no, no, don't shed tears, mein kinder!the following lyrics to a song called Nothing Gets Crossed Out by Bright Eyes. yes, i will bask in my depressing and angsty adolescence and tell you all that this is exactly how i feel right now. this song, ever since i first heard it, has not only served at complete and utter catharsis for me, but it has encompassed the majority of problems and yearnings that i have, etc. this is one of the reasons why i am fully devoted to conor oberst, because of his ability to condense how i feel into words latched onto a melody. i used to listen to this song, and it remains so to this day, in a corner in my bathroom, my arms wrapped around myself, bawling. so, here.
Well the future's got me worried such awful thoughts My head's a carousel of pictures, the spinning never stops I just want someone to walk in front And I'll follow the leader Like when I fell under the weight of a schoolboy crush Started carrying her books and doing lots of drugs I almost forgot who I was But came to my senses Now I'm trying to be assertive, I'm making plans Want to rise to the occasion, yeah meet all their demands But all I do is just lay in bed And hide under the covers Yeah I know I should be brave But I'm just too afraid of all this changeAnd it's too hard to focus through all this doubt I keep making this to-do list but nothing gets crossed out Working on the record seems pointless now When the world ends who's gonna hear it? But I'm trying to take some comfort in written words Yeah Tim, I heard your album and it's better than good When you get off tour I think we should Hang and black out together Cause I've been feeling sentimental for days gone by All those summers singing, drinking, laughin', wasting our time Remember all those songs and the way we smiledIn those basements made of music?But now I've got to crawl to get anywhere at allI'm not as strong as I thought
So when I'm lost in a crowd, I hope that you'll pick me out I long to be found, the grass grew high, I laid down Now I'll wait for a hand to lift me up, help me stand I've been laying so long, don't wanna lay here no more Don't wanna lay here no more, don't wanna lay here no more
Everything that happens is supposed to be And it's all pre-determined, can't change your destiny Guess I'll just keep moving, someday maybe I'll get to where I'm going
I shall take this opportunity to mention that last night the moon was absolutely breathtaking. Last night was a whirlwind of unexpected events. The original plan was for me to go to this girl's house to celebrate her birthday, yet my parents decided to go to the cinema and thus all my perfectly planned out plans (sorry for the redundancy) were altered. So, we went to watch Capitalism: A Love Story, which staying true to Michael Moore was absolutely incredible. The thing is, Moore's films always send me on this slur of emotions, i always tend to laugh, for obvious reasons, cry, out of frustration or hope (when Obama backed up the workers in Chicago), and be raging angry.. once again, for obvious reasons. Anyways, it's marvellous, I advise all of you to watch it. 
let's do something different, this time.
DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE
i miss giggling at AbFab with zon, julien, et thomas. 
This is one of the many collage pieces made using snipets of porn, by british artist Jonathan Yeo.
i'm losing interest in my weekends, 'tis all but good. i feel like i haven't watched a film in months, though i'm sure i have. i miss Porto in little french glasses and staying home alone in the awkward limbo that occurs after you've watched 2 films in a row and are now popping a new one in the DVD player. I feel a wee bit disappointed with the clothing i ordered, but bah. i shall transcend the mundane! or, you know, not. well, currently i'm lacking any inspiration, it seems as if my muses lie dormant off in a cave somewhere, bah.
A lonely man thinks of nothing but friendship, just as a repressed man thinks of nothing but flesh. If Matthew had been granted a wish by a guardian angel, he would have requested a machine, one yet to be invented, permitting its owner to ascertain where each of his friends was at any given moment, what he was doing and with whom. He belonged to the race which loiters underneath a loved one’s window late at night and endeavours to decipher shadows flitting across the Venetian blind.
i miss this.
la mirada furtiva! la alusión desconocida! hush, hush.
Que es mi barco mi tesoro,pirata? puede ser. con esa hambre insaciable por la libertad y la curiosidad perpétua. Este pequeño extracto es de la Canción del Pirata, escrito por José de Espronceda.
Que lo disfruten, chavales!
La petite histoire veut que François Frédérique Lemot, son sculpteur, se rendant compte qu'il avait oublié de faire des étriers à la statue, se soit suicidé à cause de cela. 
