The unmistakable yellow light instantaneously morphs into a frightening red orb as I glide through the battlefield, its power stopping thousand pound machines. Yet, something underneath my epidermis, underneath my tiny veins, even underneath my bones awakes at this sheer moment of rebellion.
Screeching an unbearable tune, a little man no larger than a micron stumbles over to his alarm and prepares for the assault.
Assault?!
An invisible syringe injects 60 units of optimism in my veins, immediately cultivating a grin worth a thousand words across my face. In a nanosecond I feel him. His foot, full speed at my spine. My back cringes. My mind longs for that invisible syringe...
In a millisecond, he has vanished. The pain is gone and I am back to “normal.”
xxx
He has no name. He has minimal personality. Only appearing in moments of sheer insubordination, my decision in pursuing something verboten leads to our courting.
His home, you ask?
Slightly off center in my lumbar vertebrae he has crafted a beautiful villa, overlooking the sea of blood vessels that travel day in and day out. Living the most lavishly of all workers in the human body, he preoccupies himself with two main duties – cleaning and sleeping. Each room is decorated with anatomical references: the “intestinal” hallway, “pulmonary” den and “histological” play room, to name a few. And each of these rooms sports a brilliantly colored alarm. An alarm that once rung, resonates through the whole villa causing this little man to quickly stop cleaning (or sleeping). In such dire moments, he sprints to his garage, jumps in his gondola and whizzes down to the lower spine.
Expletives generally emerge from his one toothed mouth when the alarm sounds – the mother fucker hates his job (unfortunately, he inherited the job from his father). In picoseconds he begins thrashing at my lower spine, initiating the most unbelievable psychological and physical pains.
His twin brother plays a similar role, residing in the outskirts of the gut. Although not as militarily advanced as his brother, the twin triumphantly attacks my gut within record time: just as my brain analyzes the situation, heart skips a beat and the man in my lower back begins to emerge, the alarms sound.
Time for this unsettling queasy feeling to spread...
Yet, I can't seem to get enough of it. I can't seem to stop.
These little men hate me more than ever before.
xxx
Someone once asked me to describe my feelings when breaking the law...
I responded, “don't talk to me, talk to the little man in my bones,” and I walked away, grinning and ever so satisfied.
Currently, the little man sleeps and his alarms patiently wait for the next acts of dissent.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Noun 1. beguilement - magnetic personal charm
animal magnetism, bewitchery
attractiveness - sexual allure
2. beguilement - an entertainment that provokes pleased interest and distracts you from worries and vexations
distraction
entertainment, amusement - an activity that is diverting and that holds the attention
And all one can hear is a fellow redhead sing
"You know you wanna make her
Show her your money maker
She says out out out oh yeah ."
Oh, Jenny Lewis...
animal magnetism, bewitchery
attractiveness - sexual allure
2. beguilement - an entertainment that provokes pleased interest and distracts you from worries and vexations
distraction
entertainment, amusement - an activity that is diverting and that holds the attention
And all one can hear is a fellow redhead sing
"You know you wanna make her
Show her your money maker
She says out out out oh yeah ."
Oh, Jenny Lewis...
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Books: To Be Tackled
The clock slowly ticks to hours of sheer insanity (er, try three a.m), I sit there, sipping my coffee and reading a fresh book.
Fresh in a sense that "I started this book at 6 pm and haven't had the decency to put it down" sort of fresh. Being almost halfway into* "Eat, Pray, Love" (*note: halfway into is far more optimistic than halfway through; one shouldn't anticipate finishing literary works but rather slowly digest their beauty), my new book list seems a bit... much.
I should read the recently purchased books off of amazon (Invisible Cities, Confessions of an Opium Eater and Angels in America); however, my craving for an immense collection of books (which is actually becoming quite successful) continues to stir.
Below are a few books that I will begin used book store hunting:
and,
* If you have not already, please read Three Cups of Tea... Mortenson is seriously a hero.
Let the searching commence and library expand!
-Monica
Fresh in a sense that "I started this book at 6 pm and haven't had the decency to put it down" sort of fresh. Being almost halfway into* "Eat, Pray, Love" (*note: halfway into is far more optimistic than halfway through; one shouldn't anticipate finishing literary works but rather slowly digest their beauty), my new book list seems a bit... much.
I should read the recently purchased books off of amazon (Invisible Cities, Confessions of an Opium Eater and Angels in America); however, my craving for an immense collection of books (which is actually becoming quite successful) continues to stir.
