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thisislia
01 November 2010 @ 10:27 am
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thisislia
11 October 2010 @ 07:04 am
When you're drowning, you don't say 'I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me,' you just scream.
 
 
thisislia
02 October 2010 @ 05:35 am
Newfound love for the city. Newly discovered parts of myself - Parts I find oh so beautiful.


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thisislia
25 September 2010 @ 09:20 am
Awkward would not be the word to describe it. Beautiful, that's more like it. Beautiful like the first time, the way it should have been. Peering through a lens filtered with an innocence that most never remember because it reaches so far back. Like Christmas once was, when you still believed in a Santa. When snow was something you'd never seen before. Before your heart had ever been broken or bruised. Before you truly knew what it meant to 'hate'. To be jaded or to be indifferent. When you still dreamed of living in New York City before your feet had even hit the asphalt here. Senses amplified ten-fold. The sound of your breath - Heavy, shallow, heavy, shallow.

To say it is still alright to love would be an understatement. Something far too many neglect because not everyone can handle weighing the risks and the odds.

To admit that the lightheaded, dizzy-spinning feeling could be nothing else but.

To know what that means and to truly appreciate it.

To never regret it, when it leaves you behind to peer after it like the dog that feels devastated each time it's master leaves for work in the mornings. Pining. You only know how to hope, because to not would weigh against every instinct swelling down to all four of your furry paws.







Yeah, I'd do it over and over and over again.
 
 
Current Music: Neutral Milk Hotel - Oh Comely
 
 
thisislia
25 September 2010 @ 08:41 am
Never a more beautiful idea for a work of performance art.
 
 
 
thisislia
11 August 2010 @ 03:13 pm
I receive these kind of messages quite often when I think about it. None the less I quote it, not to embarrass the writer, but because I have learned so much to appreciate those that appreciate me for all I am. Sometimes things in the moment are rough, but when the seas have calmed it's always interesting to know what one thinks when the hurt, or the chaos is eliminated.

Obviously, ignore the drugs.

"Tonight i have been sitting in my apartment with my unique roommates that have magically become luigi and yoshi (Im Mario). We ate Pizza with awesome pizza toppings. So for the past four hours and the next two I have been analyzing my life in such detail I needed you to know that you are the only person from thoes dreaded years that i remember what you smell like when i recall your face. You intoxicated me and so you can intoxicate all men that approach you. You need to be careful of your super power but if i were you i would rule the world! You can do what ever you want because thats your super power. Intoxicating men. I envy you, I know what it does to me and i know how to use it. You dont fully understand the awesome might of your femininity. And you have beautiful hair and a cute kinda scrappy voice that dulls down the hotness (too hot is not good. It means that no man can tame you) and makes you more desirable and even more attractive than just a hot ass chick. You kick ass! I wish i could hug you right now. Next time I see you Im going to hug you like a teddy bear. No Way!!!!!!!!!! My room is on an ocean. Like little Nemo on his bed. I'll talk to you later. A lavender ocean with yoshi and john.This computer is so bright. The keys flow so well though. The action of the space bar is fun to push as i write these words. letsseeificanwritewithoutthespacebar.thisbothersme. mycheakshurtfromsmiling"




I won't be a grammar/spelling Nazi, but this makes me smile.
 
 
thisislia
27 June 2010 @ 11:36 am
I feel weird this morning.

Like when the hair stands up on the back of an animal.

Shake it off.
 