Lo sé. I'm becoming a neglectful blogger. But, seeing as I have, what, 3 readers? I might just forgive myself. De todos modos, la razón por mi neglecto ha sido que he estado EXTREMADAMENTE ocupada con asuntos de la escuela, mi fútil vida social, y el hecho que soy Student Director en la producción escolar de Murder on the Nile (which by the way es éste viernes en Bellas Artes, para los que quieran ir), etc etc etc etc. Pues sí, he estado, como dirían los ibéricos "hasta los cojones"(inexistentes) con cosillas que hacer, and most of all, con estrés. blah. Bueno, update de mi vida, vamos. Ayer fui a ver al aire libre (cuando se lo explique a mi amiga carolina ella trató de usar una de las palabras de vocabulario y decir que estaba al interperie, pero instead dijo Imperio. hahahah ayy) a ver un documental de Woodstock. Claro, nos tuvimos que ir antes de que se terminara, which is a horrid shame porque me perdí a Star Spangled Banner, y muchas más, de jimi hendrix Y a mi querida y amada janis joplin, jjoder. My thirteen year old pseud0-janis self looks at me with enraged eyes, les digo. hmph. 
coffee with gino in 20 minutes. rehearsals in forty five. then RENT in several hours. stoked? very much so, thank you. For nostalgic reasons, tonight the Internation Thespian Society Troupe #blahblahblah will go watch RENT, thanks to some group of actors who travel internationally and perform it, and this time they've chosen their venue to be Puerto Rico. I am.. well, least to say, stoked. Like, obscenely. After, we will hopefully hit up backstage, then go out to dinner and probably re-enact the entire film is fits of giggles and sobs (mostly at the rendition of I'll Cover You. duh). well, that's all. i must go get ready for such a day. wahh so pumped.
oh, how i miss the abundance of attractive parisian men. hmph.
So I've just now found this little gem of a book, that I purchased at this thrift store in Old San Juan, hidden beneath a pile of seasons of bad sitcoms and my passport (which is just lovely to find just laying about). The title of it is Esperando a Godard, and though i've yet not started to read it, I read the summary on the back and it is brilliant. Whenever I find the opportunity between the obscene amount of schoolwork I have and my many futile attempts at an active social life, I'll definitely read it and perhaps put up some excerpts. It is in Spanish though, so I advise all of you to become by bilingual by then, trust me, it'll be worth it.
and here i present to you mine and caroline's live commentary for last week's True Blood episode, titled Frenzy. it starts off when Hoyt's mother was preparing food for the God. kthx.
I hate Malboro Lights. I tell you, they are complete and utter bollocks. The hip crowd chooses to name them 'slut butts' and i happily concur, that is what they are. Period.
First of all, I would like to apologize for any typos and punctuation errors you may (WILL) find in this credo. I am writing on a French keyboard, on an almost ancient Dell laptop. Half the letters on the keys are erased, which just adds to the whole confusion of things. Also, the internet is obscenely slow and I have no dictionaries nor thesauruses at hand to make myself sound more eloquent.
That said, I want to start off with the fact these past two days and the circumstances have made it very difficult for me to sit down and reflect on my life, because all I can think of now is how much i ,iss the program. I dont think the program itself, just the people, the dynamic of things, the routine. Now, I feel badly misplaced and alone in a strange city, with an abundance of beautiful Gothic churches and horribly confusing keyboards. I have been in and out of sobbing fits for these past two days (or dare I say, day and a half) so I dont really feel like I am in the best reflective and profound mood, instead I just want to fall asleep and wake up two weeks ago. So this is why I have been living my past two days in a feigned First Nature, to get my mind off the void I feel, I have been trying to concentrate very hard on anything immediate, without reflecting nor reminiscing. Because, when I do, the sobbing once again begins. I am trying to approach things as Mersault did, attempting to live these days via sensory input, but I cannot help it. I have alxays been an overwhelmingly reflective person, I love just sitting alone, thinking about anything that finds its way into my head, and pouring these thoughts and feeling into a notebook, or a conversation. That is why trying to avoid reflecting has been very difficult. On the topic of Camus as well, I have learned that we as humans must welcome pain and sorrow, because without it, it is impossible to recognize happiness. What his theory of the absurd teaches us is that out of the sad clash between our rational want for justice, solidarity, and truth .. three beautiful things are begeted : passion, freedom, and revolt. These three concepts are crucial in my life, and in the whole idea of staying alive (not killing yourself). Once you have understood that this is just the way things are, that without this lack of rational wants, it is impossible to ever feel passion, or freedom, or take part in a revolt, the balance beam basically weighs itself out. With the sorrows that come from not having truth, solidarity, qnd justice… also come the previously mentioned, and that in itself is a reason to keep living. I do not know what I would do without these three concepts in my life. I refuse to live a life of coarse comfort, like those who have comitted the pathetic act of philosophical suicide, through things like religion or pure ignorance. I believe we as humans need this clash for us to evolve as people, and in fact, as humankind. I think this is perhaps why I cannot stand the character of Mersault (though at this moment I am attempting to live like him to be able to tolerate this overwhelming sadness). I feel like he has killed himself philosophically, by submitting himself to this First Nature lifestyle, he feels contempt with the ways things are, and thus there is no clash present. Without this clash, he then is unable to experience the absurd, and thus no passion, revolt, nor freedom. Then I ask myself, where did all this fervor in his voice in the second part come from? And the answers I am sure to get will probably be as vague as anything else in existentialism.