Below are a few books that I will begin used book store hunting:
and,
* If you have not already, please read Three Cups of Tea... Mortenson is seriously a hero.
Let the searching commence and library expand!
-Monica
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Art: James Jean and Andrea Offermann
James Jean: He seems to enjoy creating pop-like surrealism - totally floating my boat in the process. I absolutely adore how much color he incorporates into his artwork. It seems to be a waterfall of life spilling onto a sheet of absurdity.
To top it all off, James Jean's exhibit ends in 4 days! -pout- I suppose a trek over to downtown L.A on Saturday is absolutely necessary.
JANM
369 E. First Street
LA, CA 90012
Andrea Offermann: I cannot sum up a decent description to do this lady some justice. Playful yet slightly dark?
'Tis all.
<3
To top it all off, James Jean's exhibit ends in 4 days! -pout- I suppose a trek over to downtown L.A on Saturday is absolutely necessary.
JANM
369 E. First Street
LA, CA 90012
Andrea Offermann: I cannot sum up a decent description to do this lady some justice. Playful yet slightly dark?
'Tis all.
<3
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Music/Blogs: Take Away Shows
After some major cleaning up with my google reader subscriptions, I finally feel like I will be somewhat up to date with art, music and current events. Three cheers for progress!
However, that has absolutely nothing to do with the above mentioned "Music/Blogs;" therefore, I will end on this note: check out La Blogotheque's Take Away Shows. Not only is the sound and video quality masterful, but these little concerts are settled in the most unlikely places.
Phoenix - 1901 - A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.
Who ever said a busy tourist space in Paris was off limits? Express yourself!
Oh, the things I would do Music - if he actually were a human being.
-snicker- ;)
Until next time,
Mon
Photo cred: Mr.Hayes
Saturday, January 16, 2010
1:47 p.m, Location: some park in Canoga Park
I was surrounded by strangers. Yet, nothing really mattered... no one cared to listen to my past; instead, they were intrigued by the present. The wind pushed me forward: "continue opening your heart" she whispered, yet my mind stood his ground. Hostility at its finest! Ha! I walked to the nearest tree, tipped my fedora and began reading whilst I undoubtedly listened to laughing children and a soccer game progress.
Simplicity...
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Short Story: [Old] September 10, 2008
"Deja-vu" I thought to myself as I exited the room today.
"I know I have had a conversation similar to that one before..."
Conversations with yourself count too, yes? Ha! I rummaged for my journal and found exactly what I was hoping to find.
A short story about egocentricity, from two contrasting perspectives.
September 10, 2008
It was raining that day – pouring to be precise. A tall and toothpick-like woman struggled to decide what her wardrobe should entail. Constantly exchanging glances with the cock eyed son of a bitch in the back, she couldn't seem to understand the problem. Expletives danced through the room as this young woman, still standing tall, frustrated and toothpick-like, raced from one end to the other in hopes of discovering a hidden article of clothing that might have gone into hibernation. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she constantly muttered under her breath whilst the other impatient asshole blinked with every passing minute – each second taking a stab at her future. Never content with her surroundings, the toothpick decided to wear the same ensemble as the day prior because: “nothing ever looks good.”
It was sunny that day – blistering hot to be precise. A short and voluptuous woman ran naked through her apartment flaunting the wonderful curves she inherited from her full-figured ancestors. Flirting with everything (even her reflection, mind you), she failed to find the ensemble that looked the best. In her mind, strutting down the street naked seemed the way to go; however, authorities would have a slightly different approach to such exposure (even if they would enjoy it). Instead, the curvaceous woman snatched the most revealing outfit imaginable in hopes of exposing just enough to where authorities could only wag their invisible tails and drool. “Those men are dogs,” she thought to herself as she exited her apartment; “pure dogs waiting for excitement.”
Where the sun met the rain, which actually does happen, it began. Preoccupation became the biggest sin that day... vanity striking a whole new level. The sun wailed to radiate warmth and happiness, whereas the rain jeered at spoiling the day. One side, pitying itself and hoping to make light of the situation and the other too engrossed in prevailing. The toothpick did not make it to work on time because she accidentally ran over Ms. Curvaceous who was too preoccupied with fixing her bosoms. Where these two polar opposites met, everything ended.
“How inferior!” each woman screamed when she laid eyes on the other. The toothpick saw nothing more than a whore and the curvaceous woman saw nothing more than a prude. Similar thoughts rushed through their heads, “she has no self respect, she'll never find a significant other,” etc. Thus, whilst these two women preoccupied themselves with physical and characteristic judgment, the rain and sun continued to spar as well. Soon a black blanket swept over the city, which put the sun and rain to sleep and left the two women still bickering: “why the fuck should I give you my information?” the curvaceous woman continued. A sea of streetlights rumbled through, except for the one right above their heads. They stopped and stared at one another, as this streetlight struggled to stay illuminated.
