As-tu déjà aimé pour la beauté du geste?

I feel like this picture pictures me tonight. Tired. Tired but hopeful. Mostly tired.

Since I'm writing in here, you know I haven't been sleeping well again, it seems like the only time I ever have anything to say after midnight. Or maybe I just feel things more keenly after then, it seems like thats true.

Tonight I'm feeling the pressure of wanting too many things that I am not certain of. My heart feels very fickle, and a little bit sick. Mostly, I suppose, I just want one thing, but there seems to be a hundred different directions with a hundred empty endings I could run to trying to find it. Tonight is a rare feeling lately.

I've been very happy recently. Maybe the happiest I've ever been in my life. Really. And my life is pretty boring. Six days a week I get up late, I find nothing in the fridge that looks good for breakfast, nothing in the pantry, I settle for V8, I check the fridge again in vain, I go running for about an hour, I find nothing appetizing for lunch, I take a shower, I settle on something to eat that ends up making me feel a little sick, I do my makeup, I go to work, I come home, I study korean and recently chinese (I work at a Japanese Steakhouse where all the asians are Chinese, and one of them, one of the nicest people I know, bought me a mandarin workbook.), I talk on the phone to people who are incredibly far away from me, I feel really lonely for about 30 seconds, until I tell myself that all my hard work now will pay off in the future, and then I brush my teeth, put on RiffTrax and go to bed. Rinse and repeat. On the 7th day, I wish I had someone to call to do something with, but it's Monday and I have very few friends here, none that aren't married with real jobs really. So I do nothing.

Despite the dark twist I've spun upon that, I really am happy. Are you happy? Lets be happy. Tired, but happy. Mostly happy.

Won't you tell me what you're thinking of?

Favorite Things Of The Moment:

1. 3 Iron--its a Korean film and the best thing I've seen in a long time.

2. Mixes from Jaymin and the Pineapple Cilantro candle I'm burning. (the whole box, really)

3. The "Cinntastic!!" Eric surprised me with at Dino's earlier.

4. GD's Shine A Light Concert DVD that shall soon be mine.

5. "We own a tarp."

6. And this video:

I’ve found myself searching for the right word and failing greatly several times recently. I’ve used a lot of words that seem inadequate.

So then I wonder why my vocabulary is so limited. Why I can never find the right word to say. I think even if I read the dictionary every day, memorized every line, it would feel the same. I think the problem is not with the words I use but I how I feel in the first place. I think I feel things differently than a lot of the people I know. Distorted somehow. I used to think I had trouble being being honest about whats in my heart, but maybe its just that it changes so quickly that by the time the last syllable falls off my tongue it already feels like a lie sometimes.

I am thinking this now, because I have been thinking about how I love people who can say what they mean--I mean, I love it when you hear something that reveals an underlying truth that we feel but do not automatically understand. Something with depth and meaning.

We all have this underlying overwhelming desire to make ourselves immortal-to create something that lasts longer than our physical beings, right? Some of us play with words and hope to say something that resonates through sound waves into eternity. Others do the same with music, hoping to strike the right chord. Then there are the painters and the filmmakers and the visual artists who try to burn some single image onto the soul of humanity, something we all see when we close our eyes, like headlights that passed us at night.

When I think of all the writers I’ve read and don’t remember, and all the paintings and photographs I’ve seen that blur together, the songs I’ve heard--the names of people and places--all the faces and things I’ve forgotten in my life, it makes me wonder why we bother at all. The futility of it is kind of crushing. Even if you were Oscar Wilde, or Toulouse Lautrec, or Bob Dylan--even if everyone on the whole damn planet knew your name--would always know your name forever--what does it matter? Why don’t we want to be forgotten? What are we clinging onto? What are we missing?

Just a thought.

Also:

This picture has nothing to do with anything, it just made me laugh when I saw it. Oh, the resonating truth...haha.

Take care.

--Nikky

Some Ghost Aghast.

I can’t hear your voice now. You’re too far away.

But if I sit quietly I can still see your face

like its burnt into my eyes, you’re the flash of a photograph.

Some ghost aghast at all those things I said.

I know I shouldn’t have. I know now

you’re perfect.

I can’t taste your skin anymore. Its covered

with someone else. But I can feel you still,

I can see you crying across the room.

Some ghost at least to keep me company,

a sad see-through figure in the back.

I can’t want anything more than you.