God bless GSU. Some people hate that school with an utter passion--cough cough my HIST 2010 teacher, but I love it. I mean where else on earth will you find homeless people wondering across campus, an old man smoking weed, females who walk around in the dead of winter half clothed, and then on top of all of that get charged an arm, leg, kidney, and left lung for books and other living expenses. No where else on the planet, I'll say.
I mean people constantly complain and groan about how there is nothing cheap to do in Atlanta and I am just awe. Cause honestly there is a ton to do for pretty cheap. You can go to Cinifest...for free. You can join a club. You can get a job (which is a bit tougher now because of the whole recession). Or perhaps you can do one of my most coveted and adored pastimes, PEOPLE WATCH!
Okay so today while waiting for Joel to arrive so I could return his book to him, I decided to sit in the Library Plaza and read. BAD IDEA! Because you really can't get a lot of reading done with people wondering around, crashing into each other and shouting out from across the campus, "'Ey! Playa, what up, folk!" or some other phrase of the like. So I decided to people watch and make up stories about their lived and let me say it kept me pretty entertain for a whole entire hour.
So here is what I am going to do. I am going to give people fake names and a fake description of them. Then in parenthesis I will explain how I got to that conclusion.
Here is the story of Leroy Biggums. Leroy is a man who is old in age. He is probably sixty seven. He is a devious man though. Never quite found a way to stay out of trouble. He jokes around and tells his friends, "Look may'ne. It ain't never been 'bout me stayin' outa trouble. It' 'bout trouble not catchin' my black ass." In which all his friend with muffled laughter, "Ain't that the damn truth." Oh yes, Leroy Biggums, kind soul...when you get to know him. Underneath all that pride of his rebellion he is truthfully ashamed for not changing. He has lost something because he couldn't give up a habit and now he sits alone everyday in the Library Plaza at 2:40PM hoping something just might change. (I got all of that from this: I got up to move to a chair and I saw this old man smoking. I looked at him and gave him a respectful nod and he suspiciously nods back and hides whatever he is smoking. I then realize he his smoking marijuana and looks at me with the saddest of a face. I shrug my shoulders at him and smile, because today I realized was not a day for me to judge.)
Ashley Pierce is pretty. She shops at American Eagle, Hollister, and Ralph Lauren. She was born into a prosperous family and a rich community. Ashley--who prefers to be called Ash--is beautiful, funny, well spoken and was unfortunately labeled as the "Oreo chick" black on the outside white on the inside. This hideous label has followed her throughout all of high school especially when she was redistricted to go to a urban school. On the first day of sophomore when the teacher asked her to introduce herself she stood up with the brightest of faces, "Good morning everyone. My name is Ashley Pierce I came from Whitewood High. I am excited to be here and meet new people though." The moment she sat down the class was in an uproar including the teacher. Paper hurled its way from her classmates hands to the back of her head. "Looks like we got ourselves an oreo", a boy said. That is when it all started. Three years later it seemed to have followed her to GSU. It is not as bad when she is with friends, but when she is alone it is hell. (I got all of this from a girl who sat next to me and in the most proper voice she said, "Good afternoon this is ...whatever her name was...may I speak with Dylan." There were these two ethnic girls sitting in close proximity to her the glanced to make sure she was black and started snickering at her.)
My last story is about a girl named Olu Ande. At first glance you would think she was a loner. That she had no friends at all and spent her time enveloped in some book to escape the confines of her desperate situation, but if you look longer and harder you can tell she is just using the book as a rouse. She is actually people watching. She thinks she is such a rouge, but every so often you can hear a chuckle passing through her lips. It mean she has just concluded one of her outlandish stories. She hides behind her aggression, because it is easier and safer than being kind. She is truly a diamond in the rough. She has once loved, but it seemes that love dressed her like a clown. Surrounded by rock it takes a lot to get through without damaging her, but whenever you get there it will totally be worth it. (If I have to explain this you are a dill-weed.)
Post-in,
Tosin
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Before I start this blog, I watched the Cool As Ice link and was cracking up. I had never even heard of that movie then I saw Vanilla Ice and knew it would be ridiculous. In three minutes you could tell the whole entire story of it. Now to return to your regular programming.
