Something not depressing: model pictures!

So for those of you who know me well, I'm going to try out for America's Next Top Model this next summer. I know I probably won't get in, but I do want to try. It's kind of an initiation thing--being able to accept who I am after an ultimate rejection of it.
But these are my modeling pictures! I'm obviously getting more of them, since you need a portfolio, but these are the best ones I have so far:

Killing the Light.


Rooftops and Invitations.

Triplets.


Sushi flower.

American Cola. Hypnotik.


Marie Antoinette.

All my photographs were taken by myself except for the "Rooftops and Invitations" which was taken by my roommate A.
I know it's a far cry from a portfolio but I love these pictures to death, so.

God, all I've been doing lately is poetry

There's a reason.
I can't forget you--
you are my black hole;
you suck it all in
and leave nothing inside me.
I wish you could know what
you've done
to me.
From strung-out
to someone.

I want to forget.
Let me leave.
You force me to stay,
your memory makes me
question everything.
You make me ignorant.
No reason--
no reason for me to care
but I do.
And I can't forget you.

Possibility

Rebirth

I.
Agony, shivering--
how much more can I endure?
Trudging onwards through the wasteland:
the teenage wasteland.
Alone. Always alone. Fighting,
fighting everyone,
but most of all myself.
Which makes it all the harder.
Rationalizing, slipping away
further into the delusions.
It is all I can do not to scream,
the gasps
coming short and quick
torn from me
like you were.
Fate is nothing
God, I wish fate were nothing.

II.
Then emerging, breathing,
feeling the light on my cheeks,
the wind on my lips.
Suffering leads to contentment,
though what I am content with
is empty.
Not alone anymore,
sang vivant in my veins,
pulsing like wine.
The dead leaves
are beautiful,
everything is symbolic of my struggle.
Tomorrow might be the wind
that blows out my flame
but it may be the fire
that ignites my heart.

***

Monotony

We go through the motions because we have to.
I tell you welcome,
you ask me my name.
I answer:
Laure.
You fidget with your tie.
You're friends with A.?
Yes, you are.
Have a drink, you ask me.
I say no, but watch you indulge.
The punch stains your lips.
Evening.
And it begins again.

***
Je ne suis la petite bellete de personne.

Find me
if you dare.
if you don't
i'll be alone
forever.

I am so confused.

You
Often
Got
Upset.
Ranting.
Torture.

(I'm doing a food poems. Silly me.)

Too
Overwhelming
For
U

But seriously. Isn't it easier to get lost in the dark?

Despite my Intentions

I almost always get bored with what i'm writing.
This story is no exception...it would have been easier if i wrote it in word so I could just post it all.

whatever.

All I have to say is fifteen thousand things may happen but life is just a charade and so none of them really matter in the long run.

not to say it's not an enjoyable charade. but it still is just something we do because we have to.

Flying Downwards

The room was sterile-smelling, white, and practically empty, save the presence of a hospital bed enclosing a frail looking child. Emmanuel stepped in the door, let it swing close behind him, and pulled off his scrubs.
His wings burst out of their wrappings, showering the pale child in a cascade of white down.
"I bring a message from the Lord."
The child wasn't listening, or at least she wasn't moving. Her brown hair was strewn across her face, covering her eyes. Her tiny chest was heaving.
Emmanuel tried again.
"I bring a message from the Lord." He shook his wings again, but the child did not move.
He wondered vaguely if she was already dead. It was forbidden to touch living people, because upon realizing angels are made of skin and bones, the illusion of a vision is shattered.
But he was almost certain she was, considering her chest had stopped heaving.
He was in deep trouble anyway. He had failed to deliver the message to the child before she died, and it would really make no difference if he touched her hand, just to see.
His fingers closed around two of the girl's. Their surface was cool and clammy.
Well, he thought, she is most certainly dead.
It was quiet for another moment, and then she turned her head towards him, her hair jerking out of her eyes.
"Who are you?" she asked.
Emmanuel backed away quickly.
"I am no one. I am a vision. Go back to sleep."
He didn't know where to go. He was trapped. His wings were exposed, just as he shortly would be.
The window was open. Emmanuel took a running leap out it, the glass shattering painfully around his shoulders. He pulsed his wings, testing, and then gave them one powerful swoop, rising towards the heavens as fast as he could.
When he reached the gates, he was turned away.
You failed your task, God told him. Return to earth and spend time among your people until you comprehend life. Then return, and we shall see if we have a place for you.
And so Emmanuel fell.

