Monday, June 29, 2009

i can feel your heart beating under my skin

, originally uploaded by y|.

When she smiled the stars danced, and sometimes I had to remind myself that I had to execute her, just like the others. We talked long into the night and she was the only one who ever laughed at anything I said. Then I realized that she laughed because she thought them jokes, and we learnt only ever to be literal. But I didn’t have the heart to tell her, so I let her laugh, and sometimes she’d reach out her small hands, her light fingers and rest them against my skin, and I’d smile, slightly, back.

I considered transferring, to another regiment, then I thought of another fifty girls with quick fingers and a waltzing, quivering sky. Then I thought of her face and the way the freckles peppered around her nose and stretched to the tip of her cheeks. When I brought it up to my captain, he looked surprised. He said they were quicker, a larger volume, but he thought I’d like it here, this was the smallest regiment because we were picked out especially to enjoy not the mass of executions but the details in each one. We took our time and perfected every single death as if it was the most delicate of watercolors, and cherished the product as much as the end. He said a transfer would be easy but to think of it, carefully

I thought about it. And then I thought of leaving her to another’s hands. And so I stayed, and each night she’d brush her finger against some part of me, and one night her lip, soft and tender and quick, a second of wetness and then a hand to cover the culprit. I smiled back but she was beginning to think, or had been thinking all along that I was on her side, an undercover sympathizer and different from the rest of them. And I was, I supposed, me and the rest of my small regiment, who took special care with each and every one of our subjects.

Too special, maybe. One evening we sat in the garden with its barren branches overhead and the cold gray concrete beneath our bare feet and watched the sun stain the sky purple and orange and red, and her finger as usual grazed toward mine, then it was her whole hand, her small precious hand curled up, laced with mine and she said, isn’t it lovely and I looked up and yes, yes it was and without thinking I wrapped my other hand around the small of her back and pulled her towards me and lingered just above her open strawberry lips. “I have to kill you, do you know that?”

Her eyes met mine. “Yes.”

“So. Why?”

“So why not?”

She grinned and bit away the frown that dragged the edge of my lips. I let her, and everything else, after that. The silk of her skin, the lust in myself that overtook us without mercy.

At dawn the order came.

I watched her turn to her side and traced my finger from the nape of her neck down the notches in her spine. She didn’t wake, but I had to wake her for our last goodbye.

Or maybe I didn’t.

I considered. Then the long silver blade came into my grasp as if carried by invisible ghosts and with its weight in me, its glisten and glow beckoning I slid it, pierced her paper skin and watched as blood seeped across the blade and her eyes opened, I met her eyes, and I’d never been able to read her, not like the others. The thought angered me, even now, I couldn’t read her eyes, and as the blade cut across her neck, and bones fell defenseless against its edge and a trickle of blood dripped from the corner of those perfect lips, I thought, this would be the last time.

But it never was.

Monday, June 15, 2009

vain, selfish & lazy

Something’s missing.

Something is always missing, of course. But it shouldn’t be, it really, really shouldn’t be.

But I guess this is how it happens, this is the call of “reality.” I’m so obsessed, with this concept of reality, with these big words and ideas that don’t mean anything. Not really.

The thing is I’m always aspiring to this unattainable something and without knowing quite what it is except, it’s that moment, a flash a glance a chorus a line from a song the wind and the rain and shoes that make just the right sound and the layers and fit of a dress, a conversation that plays over and over on repeat in this broken tape deck that is my head.

And there’s something wrong even when nothing’s wrong. Because I’m obsessed and vain and selfish and lazy and that used to be one of my favorite quotes: all writers are, at their core, vain, selfish & lazy. It’s true. I can feel it in the weight of my eyelids now, a body that wants nothing more than to lie still and go through the same motions of today, tomorrow, subtle variations that don’t play to the right soundtrack and words spelled out in the air in invisible light paintings, big tipped paintbrushes soaked and bleeding into the air letters that no one will ever read.

Because it’s a front. It’s all, all a front. Always. And you probably have no idea. I’m so good at putting up fronts.

But it’s only a front if I let it be. Sometimes it’s true and I believe with every little piece of myself that this is right and this is it and there’s not the slightest doubt, or fear or regret or anything except that exhilaration in knowing, just knowing that it’s right.

Right now I don’t know. Those are powerful words, those three, I don’t know, loaded despite their simplicity, overused and ripped of their power. But not at all, for even typing them, even reading them strips away a layer of self control, will power and destiny ripped away in a repetition of a trite easy way out. I don’t know.