And it was at that distinct moment where an invisible mirror of sorts appeared between the two ladies. Each woman glanced at her reflection, and a moment of understanding registered. One world, two hearts and two voids filled by the mere glimpse of their missing characters.
"I know I have had a conversation similar to that one before..."
Conversations with yourself count too, yes? Ha! I rummaged for my journal and found exactly what I was hoping to find.
A short story about egocentricity, from two contrasting perspectives.
September 10, 2008
It was raining that day – pouring to be precise. A tall and toothpick-like woman struggled to decide what her wardrobe should entail. Constantly exchanging glances with the cock eyed son of a bitch in the back, she couldn't seem to understand the problem. Expletives danced through the room as this young woman, still standing tall, frustrated and toothpick-like, raced from one end to the other in hopes of discovering a hidden article of clothing that might have gone into hibernation. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she constantly muttered under her breath whilst the other impatient asshole blinked with every passing minute – each second taking a stab at her future. Never content with her surroundings, the toothpick decided to wear the same ensemble as the day prior because: “nothing ever looks good.”
It was sunny that day – blistering hot to be precise. A short and voluptuous woman ran naked through her apartment flaunting the wonderful curves she inherited from her full-figured ancestors. Flirting with everything (even her reflection, mind you), she failed to find the ensemble that looked the best. In her mind, strutting down the street naked seemed the way to go; however, authorities would have a slightly different approach to such exposure (even if they would enjoy it). Instead, the curvaceous woman snatched the most revealing outfit imaginable in hopes of exposing just enough to where authorities could only wag their invisible tails and drool. “Those men are dogs,” she thought to herself as she exited her apartment; “pure dogs waiting for excitement.”
Where the sun met the rain, which actually does happen, it began. Preoccupation became the biggest sin that day... vanity striking a whole new level. The sun wailed to radiate warmth and happiness, whereas the rain jeered at spoiling the day. One side, pitying itself and hoping to make light of the situation and the other too engrossed in prevailing. The toothpick did not make it to work on time because she accidentally ran over Ms. Curvaceous who was too preoccupied with fixing her bosoms. Where these two polar opposites met, everything ended.
“How inferior!” each woman screamed when she laid eyes on the other. The toothpick saw nothing more than a whore and the curvaceous woman saw nothing more than a prude. Similar thoughts rushed through their heads, “she has no self respect, she'll never find a significant other,” etc. Thus, whilst these two women preoccupied themselves with physical and characteristic judgment, the rain and sun continued to spar as well. Soon a black blanket swept over the city, which put the sun and rain to sleep and left the two women still bickering: “why the fuck should I give you my information?” the curvaceous woman continued. A sea of streetlights rumbled through, except for the one right above their heads. They stopped and stared at one another, as this streetlight struggled to stay illuminated.
And it was at that distinct moment where an invisible mirror of sorts appeared between the two ladies. Each woman glanced at her reflection, and a moment of understanding registered. One world, two hearts and two voids filled by the mere glimpse of their missing characters.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Review: Coffee Stuffs
A delectable aroma resonates through the air instigating a sense of childhood euphoria.
I smile as I imagine the taste of what I believe runs through my veins instead of blood.
I am aware that I have a problem.
No, I will not solve it. This is a problem I will nurture. <3
Above is a picture of my vice. When others salivate for *insert addiction here*, I imagine my mornings - the instance of reuniting with the fellows above.
Spending four figures (yes, I did just say four figures) on Starbucks coffee last year, I decided to invest in this sweetheart a few months
ago(thanks for the advice, Sara!). I must say, the 8-cup french press is ideal for any avid drinker like myself, considering I drink about 8 cups daily. Like I mentioned earlier, I am definitely aware of my problem. As for the french press itself, Bodum does a wonderful job at crafting a mechanism that emphasizes the ecstasy-like characteristics of your coffee of choice.
My brother decided to be wonderful and support my addiction by buying three wonderful bags of coffee from Blue Bottle Coffee Co. who roasts some stellar beans. When my french press teams up with these delectable morsels... ah! Let's simply say that Starbucks becomes a figment of my past only to be relived in moments of dire necessity.
