wait for it

The selfless farmer who tends his neighbor's dying crops will leave his healthy field vulnerable to the crows

Deciduous Decisions Come as Autumn Does

To Build Myself

I, too, will lay each brick down here, as perfectly as I can. I was getting good at it. It's just that... the air was cold as he stripped me naked. Now, I have half a wall here, half a wall there- and I've run out of bricks. 

Sleep Paralysis

The first two or three times I had sleep paralysis, I was in high school and was merely confused at why I was awake but unable to move. When it struck again, I felt- though did not see- something pushing heavily down on me. Eventually, I would come to hear voices- sometimes female, sometimes male- and finally dark shadows shaped like humans with even darker holes for eyes and a mouth. These shadows choked me, and eventually started screaming at me. They even laughed at me and called me "stupid bitch" once in a while. I learned how to "talk" back to them, though it was really just mentally because I obviously was physically incapable of moving my mouth or making any sounds. I was inspired by Kill Bill's "wiggle your big toe", and this actually works wonders. (Although it is a little hard to do when a threatening demon is shrieking into your ears.) I got so good at asserting myself to those shadow creatures that I could make them disappear under a minute or two.

Yesterday, I fell asleep while studying (surprise, surprise). After years of being free, the sleep paralysis came back. But this time, there were no evil shadows lurking in my room, no satanic growls, and no one forcing all the air out of me.

There was only music. Music I had never heard before in my life. A husky male voice, an electric guitar, acoustic rhythm guitars, sweeping violins, and a seductive bass drum. Every musical line was crystal clear. I can't remember all the words..but it had to do with inside versus outside, and someone not being there for long. As I did my usual "wiggle your big toe," the room vibrated to the sound of radio static, as if I had to change the station to wake up. I got out of bed and was so convinced my dad was just blasting his surround sound again and that the song had just wriggled its way into my sleep paralysis hallucinations, that I just went back to studying without bothering to find out.

At dinner I asked my dad what he was listening to today, because it was pretty cool. He was confused. He didn't listen to any music today. Whoa.

I've dreamt of new music before. But never was I able to hold on to it like I did yesterday. Dream music was always like the floating pieces of dust I'd try to catch midair as a kid. The little bastards that only flew away faster when I got even remotely close. And now, thanks to this sleep paralysis I've slowly learned to control- this state of being partly in reality and partly in my dreams- I've snatched that little bastard right out of the air.

Sleep paralysis used to keep me up all night when I was younger, afraid to fall into another episode directed and produced by my unfortunately dark mind. But I guess that when you become the master of the things you fear, your most beautiful dreams have the potential to become your reality.

Here are fragments from that strange song my subconscious conjured up.

(Cringey) Burrito

Continuation of "no backspacing allowed".

At one of my graduation ceremonies, we were each given a chance to speak about what we will be doing after leaving UCLA. Oh. my. god. Why did I come. Can I slink out the back without being seen? Waves of fear came over me. A million pounding feet in my heart trying in vain to run away from this tsunami nightmare. I drowned myself in fatally negative thoughts about myself as everyone else talked about starting law school, starting med school, starting their own company, traveling the world. "You've accomplished nothing"- one stab. "You've failed the Bruin legacy"- two stabs. "You have failed yourself"- three stabs. By the time it was my turn, I had already buried myself under the perfectly watered lawn of the Sunken Gardens and let someone else take over my body. The person who walked up to the podium was insecure. She measured her own worth by sizing up others. She overcompensated for what she thought she lacked. Half-way through talking myself up, I felt like vomiting. This was the actual moment in which I failed myself. Disgusted with the words coming out of my mouth, I took control of myself again. It wasn't a theatrical moment of a single ray of light peaking through gray clouds to remind myself of who I really was. No, it was hot as hell, the sun was beating down on me, and my hair was getting nappy. And no, I didn't suddenly come to a realization that, why yes, I have grown immensely as a person as an undergrad and have succeeded in many ways I just wasn't aware of. That may still be a work in progress. But by the grace of the cartoonist in the sky, the person I drowned, stabbed, and buried within the span of 15 minutes was able to at least come up for one more, life-saving breath. One breath that was just enough for me to speak the only words I confided in and felt were true to myself. They were the last five words I spoke into that microphone.

"I will never stop creating."

Arranged for VCN under the guise of fitting a scene of choking isolation. In reality, it gave me a chance to borrow bits of three songs originally worlds apart that have found temporary dwelling in the clashing corners of my soul: Radiohead's "Creep", a Vietnamese children's song, and Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek".

"It's like when you wake up in the morning and it's light outside, but the sun hasn't risen yet. You have a source of light coming over you, though you can't see that source of origin yet. But you know something is coming. A change is about to occur [...] A hint, or a guess, at something beautiful."

Like Neosporin

To remember

To forget

To learn

To teach

To argue

To accept

Writing works for everythang

Thank you, Mr. Smith

"Write down those things you completely fear the most. Don't rationalize them, acknolwedge them in their darkest form. Seeing them outside of yourself will take the power away from those thoughts [...] the point of those activities [meditation or yoga] is facing what's burning internally. If your method of choice is writing, write honestly. If you need to sing, sing your heart out. No need for something fancy or new."

A paradox is the truth standing on its head to attract attention

Why I Write

That which separates black and white- a distance of such width yet reeks of height. I smell my fear from a mile away, since at times I become they. They have cliches and sayings of sorts while I lay still and lie further short. Whether capturing every pigment, whether capturing none, infinite-ess I've not yet overcome. Weather it comes, weather it stays, droplets of rain or Rainbow Skittles sun rays. If they color my world, why is there no pattern? The truth stays silent in screeching gray caverns. The only thing I know about wrong from right, is that I learn to know what's right by Write.

Thin Music

"Maybe it is but we’re too thick to recognize it. Maybe thin places offer glimpses not of heaven but of earth as it really is, unencumbered. Unmasked." E. Weiner, NY Times

Everyone has a Pedro Paramo. Be it a person or an idea, a once-had dream- it doesn't leave.

Let's Not Play

The Blame Game is a one man band and the audience is herself.

http://www.wimp.com/travelsworld/

I don't want to point the finger at myself for missing out on this one