Feeling the Distance

I'm feeling the distance between you and me.
We said we'd never grow apart, but have we?
It's not enough to make me cry,
But if you said goodbye
I think I'd shut down eternally.

***

Emotional days are like humps in the road
of life
it's hard to keep on dragging your feet
along
when the sun's beating down
no one's there to pick you up and you're

alone.

Isolated from even yourself.
In a million fragmented ways
I reach out but all I can reach is
the dust that was stars.

***

We all try our hands at something new...poetry is sometimes the thing I turn to for best expression. I am definitely better at the short story or novel, but I do like to get my feelings out there, and sometimes a story just won't do.
That being said, Emmanuel part III will continue tomorrow.
I am getting my first tattoo this weekend and three of my best friends don't even know.
That's the kind of isolation I'm talking about.

Flying Downwards

Emmanuel's story is not too different from any other, except for its start and its finish.
He was created by God as a messanger to the people of Earth. His sole purpose was to fulfill the wishes of those who bid him do their will.
But unfortunately, he failed one task set forward to him. A mother and her dying child prayed for a message from the Lord, and it became Emmanuel's task to come to them and give them hope of the child's survival. He descended, as he had since he was a boy, to earth, disguised as a human, his wings bundled up behind his back. When he arrived at the hospital, dressed in scrubs, he looked around him, and for the first time considered the human race.
Ambulances rushed in and out of the small unloading zone, bringing the severely injured into the hospital's gates. It was not unlike Heaven, Emmanuel thought. The needy came to the door of God, and were accepted unconditionally.
He felt the chaos around him in the air. Pain, desperation, fear--things that as an angel he was particularly honed to identify. He entered the main doors, casting around for the radiation wing.
Following a group of visitors to the elevator, he felt somewhat small. The people surrounding him had intense emotions, he was swimming in them. But he, as an angel, could only feel what others felt, not what he chose to.
It amounted to what we can describe as jealousy.
Emmanuel walked down the hallway of the radiation wing and into room 157.

Flying Downwards

The thing sat on the top of a spire, church bells clanging below it, echoing through its ribcage. It rested its cheek against its shoulder, feeling the vibration drift up through its body.
The day was cold and cloudy, with heavy winds. The villagers were convening at church because of the ominous weather. The pastor hurried into the church below, his robes billowing around him. He was followed by a three children shepherded by a mother, a beggar, two horsemen, and a soldier. The church doors slammed shut and the thing listened to the pastor begin his sermon.
He was talking about angels.
"The angel fell from Heaven, and our heavenly Father, blessed be thy name, cast it down to Hell, where it ruled for eternity. Thy Lord our Father and the angels of Heaven kept order in the skies--"
The thing ruffled its wings. They were sticky, laced with sweat and tar from the street, and it shifted from side to side, trying to loosen its wingtips, which were stuck together.
"--while the monster Satan ruled below us."
It took off, its matted wings billowing out in a cascade of black feathers. Its eyes shone ominously out from a mass of black hair, and its body was of human male form. It flew towards the woods, searching for a place to rest.
It settled in a meadow, among flowering grasses and brambles. As it landed, its hair blew out of its face, and it was revealed that the creature was indeed a man. A man with wings.
He sat there for several hours, listening. Finally, behind him, he heard footsteps approaching.
He turned his weary head and saw a girl, perhaps nineteen, carrying a bouquet of fresh flowers. She stopped in the clearing, stared at him, and dropped the flowers.
The man turned away, expecting the same reaction he always got.
He heard footsteps approaching and felt a hand on his shoulder. He threw it off and wheeled around. The girl dodged back, staring.
"Qui es-tu?" she asked, pointing a shaking finger at him. "Qui es-tu, demon?"
"I don't speak French," he answered, his voice rumbling deeply through the meadow.
"What are you?" she stammered, backing further away.
"I am an angel," he replied.
"The pastor summoned you. He brought you to us!" the girl's expression changed to something closer to disbelief.
"I am not that kind of angel," the man corrected. "My name is Emmanuel."
She stopped talking for a moment, considered, and sat down next to him, watching him carefully.
"Then you work for Satan."
"No. I have never seen Satan. I work for no one. I am a free man."
"Angels cannot be free," she said, staring. "They work for God."
"God created me," he agreed. "But I flew downwards from Heaven."
"That is called falling," she said, and closed her eyes.
This is the story of Emmanuel, the fallen angel.