I enjoy movies in general. Usually, I am pretty game to watch anything. I am actually going to talk about three movies I love. They are technically not my favorite, but they are definitely on my top fifty.
The first movie I am going to talk about is called Malena. I truly just enjoy the point of view used in this movie. Yes, a little boy is telling a story about war times, but it is also the story of a woman who has no hope.
Not to touch to much on the dialogue, but it is amazing how the main character, Malena, has very few lines. In fact the majority of this movie is based on what the little boy is telling us. All people really see of Malena is her actions.
Another aspect I love of Malena is the musical score. Because Malena does so little talking the music does it for her. It is all instruments, but you feel disheartened, depressed, and worthless. Here is an example Malena
Overall Malena is a story of sorrow and reproach.
My second movie where every single time I watch it I am in awe is Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Whoever choreographed those fight scenes is a genius. The fight sequences never looked choreographed, but they somehow had this flow that seems so natural like doing a waltz. So I LOATHE how they dubbed this in English (personally I think foreign films should remain in their native tongue and Americans should suck it up and learn to read subtitles), but here is my favorite fight scene in CT,HD. I am aware that harnesses were used for all those stunts, but it is just so natural.
In addition to the great fight scenes who ever Ang Lee hired to be the camera person kudos. Some of the crazy angles they had were ridiculous. Especially with all the scenes they had with people in the air.
Lastly I like the dynamics between the four main characters. Yu Shu Lein (Michelle Yeoh) is a free liberated and moral woman. Jen Yu (Ziyi Zhang) is born into this royal family where traditions are forced upon her leading to rebellion. Yet some how it is easy to see that between there differences they are more alike than people first see. Moving on to the men, Li Mu Bai (Chow Yun-Fat) has chosen the life of a moral monk vowing not to marry, by choice of occupation. Lo (Chang Chen) is a rebel who goes around with his men plundering people who venture into the desert. Sadly though Lo is a kind and playful spirit he is forced into a life without a mate, by choice of lifestyle.
CTHD is such a concrete movie, yet so abstract. Love it.
Y Tú Mama Tambien is my final movie. The title roughly translated to "And Your Mother Also". I must say this movie is not meant for the family and is definitely NOT a movie you watch with your parents. I love this movie, because of how totally messed up and convoluted it is. Some of the scenes are pretty disturbing, not much in a sense of violence going on, but just how vulgar it is. The entire movie is messed up, and it wasn't until the third time I watched it is realized I loved the movie, because it was so messed up. Feel free to youtube that one yourself, but it would be better to watch the movie in its entirety.
Worthy Mentions
Bella
O Brother Where Art Thou--the soundtrack to this movie is awesome.
Amadeus
Posty Posty,
Tosin
I enjoy movies in general. Usually, I am pretty game to watch anything. I am actually going to talk about three movies I love. They are technically not my favorite, but they are definitely on my top fifty.
The first movie I am going to talk about is called Malena. I truly just enjoy the point of view used in this movie. Yes, a little boy is telling a story about war times, but it is also the story of a woman who has no hope.
Not to touch to much on the dialogue, but it is amazing how the main character, Malena, has very few lines. In fact the majority of this movie is based on what the little boy is telling us. All people really see of Malena is her actions.
Another aspect I love of Malena is the musical score. Because Malena does so little talking the music does it for her. It is all instruments, but you feel disheartened, depressed, and worthless. Here is an example Malena
Overall Malena is a story of sorrow and reproach.
My second movie where every single time I watch it I am in awe is Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Whoever choreographed those fight scenes is a genius. The fight sequences never looked choreographed, but they somehow had this flow that seems so natural like doing a waltz. So I LOATHE how they dubbed this in English (personally I think foreign films should remain in their native tongue and Americans should suck it up and learn to read subtitles), but here is my favorite fight scene in CT,HD. I am aware that harnesses were used for all those stunts, but it is just so natural.
In addition to the great fight scenes who ever Ang Lee hired to be the camera person kudos. Some of the crazy angles they had were ridiculous. Especially with all the scenes they had with people in the air.