 
Current Music: Caribou
 
 
thisislia
23 June 2010 @ 11:12 pm
I am so unbelievably drained it's not even laughable. Well, maybe it is - I did run into the glass door separating our living room from our office. It's got to be the heat. This blanket of humidity that makes me badly want to shave my head and roam naked, it's really that bad. As for life... Well, I really can't complain on that front. Things have all been going well, in most every aspect. The new beer garden opened up a couple months back and is only a few short blocks from my apartment! You know what this means? Awful drunken photos I have to constantly untag myself in. This entry is going to be a little jumbled because I don't much feel like putting it in any sort of organized manner. It's strange, I'm in the clear - In this spot where I can look back, see my blatant mistakes. Living with a female for the first time.. Since well, mom died - That's something that has brought me more emotional stability than I can even begin to describe. Don't get me wrong, there were great times at 3116, earlier on... But Looking back it's mostly just sour due to it's inevitable end. In a recent conversation it was brought to my attention that the way I have conducted myself with men in general has been very unhealthy. I have always slept with every man in my life (negating family members, of course, ew) to gain control over situations in some twisted way. It took someone else saying it to actually make me see the reality of it, the truth in such a statement. The men I've fallen out with in painfully dramatic ways have always been the ones I chose for one reason or another, or due to relationship statuses, not to sleep with. The men I have slept with I've brought to their knees in some sort of vengeful manner that I'm not exactly proud of. Sometimes I'd like to go back and apologize to those I've really hurt. I think it's best I don't, because I'd hate to open wounds I'd like to think have healed on their part. I feel at peace with most of it now, I can say. I can see the wrongs I've done, and the wrongs others have done on me - This clarity that negates my denial. I guess what I'm getting at is I've really closed many doors, and I can feel good about that.

I've been completely cleaning out my black macbook recently so that I can give it to my brother when he moves to California. I've been doing little bits and pieces over the months but now I've moved into the photo folders. And god it's tough to go through about four years worth of photographs of people, places, pets, family... Drugs, ex-beneficial-friend-homemade-pornos... Joseph and Lia do the movie theater. Getting my first tattoo and smearing blood all over the jeep. Getting stoned on the beach. Life in the gardens, life off lantana. Horse-back antics. Most of it I'm deleting because there are things I'm choosing not to forget, but to just not be reminded of. A person that I don't recognize anymore. The person I have come from, the person that inevitably became me now. Fuck-ups have certainly shaped me and I couldn't be more thankful, less regretful. Some things are good to look back on, I feel fondly when viewing - Other things just make me wonder what the hell state of mind I was in. Where was I? I know where I am now, that's something I'm proud of.

I don't really know where this is going, but this lame little fan isn't making the heat any more bearable and I think I may go to bed.






Ps. I love my boyfriend and my dog, too.











Pps. And I hope that junk kills you title or description
(that's the most bitter thing I may ever say)
 