The beginning of something I'm working on. :)

Laughter

If only everything were as simple as a laugh.
I wish I could change every bad emotion I have ever had into a laugh. If I could laugh in the face of fear, anxiety, loneliness...it wouldn't be able to laugh back at me.
I'm listening to the laughter of my roommates in the other room. I'm not in a mood for laughing. I'm lost in myself, confused. Meditation is helping but my mind is muddled today, full of reasons, lies, truths, desperation, and stress.
Focusing has become a struggle. I cannot live in a place where all we discuss is our social lives. I need something more. I need a thirst for the same kind of intellect I want to possess. Talk to me about Kant, or about Descartes, or about anything, God, anything at all. Just not Gossip Girl.
So I'm drifting into non-existance. My logic: Why stay in this plane when there's little left to stay for?
I should be all means be a druggie. Too bad I'm morally opposed.

Certainty

I just don't know.

College List

These are the schools I'm considering for transfer:
Tufts
Vassar
Emerson
NYU
Barnard
Bard
If anyone has any info on any of them, or knows anyone at them, let me know!

All the fallen leaves will find their branches again...

(The Whigs)
I'm definitely a fallen leaf. I'm looking for my branch but I don't know where it is. Europe? America? If it's America, is it in Boston? NYC? California? I'm really not sure what I want to do with myself these days.
In other less methaphorical news, it is SO HOT here. Like 90s. Awful heat. We're going shopping for swim suits today so we can hit the beach this weekend.
I have strep too, which sucks but my poor body will fend it off I'm sure. It's been through way too much already this year, but hopefully this will be the last sickness.
Oh and I got a job at Borronne's, for those of you that don't already know. I'm working there this summer. Come find me among the other gorgeous employees (that's what Borronne's is known for among me and my friends)!

Hard Candy

(Madonna!)

There are tons of concerts in California this summer! I plan on attending a copious amount, as usual.

Starting today, there will be a concert list running at the end of each post. Because music is my life and I love talking about it.


Concert 1:







Projekt Revolution 08 featuring Ashes Divide, Linkin Park, Chris Cornell, Hawthorne Heights, The Bravery, 10 Years, and others.
Has so many headliners I want to see I am not sure what to do with myself!

Concert 2:





San Francisco Outside Lands Music & Arts Festival, featuring Jack Johnson, Cold War Kids, Lupe Fiasco, Tom Petty, Beck, Wilco, Radiohead, Ben Harper, and others.
The NorCal version of Cochella.

Concert 3:


Maroon 5, Augustana, and Counting Crows!








Concert 4:


Madonna in November





Concert 5:


NIN in September



Concert 6:

Stone Temple Pilots with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

That's all for now. I'm hoping Eagles of Death Metal will get added to that list, but you never know.

Utopia...

(Goldfrapp)

Today I went to Yogurtland again. Hehe. I'm gonna get fat.

Not the point of this post. The point:

I donated to save people in Burma today. And it felt HELLA GOOD.

I've been hearing about Burma on the news. How its own government won't allow humanitarian aid, and how our government is urging them to allow us to help them out, but they're refusing on the basis of our poor reputation. So it was pretty awesome when my aunt linked me to this site. They donate to Burma's monks to bypass the government directly, so aid gets to the civilians.

I have a friend who donates to charity every month. I think I'm going to start doing it too. It feels really good.

Because, like my title says, we don't live in utopia. We actually live in a pretty crappy world. And I'd like it to be better, even if my measly $20.00 only does so much.