Lastly I like the dynamics between the four main characters. Yu Shu Lein (Michelle Yeoh) is a free liberated and moral woman. Jen Yu (Ziyi Zhang) is born into this royal family where traditions are forced upon her leading to rebellion. Yet some how it is easy to see that between there differences they are more alike than people first see. Moving on to the men, Li Mu Bai (Chow Yun-Fat) has chosen the life of a moral monk vowing not to marry, by choice of occupation. Lo (Chang Chen) is a rebel who goes around with his men plundering people who venture into the desert. Sadly though Lo is a kind and playful spirit he is forced into a life without a mate, by choice of lifestyle.
CTHD is such a concrete movie, yet so abstract. Love it.
Y Tú Mama Tambien is my final movie. The title roughly translated to "And Your Mother Also". I must say this movie is not meant for the family and is definitely NOT a movie you watch with your parents. I love this movie, because of how totally messed up and convoluted it is. Some of the scenes are pretty disturbing, not much in a sense of violence going on, but just how vulgar it is. The entire movie is messed up, and it wasn't until the third time I watched it is realized I loved the movie, because it was so messed up. Feel free to youtube that one yourself, but it would be better to watch the movie in its entirety.
Worthy Mentions
Bella
O Brother Where Art Thou--the soundtrack to this movie is awesome.
Amadeus
Posty Posty,
Tosin
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Anticipation for My Vocation
It is funny that you should post this topic, seeing that I have no clue on what I want to be. I want to be a psychologist, a singer, a dancer, a mother, an actress, a writer , a professional blogger, a superhero, a counsellor, a great person, a musician, a special person.
I know I cannot be all those things or maybe I can.
First and foremost, I want to be a mother. I want to be a mother--so badly. It is almost funny in a sense because people always want what they can't have. I want kids. Doctors tell me I can't have them. I mean it is not like I am trying now--I'm a big proponent of abstinence--but since I was a child, I have wanted children. I have faith and believe in miracles, but my most realistic dream job would to be a mom.
Okay, enough with the sappy stuff and onto the more fun and heartwarming part of the blog.
My primary dream job would to be a singer. Most people will never hear me sing, but I love to do it. I write my own songs all the time and record them on my phone--high tech. I would want to be a soul singer. Maybe something like Dorothy Moore or Etta James. It is not even that I sound like them, but songs like Misty Blue...they just make you cry. I mean what else can you really do. The songs are just a sad soul lamenting over a lost love. I just love it, but even if I did sing songs like that it wouldn't be accepted, because music is slowly fading into obscurity. Well at least in the lyrical and musical aspect. Music is just trendy nowadays. It is almost like music just keeps getting repackaged and diluted, like orange juice. Or song like I Betcha Didn't Know That, it makes you want to be with someone you love, and just love on them, and remind them how special they are to you. It is just so lovely. Then there are people like Betty Wright and her song "Clean Up Woman". Love it. Then there are men like Bill Withers who sang, "Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone". Oh man, where has music gone? I would love for if only a year, just to sing like them. I truly think my life would be made a little bit more complete. Then Lenny William's "Cause I Love You" seven pure minutes of a man just bearing his soul. I mean not that I don't like some new stuff, but the 1970's had some heart-bearing, eye-crying, baby-making music. So my ideal job would just be to sing like them.
My secondary dream job would be to model for Torrid, Lane Bryant, or Ashley Stewart. All three stores are plus size stores with the best clothes in the world. Now most people give anyone over a size 14 the title of just a fatty who doesn't care how they look. Now I would want to do this for two reasons: 1) I love modeling 2)I rock at modeling. I know I would just enjoy the lifestyle.
My final dream occupation would to be a college English teacher. Who teaches freshman in English 1102...no just kidding. I would actually like to be an ambassador, preferably to Spain or Greece or Australia. I love interacting with different cultures. I know that as of now I have tons to learn about class and being dignified, but for an eighteen year old I do good.
Well, I know time is running our for me to choose what I want to do, but know this whatever I decide to do. I WILL ROCK AT IT!