Now, there are quite a few people who love coffee, but cannot seem to imagine their drug of choice without a glob of foam. I have found your solution! I purchased the aerolatte due to sheer amusement. Hats off to the creators, because this little machine actually works! Of course, it has nothing on one of these bad boys, but it delivers nonetheless! I am still in the process of mastering the utensil since the consistency still bothers me at times (i.e weak foam).
Back to the bags of beans!
Chiapas: A bit difficult to describe. Think earthy meets smokey - Smokey the Bear-esque? Regardless, it is my favorite roast to accompany a plate of food, be it sweet or savory.
Giant Steps: Right off the bat, I am a sucker for dark roasts. This concoction is almost reminiscent of fudge, although I am definitely stretching with that adjective. Thick and all sorts of wonderful...
Bella Donovan:(not pictured) <3 My favorite. She is versatile, elegant, flavorful yet not overpowering, accompanied with the most enjoyable hint of earthiness. The thought of brewing her right now drives my heart wild. She is wonderful enjoyed black (which is how I used to down my drug) but flirts wonderfully with a splash of soy.
I am currently attempting to restrain myself from brewing a pot of the Bella before leaving tonight, yet the voices in the back of my mind scream to give in.
Attempt failed. I gave in.
Why hello there spice rack, what is that I see? I sense a threesome with the Bella, soy milk and a hint of cinnamon.
I smile as I imagine the taste of what I believe runs through my veins instead of blood.
I am aware that I have a problem.
No, I will not solve it. This is a problem I will nurture. <3
Above is a picture of my vice. When others salivate for *insert addiction here*, I imagine my mornings - the instance of reuniting with the fellows above.
Spending four figures (yes, I did just say four figures) on Starbucks coffee last year, I decided to invest in this sweetheart a few months
ago(thanks for the advice, Sara!). I must say, the 8-cup french press is ideal for any avid drinker like myself, considering I drink about 8 cups daily. Like I mentioned earlier, I am definitely aware of my problem. As for the french press itself, Bodum does a wonderful job at crafting a mechanism that emphasizes the ecstasy-like characteristics of your coffee of choice.
My brother decided to be wonderful and support my addiction by buying three wonderful bags of coffee from Blue Bottle Coffee Co. who roasts some stellar beans. When my french press teams up with these delectable morsels... ah! Let's simply say that Starbucks becomes a figment of my past only to be relived in moments of dire necessity.
Now, there are quite a few people who love coffee, but cannot seem to imagine their drug of choice without a glob of foam. I have found your solution! I purchased the aerolatte due to sheer amusement. Hats off to the creators, because this little machine actually works! Of course, it has nothing on one of these bad boys, but it delivers nonetheless! I am still in the process of mastering the utensil since the consistency still bothers me at times (i.e weak foam).
Back to the bags of beans!
Chiapas: A bit difficult to describe. Think earthy meets smokey - Smokey the Bear-esque? Regardless, it is my favorite roast to accompany a plate of food, be it sweet or savory.
Giant Steps: Right off the bat, I am a sucker for dark roasts. This concoction is almost reminiscent of fudge, although I am definitely stretching with that adjective. Thick and all sorts of wonderful...
Bella Donovan:(not pictured) <3 My favorite. She is versatile, elegant, flavorful yet not overpowering, accompanied with the most enjoyable hint of earthiness. The thought of brewing her right now drives my heart wild. She is wonderful enjoyed black (which is how I used to down my drug) but flirts wonderfully with a splash of soy.
I am currently attempting to restrain myself from brewing a pot of the Bella before leaving tonight, yet the voices in the back of my mind scream to give in.
Attempt failed. I gave in.
Why hello there spice rack, what is that I see? I sense a threesome with the Bella, soy milk and a hint of cinnamon.
An unforgettable threesome indeed...
-Mon
-Mon
Monday, January 4, 2010
Rant: Gossip
The phone sang a melancholy song before a merciless forefinger cut an end to the tune.
Thoughts raced with images against moral codes and the like - yet something felt seemingly "right."
"Right" - hah, I thought to myself (the bearer of that intimidating forefinger, mind you).
A distant voice mentioned incomprehensible situations which were as significant as unbelievable.
She was playing the same game as you or I, where we twist and turn the driving factor of the human race, only to create something so obscure - something that we never imagined. Yet, it came from something. It has almost become an art form; a form of charades in which a mere guess influences our demeanor.
We craft butterflies and flowers, ideas and solutions, monsters and failures. From start to finish, we witness a complete 180.
What have you crafted? Reality or fiction? If only... if only.
*[Photo credit: *Dragonfly* (Flickr)]
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)