As a middle class woman, i am not too sure I should be a fan of Nietzche. Though there are many statements and quotes he has said that I agree with.. I often feel like punching him in the face for his lack of any sort of respect for the lower classes. He says those in higher classes would be considered superior because they can forgive their enemies, the lower class. Well, thats not too hard, is it ? After all, they are the ones who produce the money, food , etc that fuel society, whilst the upper classes spend it. They bring those in higher classes no harm, of course it is easy not to hqte them. Whilst, it is a lot more difficult for those in the lower classes to forgive those in the higher. They are constantly mistreated and forced to undergo injustices, hard labour , etc. Nietzche also mentions that lower classes, out of their ‘pathetic’ resentment for the higher classes, create morality, the ethics of good and evil. They also create false realities to be able to bear their own. Though I do agree, that we should affirm our realities, be them difficult or not, some people do desperately need a degree of escape. Alright, to quit sounding like a peasant during the French Revolytion, and so it doesnt seem like i hate Nietzche in every single aspect, ill leave you with some quotes of his that I do agree with.
A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.
After coming into contact with a religious man I always feel I must wash my hands.
And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.
Is man one of God's blunders? Or is God one of man's blunders?
As the Romantic that I deem myself to be, (and by Romantic, I mean Romanticism, Sturm und Drag sort of thing , not what Hugh Grant feigns to be in his horrendous films) I of course like Kierkegaard. He gives importance to living fervently, as do I. Though I do disagree with the fact that he places Abraham in such high esteem. Or at least, defends him, deeming him to be above the ethical. Abraham, for me, is a murderer with selfish and fanatic intentions. Regarding his levels of immediacy, ethical , etc.. I believe that all mankind, definitely including me, will forever be suspended in the awkward limbo between the first two levels.
Well, I must be off now, as there is a crowd of french adolescent strangers (one of them is the daughter of the woman we are staying with) who have to bring me back to the hotel so they can go on listening to their French rap, making out amongst each other, and doing other ehrm Lyonnais adolescent things.
just a quick mention regarding my brief encounters with Latin cinematic culture in the past week.
So, feeling unbelievably American I decided to walk into this pub/brasserie called O'Neill's here in Paris, being that i was starving and apparently restaurants like to close from like, 2 to 7. Or should i say, 14 to 19.
i haven't a clue on which one I like more. the lighting, i adore. but ahhhh. such frustration.
I am off to PARIS the day after tomorrow.
thanks to the economic crisis, i will miss out on much needed spooning, groping, cuddling, and kissing.
I just saw Before Sunrise. Words canno condense my feelings for this film, truly. It was so genuine, honest, heartfelt, just.. sublime. The way these two people, be them actors or not, looked at each other was something so endearing it brought me to tears. Although I may sound like an emotional wreckage, this film has simply touched me in unimaginable ways. Their conversations, and everything were just so interesting and dynamic and real and just, honest. I thought it was brilliant.
My hair has been fucked up, once again, by a team of hair stylists. It is repulsive. I cannot believe I was stupid enough to fall into my mothers' "But it will help you so much, no more frizz, imagine paris!". My hair will be horrid for Paris, not at all how i wanted it. No flapper-esque class, no more messy charm. No, no, no.
the second i saw you, Thibault, about ten times larger than your average self in the entrance to ZARA, accompanied by the wonderful Lara Stone, i became numb waist down. Finally, i have found your name, at the wonderful time of 1:30am with a horrid, horrid headache.
I made a lovely purchase around a week ago, and only got to enjoy it the day before yesterday. This past wednesday served as my day of relaxation, in which i cranked up the air conditioning, slipped into my father's massive t-shirt decorated with a Soviet film poster, and watched sum filmz. I begun with The Edukators.
6 days until Paris. It really is unfortunate how shitty i feel about this whole situation. I can be such a coward sometimes, it's enraging. Too passive, alwayz. damn it