Passionate for Posting,
Tosin
I know I cannot be all those things or maybe I can.
First and foremost, I want to be a mother. I want to be a mother--so badly. It is almost funny in a sense because people always want what they can't have. I want kids. Doctors tell me I can't have them. I mean it is not like I am trying now--I'm a big proponent of abstinence--but since I was a child, I have wanted children. I have faith and believe in miracles, but my most realistic dream job would to be a mom.
Okay, enough with the sappy stuff and onto the more fun and heartwarming part of the blog.
My primary dream job would to be a singer. Most people will never hear me sing, but I love to do it. I write my own songs all the time and record them on my phone--high tech. I would want to be a soul singer. Maybe something like Dorothy Moore or Etta James. It is not even that I sound like them, but songs like Misty Blue...they just make you cry. I mean what else can you really do. The songs are just a sad soul lamenting over a lost love. I just love it, but even if I did sing songs like that it wouldn't be accepted, because music is slowly fading into obscurity. Well at least in the lyrical and musical aspect. Music is just trendy nowadays. It is almost like music just keeps getting repackaged and diluted, like orange juice. Or song like I Betcha Didn't Know That, it makes you want to be with someone you love, and just love on them, and remind them how special they are to you. It is just so lovely. Then there are people like Betty Wright and her song "Clean Up Woman". Love it. Then there are men like Bill Withers who sang, "Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone". Oh man, where has music gone? I would love for if only a year, just to sing like them. I truly think my life would be made a little bit more complete. Then Lenny William's "Cause I Love You" seven pure minutes of a man just bearing his soul. I mean not that I don't like some new stuff, but the 1970's had some heart-bearing, eye-crying, baby-making music. So my ideal job would just be to sing like them.
My secondary dream job would be to model for Torrid, Lane Bryant, or Ashley Stewart. All three stores are plus size stores with the best clothes in the world. Now most people give anyone over a size 14 the title of just a fatty who doesn't care how they look. Now I would want to do this for two reasons: 1) I love modeling 2)I rock at modeling. I know I would just enjoy the lifestyle.
My final dream occupation would to be a college English teacher. Who teaches freshman in English 1102...no just kidding. I would actually like to be an ambassador, preferably to Spain or Greece or Australia. I love interacting with different cultures. I know that as of now I have tons to learn about class and being dignified, but for an eighteen year old I do good.
Well, I know time is running our for me to choose what I want to do, but know this whatever I decide to do. I WILL ROCK AT IT!
Passionate for Posting,
Tosin
Monday, February 16, 2009
Karaoke Killers
WOW. Sometimes I wonder, "Where in the world do you get this?" Then my next thought is, "You know what I really don't want to know." Anyways....
It is hard to say. It makes me think twice before I do karaoke again. Poor old me just singing some old Motown song and the next thing I know the police finds me in the back of an alley all bloodied and bruised. Oh dear I should say things like that. Maybe it is some type of underground organization like Fight Club....probably not. Actually, I truly am unsure.
Honestly I blame it on the alcohol. People are just stupid before and after they liqueur themselves up. To me, a karaoke bar is a fun place just to be a sober exhibitionist and sing in front of strangers. It is those drunken exhibitionists you got to watch out for. Honestly if someone has to use alcohol to muster up the courage to do a task it is proof that they are the ultimate coward. Everyone at the karaoke bar is under the assumption that they cannot sing, but you go for it anyway because it takes courage. Though it sucks, I give more kudos to the person who sings out of key "Beat It" soberly, then the drunken idiot that slurs her way through "Hit Me Baby One More Time".
I don’t know. I am getting off topic. I think the best answer would be both. I think the karaoke incident is just a random string of freaky events. Honestly, all this just assures me that people are completely stupid. Male, female, and everything in between, we are just totally and completely ridiculous. It is kind of like a "what the heck" moment.