My god, no more of this. No more of this uncertain cry for something more, just fucking do something. Like that moment earlier this afternoon, watching the sudden downpour from the safety of a shoe store, and then deciding to fuck it, walk outside and in the time of those two seconds becoming horribly drenched, wet everywhere and laughing laughing as I duck into the McDonalds one door over, catching the eye of an Asian woman, disapproval evident in her empty expression but inside I’m delighted, still, for misunderstanding nature, for misunderstanding the rain but it’s just not practical then to run outside and dance in the downpour, without an umbrella but with my purse heavy with my cameras and books and technology and empty words.

No more of this grabbing at empty lines and sentiments and sentimentality. Needing “inspiration.” This isn’t about inspiration, this isn’t about waiting for the right moment or the right time but jumping into the rain wet and cold and unexpected fast in rivers on bare skin and soaking through cotton. This is impulsive and elation and freedom and the thrill and life delicious on my tongue like unexpected orange bites in dark chocolate, like green tea scented soap or silk covers against skin flushed from a shower, against unrealistic expectations and desires that clench at thin air, that should be transformed into nothing more than life and life itself.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

I Know Where the Summer Goes

Summer projects and ideas (because I love making lists and there's nothing quite like a blog entry in list form to remind me and keep me on track):

Big Ones:
+Read Infinite Jest
+Finish editing novel, query agents
+Learn to cook

little things:
+Photography projects (365 + 100 Strangers) as well as, maybe:
-The Housemate/Friends project: portraits of my new housemates and neighbors and friends
-Laura's Cooking Adventures project: photo diarying my attempt at learning to cook. This might fail miserably
-Use Film. Self explainatory.
-Fashion Photography project: style, make up, shoot, processing, the whole deal.
-Closet project: cataloging my favorite processions in an aesthetically pleasing matter
-Life & Adventures project: in which I attempt to do more exciting things with my life and actually bring my camera to said exciting things instead of being so caught up in the excitement that I don't take any pictures, as I usually tend to do in the past.
+Watch French movies. Both to review French and because they are quite delightful.
+Wear more makeup.
+Wear clothes I normally never wear.
+Make art
+Explore NYC. This has always been a summer project/mindset, but I've been letting convenience get in the way of it, so no more of that and yes to more embracing of the city.
+More to be added.

This is on top of internship + whatever job I'll end up having, provided that I can find one. I can think of lots more but I think this will be my basic list for now. The big ones should be quite time consuming, but necessary and rewarding. And my photography project are just brainstorming 101 to get me out of this slump. They might be fun, I might not do them. But perhaps I will do all of it, and that, ladies and gentlemen, would be quite wonderful. Too much thinking and planning now, so wish me luck and until next time.

Friday, June 5, 2009

Five Movie Marathons, Nine Times That Same Song

Maybe it's just settling into the summer, but somewhere along the way I lost that restless drive that occupied most of my weekends just a few months ago. In New York, there is always a voice nagging and suggesting that I should be doing so much more, that every free night wasted marks me down a grade in the "living" scale. So, any Friday night I didn't spend at least hanging out with friends, on some sort of adventure, a party, a concert, felt like a dirty cop out. Even after an exhausting week, and a long nap, I'd feel useless without inciting something extraordinary, scrutinizing nonsense nyc and timeout new york and everything imaginable for just one thing I can motivate myself to go to.

And now--every night is a repetition of the night before, wishing for my bed lamp to be unbroken so that I can make progress with Infinite Jest, updating Tumblr and refreshing Flickr, hoping for emails, editing my novel (which is startlingly and slightly terrifying in its suggestive ability to predict the future--pieces of it sound like things taken from my life now that couldn't have possibly existed back in November, when I wrote it...), watching Weeds or some other new show online. Every night is a weekend when there's no school work, I guess. And although I had extensive plans to go on every possible adventure and exploring New York, the further I've explored has been to visit potential apartments. I tell myself that this new apartment, in Williamsburg, with five other strangers, should jump start my real summer. With my internship and now, again, a hunt for a paying job, that will start the new stage of my summer. But I'm not sure. After all, this is impossibly easy, staying on my bed with the trusty laptop and endless resources at my fingertips.

This laziness, this unmotivated repetition has carried into the realms of photography, where I'm struggling with 365 since I lack any desire to go out even with my camera. And I'm not sure how, or what will fix it. And maybe a change of environment is just what I need, or some new big challenge, something to ignite what's inside. I'd hate to waste the summer--especially this one. For now, five movie marathons, nine times that same song. I'm busy doing nothing and wasting away and not taking advantage of NYC and something has to change. So inspire me, life. Throw something big my way and let's dance.