, ooh maybe Owen! priest pastor.
- return calc to Joyce
- fix pentax camera
- sign up for yoga -- healthy lifestyle, please!
- "what's recurring is the theme of recurring"
- humor in art! humor in the loss of control. humor in repeated/automatic behavior.
- humor giving things meaning.
- "arms that surround you from the inside"
- "set me free, won't you stay, won't you lay"
- repetition as a demand to entry
- children and man with horse chasing the kids. man dies in gallows, but his music haunts the children. success, goal, is achieved.
- piper luring children with music
- the twisted angel logo
- imprinting
- ebisu
- ladies at train station listen to the song, go home, further imprint on their children.
- "hypnosis," spinning images, transformation, reveal what's real and not.
- music as a colonizing, psychological force. insidious.
- humor and irony is used here to make ideas palatable. ideas as plates, like dishes of food, and humor as a certain sauce to ease listeners into acceptance.
- "he's a bit of a politician" "he is building sense"
- the distinction between human and technology, is made. necessary?
- nostalgic, academic, accusatory, doomsday, warning tones. asking for a reception. did he get it?
- acousmetre: a voice without a body. because it is without a body, it has power. third man present in guitar without hands. third man's power is asserted. play on fear. radio > television. vocal power.
- role of power in human interaction and communication?
- disappointment with the visible third man, haunted by the third man without physical presence.
- sound of music. ridiculous or apt/limited or makes sense?
- maria = snake, or a moonbeam. narrator = manipulative or accurate.
- instead of total "liberation," there is a different structure being asserted. music as a camouflage to insidious deeds.
- pausing scenes of awkward positions and facial expressions: disclosing their vulnerability in contrast to his authority/manipulative power. (over the meaning of their actual clips)
- signals effort being made.
- does absurdity and sarcasm detract from validity
- talking about pop culture to an already cognizant audience, ironic?
- ridiculousness is emphasized through repetition.
- cognizant of his irony, and his own sense of humor.
- irony is not an opposite to sincerity. irony is complex. irony can be used for accuracy. only the simplest things can be said, articulated, without irony.

Guichanaso.

"It is not enough to conquer, one must learn to seduce." -Voltaire

Guichanaso.

Today at dinner, I was described as a Type B individual. So I looked things up, then looked more things up, then put one and two together..

A theory describes Type B individuals as a perfect contrast to those with Type A personalities. People with Type B personalities are generally apathetic, patient, relaxed, easy-going, no sense of time schedule, having poor organizational skills, and at times lacking an overriding sense of urgency. These individuals tend to be sensitive to other people's feelings...


INFP

The polite, reserved exterior of INFPs can at first make them difficult to get to know. They enjoy conversation, however, taking particular delight in the unusual. When INFPs are in a sociable mood, their humor and charm shine through. Disposed to like people and to avoid conflict, INFPs tend to make pleasant company.

Devoted to those in their inner circle, INFPs guard the emotional well-being of others, consoling those in distress. Guided by their desire for harmony, INFPs prefer to be flexible unless their ethics are violated. Then, they become passionate advocates for their beliefs. They are often able to sway the opinions of others through tact, diplomacy, and an ability to see varying sides of an issue.

INFPs develop these insights through reflection, and they require substantial time alone to ponder and process new information. While they can be quite patient with complex material, they are generally bored by routine. Though not always organized, INFPs are meticulous about things they value. Perfectionists, they may have trouble completing a task because it cannot meet their high standards. They may even go back to a completed project after the deadline so they can improve it.

INFPs are creative types and often have a gift for language. As introverts, they may prefer to express themselves through writing. Their dominant Feeling drives their desire to communicate, while their auxiliary intuition supplies the imagination. Having a talent for symbolism, they enjoy metaphors and similes. They continually seek new ideas and adapt well to change. They prefer working in an environment that values these gifts and allows them to make a positive difference in the world, according to their personal beliefs.

Healer

Healers tend to be private individuals who have a strong sense of right and wrong and an idealistic worldview. They are deeply committed to things that are positive or good and may be inspired to make extraordinary sacrifices in attempts to achieve their ideals. They are prone to errors of fact as they follow their feelings more than they follow logical analysis. However, following their feelings also means that Healers seldom make errors of feeling.