Now for the larger symptomatic problem alcohol, in some cases alcohol is good for you more specifically red wine. Let's think of the people going a karaoke bar. I don't believe they are looking just to get a little whizzied. They are searching for complete memory-erasing, blackout-inducing, bar-dancing obliteration, by the drink, but there are downsides to this. With alcohol comes the joy of exhibition, but one sip to the left of exhibition is violence. Unadulterated violence. It makes me wonder, "Why?" I have never understood why a person would want to drink that much too where they cannot properly control their actions. Then people say, “Well I couldn’t control myself.” Shoot! You should have been controlling yourself when you were chugging down all those Long Island ice teas, those four shots of tequila, and then doing a Jaeger bomb, but I wouldn’t know. Actually if someone consumed that much alcohol they would probably be dead. It is all a big question mark.
This honestly does have me stumped, because I can’t see any connection between karaoke and assault and battery. I just can’t. Gah this entire article upset me. It is all just so bleck.
Either way all this just shows how utterly ridiculous the world is.
Peaceful Posting,
Tosin
It is hard to say. It makes me think twice before I do karaoke again. Poor old me just singing some old Motown song and the next thing I know the police finds me in the back of an alley all bloodied and bruised. Oh dear I should say things like that. Maybe it is some type of underground organization like Fight Club....probably not. Actually, I truly am unsure.
Honestly I blame it on the alcohol. People are just stupid before and after they liqueur themselves up. To me, a karaoke bar is a fun place just to be a sober exhibitionist and sing in front of strangers. It is those drunken exhibitionists you got to watch out for. Honestly if someone has to use alcohol to muster up the courage to do a task it is proof that they are the ultimate coward. Everyone at the karaoke bar is under the assumption that they cannot sing, but you go for it anyway because it takes courage. Though it sucks, I give more kudos to the person who sings out of key "Beat It" soberly, then the drunken idiot that slurs her way through "Hit Me Baby One More Time".
I don’t know. I am getting off topic. I think the best answer would be both. I think the karaoke incident is just a random string of freaky events. Honestly, all this just assures me that people are completely stupid. Male, female, and everything in between, we are just totally and completely ridiculous. It is kind of like a "what the heck" moment.
Now for the larger symptomatic problem alcohol, in some cases alcohol is good for you more specifically red wine. Let's think of the people going a karaoke bar. I don't believe they are looking just to get a little whizzied. They are searching for complete memory-erasing, blackout-inducing, bar-dancing obliteration, by the drink, but there are downsides to this. With alcohol comes the joy of exhibition, but one sip to the left of exhibition is violence. Unadulterated violence. It makes me wonder, "Why?" I have never understood why a person would want to drink that much too where they cannot properly control their actions. Then people say, “Well I couldn’t control myself.” Shoot! You should have been controlling yourself when you were chugging down all those Long Island ice teas, those four shots of tequila, and then doing a Jaeger bomb, but I wouldn’t know. Actually if someone consumed that much alcohol they would probably be dead. It is all a big question mark.
This honestly does have me stumped, because I can’t see any connection between karaoke and assault and battery. I just can’t. Gah this entire article upset me. It is all just so bleck.
Either way all this just shows how utterly ridiculous the world is.
Peaceful Posting,
Tosin
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
BEWARE of POST
Yes, I know I am double dipping in the blog and doing two blogs for one day, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because in the end this is my blog. These are my thoughts, and because you never limited anyone to doing only one blog per topic post.
So today you have given everyone the liberty to write anything they want to write. So I am going to. First off I want to apologize. Because I feel like in the end of this I will apologize again, but I do want to start off with an apology. I am a fraud. And most people are probably like, "I don't care." and that is fine, but it is more than just being a fraud.
It is about the fact that I know I am a liar and I enjoy(ed) it. Since this semester started something has been eating away at my core. Everyday I feel like I am losing. I don't know why I am, but I feel like I am a loser. That all in all I am not that special of a person, and honestly I believe it. My personality-which used to be great-sucks. I am a total bitch to everyone. People used to look up to me like a mother hen. People would come to me for advice and I would help them. And now I have become recluse. I hang out in the library out of fear. I go to the back corners-where only the homeless venture-and stay there out of fear. Not any type of physical or substantial fear, but because in the library I choose to be alone. Everywhere else I am alone, because no one wants me there.