 
Current Music: Silver Jews
 
 
thisislia
"Plenty of guys have told me this story. The guy in question is preparing to go to a party with his girlfriend. She is trying on shoes and dresses. He is telling her how good she looks. She tries on more shoes, more dresses. And then: the sudden, inexplicable meltdown. She crumples on the bed. Something is horribly wrong. Now the party is out of the question.
The guy sits down. He hugs her. What's the problem? Gradually the truth emerges. 'Do you know what it was?' the guy will say later to his friends. 'She said she "didn't look right". She felt … I don't know. Fat. Or that she was the wrong shape. It's all about her body.' He goes on: 'I told her she looked great. Which she does, right?'
At this point the other guys will say, 'Yeah – she looks great.' And: 'She looks fine.' And: 'I saw her the other day, wearing those shorts.' And: 'She is hot.' Then the first guy will say, 'That's what I kept telling her. And that's when she got really upset. She said, "You just don't understand."'
It's true – men, by and large, do not understand. In her book The Beauty Myth, Naomi Wolf made this point very powerfully. When a woman has a crisis of confidence about the way she looks there is nothing a man can do to console her.
'Whatever he says hurts her more,' says Wolf. 'If he comforts her by calling the issue trivial, he doesn't understand. It isn't trivial at all. If he agrees with her that it's serious, even worse: he can't possibly love her, he thinks she's fat and ugly.'
But it doesn't stop there, says Wolf. What if the man were to say he loves the woman just as she is – that he loves her for her? An absolute no-no, of course, because then 'he doesn't think she's beautiful'. Worse still, though, if he says he loves her because he thinks she's beautiful.
There's no way out. It seems to be, in Wolf's words, 'an uninhabitable territory between the sexes'. So why don't men understand? And, given a bit of education, can the situation be improved?
Well, I'm a man, so let's see. The first thing to say is that, when it comes to their bodies, men have a completely different attitude. I'm not saying they don't think about their bodies, or worry about them, because they do. But men relate to their bodies in a simple way.
A man's body is either fine, or it's not fine. For a man, the body is a practical object. It's a machine. Sometimes it works well; sometimes it needs fixing. Some guys know how to fix it, by taking up a sport, maybe, or cutting down on the carbs. Some don't, and go to seed.
Men see their bodies as machines because, for most of their time on this earth, they have defined themselves as hunters and protectors. They equate being attractive with being strong and fast and muscled. That's a simple concept, isn't it? And that simplicity is hard-wired into the male brain.
When his girlfriend has a meltdown, and says she hates her body, that is not a simple concept. Unlike men, women do not have a simple relationship with their bodies. They have a complex relationship with their bodies. This is what men often don't understand. When it comes to their bodies, women are extremely vulnerable – and, what's more, lots of people take advantage of that vulnerability. This makes the situation worse.
Men don't have to contend with this – the hair people, and the make-up people, and the fashion people, and the shoe people, and the bra people, and the nail people, and the eyelash people, and the Botox people, and the cosmetic surgery people, and the perfume people, and the hair-removal people. Oh, and the diet people.
Men are not at the mercy of corporate manipulation on remotely this scale. Sure, there are six-packs creeping into our field of vision every so often. And, sure, this is making us feel insecure. I know – I was fat, and it's no fun being fat, especially with all those pictures of Brad Pitt nagging away.
And then there are the adverts for Lynx, and the Reebok advert in which a man is chased around town by a big fat hairy belly. But for men the message is very direct. Buy some running shoes. Go to the gym. Cut down on the carbs. For men there is no mystery behind the veil of the adverts. You either tackle the situation, or become a fat slob. End of story.
For men the holy grail is within reach – you just need to get fit, and then you'll be fine; then you can think about something else. But the messages aimed at women are much more complex and confusing. As the American social commentator Warren Farrell has pointed out, women's magazines often contain articles about being Superwoman, which are next to adverts about being Cinderella.
In other words, the words tell women how to be independent and in control. But the adverts, where the money is, tell them they have to be beautiful.
Farrell said this more than two decades ago – and, shockingly, nothing has changed. There's a solid pulse running through everything our culture aims at women – be beautiful, be beautiful, be beautiful.
But being beautiful, it turns out, is a near-impossible task. It keeps getting harder and harder. Everybody knows that it entails being slim – and every year the ideal gets slimmer and slimmer. In 1960 the average model weighed 10 per cent less than the average woman. Now she weighs 25 per cent less. Soon she will weigh 30 per cent less. But she doesn't have the breasts of a skinny woman – nor, as Susie Orbach has recently pointed out, the bottom. To achieve the ideal is vanishingly impossible.
And it's getting worse. Orbach believes that we are exposed, on a weekly basis, to several thousand images that have been digitally manipulated. And this, in turn, makes more women opt for cosmetic surgery – which, of course, moves the goalposts even farther away.