Healers are often misunderstood as children.[1] In practical minded families, their devotion to idealism may be frowned upon and may even be punished. Most other role variants can shrug off the parental expectations that don’t fit them, but Healers are greatly affected by it. They want to please their parents and their siblings and, in attempt to do this, they may mask or hide their differences. This can create inner turmoil within the Healer. Healers are often better at detecting this inner turmoil than other role variants. Healers seek unity of mind, body and spirit, perhaps because of the inner turmoil caused during their upbringing.

Healers are adaptable, patient with complicated situations, and welcoming of new ideas and information. They are impatient with routine details. As they are aware of people’s feelings, Healers relate well with others. They are also comfortable working alone given their private nature. Healers have an interest in scholarly activities and often have exceptional language skills.

Occurring in only about one percent of the population, Healers can easily feel isolated. They value harmony and integrity in human relationships, but often find these values to be out of step with the more concrete pursuits of the rest of the world. Feeling "different," they may wonder whether something is wrong with them. But those differences—an ethical nature, a devotion to ideals, a commitment to harmonious interaction—are in fact some of their greatest strengths.

One of the rarest of the types, Healers can be both extremely romantic and extremely independent. They are likely to want a mate who won't shrink from their expansive imagination. They are often attracted to those whom others have overlooked, given the Healers' rare ability to see the positive qualities that lie beneath the surface.[2]

In romantic relationships, Healers generally seek mates who, like themselves, have a highly developed inner life. An ideal mate must be open to the Healers' expressions of unique ideas. Healers may need long periods of privacy, followed by periods of intense intimacy, so they are best suited to a partner who can adapt to these changing needs.[2]

Generally thoughtful and considerate, Healers are good listeners and put people at ease. Although they may be reserved in expressing emotion, they are deeply caring and genuinely interested in understanding people. This sincerity is sensed by others, making Healers valued friends and confidants. They do not like conflict and go to great lengths to avoid it. In conflict situations, they place little importance on who is right and who is wrong. They focus on how the conflict makes people feel, a trait that can make them appear irrational and illogical.[3] In such situations, Healers may benefit from stepping out of the situation temporarily so they can reflect and replenish their reserves.

Perfectionists, Healers have very high standards. Consequently, they are usually hard on themselves, and don't give themselves enough credit. They may have problems working on a project in a group, because their standards may be higher than those of other members of the group. This can lead them to become overly controlling. Healers are often well served to balance their high ideals with the requirements of everyday living. [3]

Healers tend to be flexible, unless one of their values is violated. When their value system is threatened, Healers can become aggressive defenders of their cause, and any project or job that Healers adopt is likely to become one of their causes. Although Healers do not generally focus on specifics, they cover every possible detail with determination and vigor when working on a project that engrosses them.[3]

Healers are often talented writers. Some may be awkward and uncomfortable expressing themselves orally, but demonstrate a wonderful ability to define and express what they're feeling on paper. Healers appear frequently in social service professions, such as counseling or teaching.[3]

Wanting to better understand.
Guichanaso.

Ego really is a funny thing. I think a lot of people think of ego as what I think of as vanity. You can only have high ego if you know yourself to a certain degree, have established a self-understanding that is consistent with who you really are to a considerable degree, and you have conceptualized, categorized, constructed, then construed who you are. We think about and create who we are. And then upon this identity, we build love for ourselves. And based on how much you like yourself, you can go from the regions of diffidence to humility, all the way to the plateaus of confidence to ego.

Now, if you don't have such understanding and you simply think that you deserve more, that you are right, that you are better than others, that you want to do what you want to do-- if you don't have any substantive self-construction and -understanding of who you are, then you are a vacuous persona. You are, then, a little ignorant, most likely insensitive and obnoxious, and very vainly all about satisfying your own whims and impulses. That, to me, is more vanity than ego.

Ego is, with this contradistinction, a good thing. Last night two of my friends talked about this girl. A girl who took years off from school to pursue music, who puts on beautiful bright red lipstick, black and white mini dress, garter belt and fuzzy hair all very confidently. How she is so appealing--not only because she emanates the sense of strong identity and personality, as well as a strong sense of presence any where--but also because she is also very soft-spoken and shy in interactions. "It's interesting to see sometimes like the supermodels who say that they are very shy." It's like two-in-one deal. It's like something so exotic. I always realize how much my interpretations of how other people act towards me are extremely ego-centric. My own ego sort of puts me off, but I also do not seem to know how else to think, because I'm always doing this.

I'm still very much lost in the swamps. The plains and plateaus don't seem to be near. Calgary doesn't seem to be near. I don't even see the signs.