Then there is the family thing. Me and my dad butt heads a lot. You know why because I am just like him and I do not want to be. I loathe my father so much and I feel awful for saying that, especially since he lost both his parents as a child. But I can't help it. On my father's most recent trip to Nigeria he was robbed and held at gunpoint. Upon his return everyone was crying except me. What an awful thing to admit. I am a horrible daughter to my father. I just can't help it. I don't trust him. I don't like being around him and it is not just a teenage angst situation. I truly do not enjoy being around him, and sorrowfully I admit I am a despicable daughter. I love my mom. I love my mom a lot, but she still doesn't quite understand me. (Which in the end is all I am looking for, understanding. Which is probably the root of all this nonsense) My siblings are awesome. My sister is a genius, in the most literal sense possible, but in intelligence I pale in comparison. I am smart, but not noteworthy enough. My brother is cool too. He is going through boy puberty--which is substantially worse than girl puberty. Honestly, I have a great home life, I just wish I was better at it.
As for friends, acquaintances, and the like I have tons, but I am missing a close connection. I have no one. In every friendship I have had I carried the weight of the friendship on my shoulders. I would be the one listening to all the boyfriend stories. I was the one who was there when said boyfriend dumped you and you were crying. And guess what? I am the one that is still there when you get a new boyfriend and leave me alone.
As for the subject of boyfriends. I don't appeal to them. I know there are a million reasons under the heaven about why, but I don't know. Maybe cause I am a bitch and a liar and a fraud and a horrible, terrible person. Maybe I can't grasp the concept of flirtation. I am just an idiot when it comes to guys, but then again I am pretty idiotic when it comes to everything else. I feel like mold. No one wants to touch mold that it why I think touch is the most important sense. It is sacred there is only so much a person can do to prevent themselves from hearing, smelling, and seeing things, but as for taste and touch. If you do not want either then it will not happen. That is why people kiss and hold hands it is the sense that we use the least. It is a special sense, but guess what no one wants to hold my hand or kiss me. You know why cause I am crazy. I am the woman that write blogs bitching about her current circumstance rather than doing something. Ha Ha Ha. I make myself laugh.
So it seems I look for validation a lot. I have actually become quite aware that I cannot find it in people so I turn to religion--which helps--and academics. You know why I hate failing test and quizzes? Because that is the last thread of hope I have that proves to me I might have some value after all. I know I am not a knockout. I don't know a lot about everything or even a few things. All I know is what I like. I love kids of all ages. I love how they trust of carelessly. I love going to my job and having kids hug me, because I know it is because they want to. I love singing and music. I don't know a lot, but I know what I like. I love natural disasters. I hate seeing people hurt, but I love the destruction. I hate when people die, but I look forward to death. Oh if ever I die in class. DO NOT revive me. If people ask why refer them to this blog.
You know what? SCREW IT! I try to hard to impress people. If you don't like me, piss off man. PISS OFF! I have been a hidden loner for a while now. Might I well embrace this bitch like a baby.
Honestly there is constantly 239,243,546,456,564.577 thoughts running through my head. Sometimes I feel high as a Bob Marley other times I get to the point where I have Kurt Cobain depression, but I deal. I feel like I am on drugs, but I am not. I am such an actress. Everyday is an act. In fact I act so much I can't even seperate the roles from reality. Ha! Ha! Ha! I don't care. He doesn't care. You don't care. We don't care. Ha! Ha! Ha! I am such a liar.
Don't worry. I am not crazy. I am not going to come to class like I am from Natural Born Killers, but it is just a factual documentation of who I really am. Well who I kind of am. I have truly messed myself up so badly I have no clue where to begin, but maybe this is a start. So sorry again. I am going to start working on being a better person on Monday. You will see on Monday.
Post Up!
Tosin
So today you have given everyone the liberty to write anything they want to write. So I am going to. First off I want to apologize. Because I feel like in the end of this I will apologize again, but I do want to start off with an apology. I am a fraud. And most people are probably like, "I don't care." and that is fine, but it is more than just being a fraud.