When lots of people have surgery to make themselves look more beautiful this has the effect of making everybody else feel less beautiful. And this is happening on a global scale – in 2007 people spent £9 billion on cosmetic surgery; the vast majority of them, of course, were women.
So: men are told they should aspire to fitness and strength, and women are told they should aspire to something more nebulous. But that still does not explain, in terms a man could understand, why the female message is so much more powerful and disturbing.
It doesn't explain why a tenth of women are anorexic, why a growing number are bulimic, why almost half of women, at any given time, are on a diet. It doesn't quite explain the meltdowns. And it doesn't explain why women want to be so skinny. Why they think they are fat, when they are not. It doesn't explain why, when a woman's body is perfectly attractive, she often thinks it isn't, and can't be persuaded otherwise.
In short, it does not explain why a man can look at an advert featuring a six-pack and laugh at it, whereas a woman might look at a picture of Gisele Bündchen and feel a sense of unease that hangs around for days.
John Updike once said that the female body is the world's prime aesthetic object – we look at it more than we look at anything else, including landscapes, gadgets, cars. In fact, cars and gadgets are often designed to resemble the female body, and landscapes can be painted to remind us of it. When we talk about 'the nude' in art we are almost certainly referring to the female nude. As far as nudes are concerned, the male nude is a distant runner-up.
I once wrote the introduction to a book of male nudes by the photographer Rankin; it was a sequel to his previous book of female nudes. One thing struck me above all – male nudes were a much, much harder thing to portray than female ones.
That's because the female body carries with it a huge weight of iconic significance – thousands of years of being looked at. The female body has meaning. Pictures of the female body can be profound, serious and complex. For thousands of years they have been depicted with reverence. Now imagine having one of those bodies. It puts a bit of pressure on, doesn't it?
Now I'm beginning to see why women might be so addicted to perfection. They have a lot to live up to – a couple of thousand years of art history, and a couple of thousand airbrushed boobs and bums to deal with every week.
But what started this off in the first place? Why aren't there so many airbrushed pictures of men around? Of course, these pictures do exist, and their numbers are increasing. But why are women so much more vulnerable to pictures of perfect bodies than men?
In his book The Evolution of Desire, the American psychologist David Buss goes some way towards explaining why this should be so. Since the Stone Age, he explains, men and women have had different attitudes towards sex. Men can pass on their genes with very little risk – all they need is a fertile woman.
But it's different for women, because pregnancy is incredibly risky. What women need is a man who looks like a good provider – better still, who looks like a proven provider.
So let's think about our Stone Age man and woman. If he's going to settle down, and stop playing the field, he wants one thing above all – a woman who looks fertile. More than that, he wants a woman who looks as if she'll be fertile for many years to come. In other words, he might consider being a provider and protector, as long as his mate looks young, fertile and unblemished.
And now consider his mate. What does she want? Not just a man who is a good hunter and a good fighter, but a man who has a track record as a hunter and fighter. In other words, an older man. And this is not only true of Stone Age couples. In a survey conducted by David Buss, 10,000 people, in 37 cultures, were polled. 'In all 37 cultures included in the international study on choosing a mate,' writes Buss, 'women prefer men who are older than they are.'
Now I'm getting close to understanding why women are so critical of their bodies. Since prehistoric times they have had a hard-wired link to how they look. For tens of thousands of years it was crucial; it could be the difference between having a protector and not having one – between life and death, even.
For men it's not the same at all. The odd wrinkle or grey hair doesn't matter. Hell, it might even be an advantage. As long as you're good at throwing spears and building shelters, you'll be fine.
Twenty thousand years on, what has changed? Well, as David Buss points out, it's unlikely that a Stone Age man would have seen 'hundreds or even dozens of attractive women in that environment'. But now, when he looks at a Playboy centrefold, he is seeing a woman who has competed with thousands of other women for the part – not only that, he's seeing the best picture out of thousands.
And it's not just centrefolds, is it? Just look at newsreaders – mostly, it's a pretty girl and a grey-haired man. Message to men: relax. Message to women: panic! And then there are the girl groups, and the short-skirted girl on Countdown, and even the characters in the Harry Potter films, where the boys are allowed to look like geeks but the girl must look like a model.
As the art critic John Berger wrote: 'Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at. This determines not only the relations of men to women, but the relation of women to themselves.' It's a tough one, isn't it?
Surely guys can understand that, at least. If it happened to us, we'd have a meltdown, too."
 
 
thisislia
28 May 2010 @ 03:12 am
Waking up in sticky heat.... My head is baking...



I want my iphone back - Blackberry is neat and all, but I can't rely on this thing ever being on if I leave it for a couple hours. Major design flaw.




...Ugh, my head.





Sleep.