Mothagesso.

Ego is a funny thing. You hold yourself higher (in importance) than others, which should absolutely be the case, and clash with another ego, kind of like a building crashing into another in an earthquake. You see it while it's happening. And, there's nothing more disillusioning than realizing that someone else isn't willing to bow down to your ego. What's more, you kind of wonder why this person isn't diminishing his/her ego for the sake of salvaging the relationship, which is--case in point--evidence of your own ego-centrism. Fuck people, I want to be an island.

Samantha from Sex and the City ends her relationship with her first serious relationship (in my opinion) in the first movie of the series. Her rationale for doing so is that she "loves him, but loves [herself] more." I found that to be a mindboggling notion at first. Immersed in the romanticized, ideal, storybook relationship template, I could not understand her cool take on a small argument, nor her decision to detach herself from devotion, her uncomfortableness with vulnerability, her desire for some sort of control over emotion. But as I replayed the scene over and over again I realized I identified with the woman. At the tender age of 20, inspired by a short dialogue between two fictional characters in an American television series, I decided to change my political views on relationships from the hopeless romantic to that of the hopeful, but real-er, skeptic.

I'd like to end this post with some kind of resolution. But seeing that I've decided to talk about it mid-conflict, I really can't give anyone anything. What I can say, however, is that I'm deeply entertained, if not humored, by this sequence of events. I also find it kind of apt. Ironic, too. Offensive, sometimes, but I'm pretty sure it goes vice versa as well. Symmetry and asymmetry seem to coexist in this dialogue.

Guichanaso.

I'm out to peeve you. Guichanaso.

"Carpe diem, seize the day, live the moment, appreciate what you have, love what you were given, thank everyone, it's all about your mindset, smile a lot until your facial muscles start to twitch, be who you are," scream voicelessly the posters, as vacuous as the white wall. I want to appreciate what you are saying, but I don't know how. The possibilities and potentialities and discoveries and uncertainties and just the limited amount of youth just drive me crazy sometimes; I find myself in middle of no where, black out, middle of no where, black out, middle of no where. Tell me how to be so mindful, at peace, and happy. "Being busy and lost and miserable is meaningful, whatever point in your life, but especially during the twenties," I tell myself, but sometimes I just feel like I'm completely lost without direction or clue or hope. Even when I am happy and confident about who I am, really, where is all this leading to, what is all this for.

Existential breakdown. All this because no passion has blinded me, or blessed me, yet. Purpose of life didn't work itself out as my life went on. It's like I'm staring blankly at the blank sheet to fill out. Periodically unsure, periodically mindless. At least constantly trying to find the answer as to, "how should I live?" but also in the back of my mind, I know of the horrific answer, "the only way I will live is by always questioning how should I live, and never being able to stand as a coherent and stubborn whole." Free like the wind, I can romanticize; or formless like a puddle. I am adventuring through life! No, I am simply lost, lazy, and hopeless. Sort of an epic existential tragedy. Sort of a mild manic syndrome. Sort of a very natural and obvious thing for everyone, except I have locked myself by knowing the question, and knowing the fictional quick-fix answer. Now I can think of no other answer; the answer of "there is no answer" grew into a thick wall I cannot see beyond.

"Shoot for the moon, even if you miss it, you will land on the stars, practice makes perfect, mistake is the mother of success"

Shut up. I just want to have some fun.

Mothagesso.

As I grow older each year I become more convinced I could live alone. I would only need: space, a selection of movies I enjoy, books, pictures, light, a camera, privacy, some room for creative thought, noodles, tea, clothing, laundry service, the internet, my toothbrush, a good conditioner, things to do here and there, fresh air, definitely a heating system, my phone, a water kettle. The water kettle is a must. Sunglasses. Stationery, to write letters to friends afar. Mirrors. Shower shoes, because showering barefoot is strange. Lotion for dry skin. I also like candles a lot; it's a shame they're a fire hazard. Good smells are nice too.

I have all those things in my room already. In the past two quarters I've made myself a home here, filled it up with all the things I need and enjoy and love, built myself a nest of comfort. Maybe that's why I like staying here so much. Being called out to the real world almost seems like a distraction from what really matters, which is kind of frightening, I guess. A few hours ago I realized I had to go downstairs to pick up the mail, and experienced a suffocating sensation at the prospect of having to leave the room. 

Thinking about things. When my friend from home left Chicago, I went shopping and bought things.

Guichanaso.