It is about the fact that I know I am a liar and I enjoy(ed) it. Since this semester started something has been eating away at my core. Everyday I feel like I am losing. I don't know why I am, but I feel like I am a loser. That all in all I am not that special of a person, and honestly I believe it. My personality-which used to be great-sucks. I am a total bitch to everyone. People used to look up to me like a mother hen. People would come to me for advice and I would help them. And now I have become recluse. I hang out in the library out of fear. I go to the back corners-where only the homeless venture-and stay there out of fear. Not any type of physical or substantial fear, but because in the library I choose to be alone. Everywhere else I am alone, because no one wants me there.
Then there is the family thing. Me and my dad butt heads a lot. You know why because I am just like him and I do not want to be. I loathe my father so much and I feel awful for saying that, especially since he lost both his parents as a child. But I can't help it. On my father's most recent trip to Nigeria he was robbed and held at gunpoint. Upon his return everyone was crying except me. What an awful thing to admit. I am a horrible daughter to my father. I just can't help it. I don't trust him. I don't like being around him and it is not just a teenage angst situation. I truly do not enjoy being around him, and sorrowfully I admit I am a despicable daughter. I love my mom. I love my mom a lot, but she still doesn't quite understand me. (Which in the end is all I am looking for, understanding. Which is probably the root of all this nonsense) My siblings are awesome. My sister is a genius, in the most literal sense possible, but in intelligence I pale in comparison. I am smart, but not noteworthy enough. My brother is cool too. He is going through boy puberty--which is substantially worse than girl puberty. Honestly, I have a great home life, I just wish I was better at it.
As for friends, acquaintances, and the like I have tons, but I am missing a close connection. I have no one. In every friendship I have had I carried the weight of the friendship on my shoulders. I would be the one listening to all the boyfriend stories. I was the one who was there when said boyfriend dumped you and you were crying. And guess what? I am the one that is still there when you get a new boyfriend and leave me alone.
As for the subject of boyfriends. I don't appeal to them. I know there are a million reasons under the heaven about why, but I don't know. Maybe cause I am a bitch and a liar and a fraud and a horrible, terrible person. Maybe I can't grasp the concept of flirtation. I am just an idiot when it comes to guys, but then again I am pretty idiotic when it comes to everything else. I feel like mold. No one wants to touch mold that it why I think touch is the most important sense. It is sacred there is only so much a person can do to prevent themselves from hearing, smelling, and seeing things, but as for taste and touch. If you do not want either then it will not happen. That is why people kiss and hold hands it is the sense that we use the least. It is a special sense, but guess what no one wants to hold my hand or kiss me. You know why cause I am crazy. I am the woman that write blogs bitching about her current circumstance rather than doing something. Ha Ha Ha. I make myself laugh.
So it seems I look for validation a lot. I have actually become quite aware that I cannot find it in people so I turn to religion--which helps--and academics. You know why I hate failing test and quizzes? Because that is the last thread of hope I have that proves to me I might have some value after all. I know I am not a knockout. I don't know a lot about everything or even a few things. All I know is what I like. I love kids of all ages. I love how they trust of carelessly. I love going to my job and having kids hug me, because I know it is because they want to. I love singing and music. I don't know a lot, but I know what I like. I love natural disasters. I hate seeing people hurt, but I love the destruction. I hate when people die, but I look forward to death. Oh if ever I die in class. DO NOT revive me. If people ask why refer them to this blog.
You know what? SCREW IT! I try to hard to impress people. If you don't like me, piss off man. PISS OFF! I have been a hidden loner for a while now. Might I well embrace this bitch like a baby.
Honestly there is constantly 239,243,546,456,564.577 thoughts running through my head. Sometimes I feel high as a Bob Marley other times I get to the point where I have Kurt Cobain depression, but I deal. I feel like I am on drugs, but I am not. I am such an actress. Everyday is an act. In fact I act so much I can't even seperate the roles from reality. Ha! Ha! Ha! I don't care. He doesn't care. You don't care. We don't care. Ha! Ha! Ha! I am such a liar.
Don't worry. I am not crazy. I am not going to come to class like I am from Natural Born Killers, but it is just a factual documentation of who I really am. Well who I kind of am. I have truly messed myself up so badly I have no clue where to begin, but maybe this is a start. So sorry again. I am going to start working on being a better person on Monday. You will see on Monday.