I'll Carry You Home

(Hold me now...Sweet and Low, little girl...by Augustana)
This week brings disillusionment, confusionment, and some good ol' amusement.
Part I: Disillusionment
I want to be a journalist. But I also want to be whatever I will love the most. Would I be better as a producer or as journalist? Producer is something I never considered before. Music is something I never thought I would go into, but after having it suggested to me, I suddenly thought maybe it would be a good niche for me. Or signing bands to record labels...I just don't know.
But I want to affect things. Will I affect things by helping people make music? I think music changes the world, but it doesn't stop people in Somalia from being massacred. But could I really do that if I was a journalist? I probably wouldn't even be able to write what I wanted to write half the time.
Which brings us to Part II: Confusionment.
As I was mulling this over, I realized I'm not 100% sure of where I'll end up next year. I don't have housing for UCI for fall 08, which I need, because I won't be able to stay and finish my work here for winter transfer if I don't have it. I might be dropping out early and transferring with a quarter's work missing. And I don't know where I'll be come a half a year from now--I could be in NYC, Boston, Switzerland, or even Montreal...
That's scary.
But it was all washed away by Part III: Amusement.
We went to Yogurtland last night. If you've never heard of this place, god, you're missing out. It's orgasmic. You get to take a cup (one of two sizes, large or extra large) and walk along this giant wall full of flavors of fro yo, and then fill your cup as full as you want. Then you scoop on toppings (fresh fruit, sprinkles, chocolate, mochi balls, candy...etc) and pay by the ounce! They even have fresh water with strawberries, and for those of you who are lactose intolerant (like me) this place claims their fro yo helps with that. I've even heard rumors that it's not dairy based (which, so far, seems to be true). So yes, it's delicious, healthy, and coming to Cupertino!!!


Yogurtland Irvine

Scratch that, it's already in Cupertino! YAY!

She lives in a dream

(Eleanor Rigby, Beatles)
Well, I've declared my major. As of now, I'm going to major in Journalism with a dash of poli sci thrown in and possibly another sprinkle of French, if I can find time to double minor. Goodness, now to find a school that has a good Journalism program (too bad I'm leaving one that has one of the best).
And this weekend, I decided that I wanted to change the world.
Yeah, kind of a revolutionary statement to make in a sentence. But I plan on doing it. I want to be that girl who goes to Rwanda or Sudan or Tibet and nearly loses her life to come back with a story that makes the rest of the priviliged world realize that the rest of the world isn't so lucky all the time. Or the girl that stumbles across a tragedy and makes it important to everyone. I want people to care about things like I care about them.
Idealistic, I know, but if I don't start out that way, I'll have nothing to lose, and protecting my ideals will make me work all the harder to get where I want to go.
And I want people in America to care less about the tabloids and more about the New York Times. Less about what Britney Spears did on the freeway yesterday and more about how many Iraqis died in the same time frame. Less about the appearance of wrinkles on their faces and more about the appearance of smog on the skyline.
America is a pretty messed-up nation. We are so full of ourselves we forget the rest of the world exists. It's this I hope changes soon.
So IR (International Relations) seems to be the place for me. IR or an editorial on fashion (what a contrast!).

Where I Belong

(Motion City Soundtrack)
Which is ironic because the content of this post has to do with the song title and the place I first heard this band.
I really don't belong in Southern California.
I realized this today when someone told me again how "that's so gay" and how they're "moderate." This place may have some great slang (legit) and some great people, but it also has some really crappy ideals.
This school also has some really bad flaws. It's located in a terrible conservative area, it empties out on the weekends, it can be really lonely, the classes aren't as hard as I expected, and although they do have a variety of classes, they aren't focused in one direction. In other words, it's not the liberal arts education I wanted from Sarah Lawrence.
Transfering is still what I'm using to get me through this year. Problem is, it's getting harder and harder to face the idea of leaving Alliey and Aditi and Lauren behind.
If anyone has any knowledge of any good schools in New York City, let me know. Right now I'm considering applying to Columbia, Fordham (ooh in the Bronx, ahhh), and Stonybrook. Well I did apply there, I'm waiting to see if I get in.
If anyone can come up with some good schools in SoCal where the majority of the students are not FROM here and that are not UCs, that would be okay too.
It's either NYC or LA.

I was dancing on the floor...

(Goldfrapp, A&E)
Dancing is really good for you. Swing dance last night was really fun, we learned how to do this kick step thing, it's really violent and fast! I got it by the end of the night, though.
Today everyone is gone from the dorm. It's strangely silent. Refreshing.
I saw Penelope tonight. It was pretty good, definitely very chic-flick-y. But still very cute, and the actors were good in it, definitely a winner in my book. The main bad guy in it is also Mr. Bingley from the new Pride and Prejudice!! I was instantly won over by his cute face and his adorable red hair (not to mention the accent).
Tomorrow I'm going to see Miss Pettigrew Lives for A Day and then make vegan pizza with my roommate and her mom. Hopefully also see the Other Boleyn Girl online, even if it got bad reviews.
I also retract my earlier statement about jeans and a t-shirt, it doesn't really matter what you wear as long as it's what you want to wear. I was rudely awakened to the cold reality of Barbie Doll fashion yesterday...I guess I never knew that there actually *are* people like the girls on the Hills...all they were concerned about was how their hair looked and if their chanel logos were showing, and how much money they could spend on their next outfit. And their idea of sewing a fashion line? Taking someone else's clothes and cutting them up, and passing them off as their own. Gross.
Plus because I was wearing Harajuku Lovers (OMG) and not a haute couture name brand, they started looking down on me, and wouldn't talk to me, or even look at me. Gross! It pissed me off. So I decided that judging people based on what they wear isn't fair.
I guess someone was trying to tell me not to get in too deep, or I might become like them. Karma!

Dress me up, Dress me down...a fashionista's look at the non-fashionable.

For those of you who haven't figured it out, all the titles of these blogs are references to songs.

The 'Dress me up' portion of the title will be addressed here.
After my recent plunge into the fashion world, I have found myself addicted to everything couture. Louis Vuitton, Dior by John Galliano, Christian Dior, Valentino, Forever 21...
Well Forever 21 is good for knock-offs, anyway. (See this article)
Couture is a lifestyle, I have to admit. Once you ascend, you can never go down. I find myself coveting ridiculously expensive LV bags (one that goes for more than 10K) and trying to make the price seem reasonable. After all, as the February issue of Harper's Bazaar points out, $1000 is the new $500.
But it is important to distinguish coveting and materialism. It's too easy to judge someone based on what they wear--I know, I've experienced it. I carry plenty of fake LVs, and some real LAMB and Harajuku Lovers, and one Guess bag, and I do have articles of clothing that cost over $130.00 each. But remember, people. Materialists buy to show off their wealth. I, and other fashionistas like me, buy to convey our personality through what we wear.
Or just because we think that $300 Dior headband will look adorable on us come spring, even though it's the middle of winter.

Oh, and...WHAT am I going to sew for my winter formal??

I am going off a 40s vamp motif, trying to channel Guy LaRoche as though he were creating a piece for Katherine Hepburn. Sweetheart neckline, body-hugging silhouette with a flared skirt below the knee, backless.

Then again, it's a simple formal, not SO dressy. Should I go for a Betsey Johnson approach? Tulle and bows everywhere? Plenty of pink? A cute form-fitting bodice with a lace-up back?

The 'Dress me down' portion of this blog:
As of late, the collegiats here seem to be favoring the baggy jeans and a huge tee-shirt approach to fashion. While I accept that this is a certain comfort level for some people, it should not be worn past your bedroom door.
I wear jeans and a t-shirt, sure. At this very moment, I am wearing such an ensemble. But my jeans are dark-washed, contrast-stitched, stretch jeans with a Harajuku Lovers t-shirt that proclaims "Love is My Homegirl" to all the world. It is form-fitting, and matches my belt.
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WEAR T-SHIRTS THAT FIT YOU!
And it wouldn't hurt to adopt some of the lovely spring trends that are emerging, such as floral print, draped dresses, bright shades of makeup, and wavy, long hair.
I know not everyone religiously reads Allure, but I swear to you, even if you don't, you gotta notice the baggy jeans and a tee-shirt look went out many many years ago.

Everything's Going So Well!!!

Kudos to those who get the reference.
I'm in Starbucks between classes. Jen Park just got a blog so I might as well conform. It's easier than emails, that's for sure.
This week Dad's down and I'm going to Santa Monica for the first time. I hear it's a tourist trap so we'll see how much I like it. Then on friday I'm going to read and watch all of Felicity and hopefully get my Veronica Mars DVDs fixed because they won't play anymore. Then Saturday it's Alliey's surprise party! And Sunday I'm not sure, homework I suppose.
No big news going on, besides SoCal has gone from a freezer to an inferno in the space of 12 hours. Today it must be 78 at least, yesterday it was 80. And last week it was in the 60s. This place is retarded.
Hm. There really isn't that much to add. I'm trying to get into Writing 110 (creative writing upperdivision) for next quarter so I have to write a 10-15 page story to prove I'm good enough. The classes I'm taking so far:
Political Science 41: Intro to International Relations
Humanities Core
Linguistics 3
Creative Writing Intro
20 units in total, hella work. But I can do it!
I'll post the story online when I'm done, maybe Raphs, you can tell me what you think of it, and Jenny if she sees this, and other peeps too if they want. :)