Post Up!
Tosin
Death of the 50ft Women
Lately I have been feeling like a monster. I am not sure which one it was a mix of the dinosaur on Rugrats and the 50ft Woman. While in my monster phase, I got the idea to write a story about the 50ft Woman. Oddly it turned into a story and poem, but it is what it is. Be mindful of the pronouns I know they change I am quite aware of it. There is a reason for it. I would really like comments on this post. I like the criticism.
Monstrous, the one word that perfectly describes me. Large, angry, misunderstood, but disaster is all people see. What comes to your mind when you hear, Attack of the 50ft Woman. Destruction. Anger. A mutant destined to be alone. I see her and I know her. Abused, cheated on, a mockery. Yes, yes I do know her. She is me. Now let us break down the 50ft woman, bone by bone.
Look at her feet. She walks tall. She must walk tall. We must walk tall or we shall fall. Everyone wants to see us fall. We will fall. Mockers scoff and kick and yell at us. "Wretched freaks! Mutant spawn! We shall beat at your bones until the light of dawn!" I walked tall.
Her legs are sturdy, like a tree. The lumberjacks come. "Ha! Ha! Ha! Let us now chop. You behemothic maids, we shall take you down a notch." With the axes of assault they break us. We limp. Their laughter heightens. They scorn, "Look at our 44ft gimps." I stood sturdy.
She is on her knees. She tries to crawl away. So close to freedom, then someone shouts, “Please stay!” We look back. A handsome gentleman there stands. He reaches to me and whisper, “Give me your hands.” We reach out our hands expecting a touch. Our hands are gone. They were just cut. That gentleman was a ploy and falsehood a ruse. He jeers, “Me, love you? You must be confused. You are nothing more than a lowly beast. In size you are great, but in matter you are least.” I can crawl no more.
My body is dismantled. My back scratches the ground. “Burn the demon child!” shouts
abusers all around. “Stop!” screamed the leader of the pack. “Turn the jades around and whip them on the back.” As each lash falls a part of us dies. Our flesh is gone. Our body it cries. I was covered.
The one piece of beauty of which we can grace, Is the eyes, the lips, the beauty of a face. Our skull is now covered with surgeons' hands. "Sew her eyes! Cut her lips!" are only a few of the crowd’s demands. With no drug to take us to another place, they dive with their scalpels and destroy my face. My face that held beauty, love, and a smile, Is now the face of an untamed animal in the wild. I was beautiful.
Our legs gone. My hands no more. So they attack what is left, my soul and my core. “Wretch! Monster! Mutant we hate!” What did we order for life to serve us this plate? Yes, we are a monster. That was our predetermined life. “Let us take a last blow. Stab the heart with a knife!” They only knew me as the 50ft fright. Covered with hatred, they blinded their sight. To be destroyed was never our plan. My hearts one desire was to be just like man.
Monstrous, the one word that perfectly describes me. Large, angry, misunderstood, but disaster is all people see. What comes to your mind when you hear, Attack of the 50ft Woman. Destruction. Anger. A mutant destined to be alone. I see her and I know her. Abused, cheated on, a mockery. Yes, yes I do know her. She is me. Now let us break down the 50ft woman, bone by bone.
Look at her feet. She walks tall. She must walk tall. We must walk tall or we shall fall. Everyone wants to see us fall. We will fall. Mockers scoff and kick and yell at us. "Wretched freaks! Mutant spawn! We shall beat at your bones until the light of dawn!" I walked tall.
Her legs are sturdy, like a tree. The lumberjacks come. "Ha! Ha! Ha! Let us now chop. You behemothic maids, we shall take you down a notch." With the axes of assault they break us. We limp. Their laughter heightens. They scorn, "Look at our 44ft gimps." I stood sturdy.
She is on her knees. She tries to crawl away. So close to freedom, then someone shouts, “Please stay!” We look back. A handsome gentleman there stands. He reaches to me and whisper, “Give me your hands.” We reach out our hands expecting a touch. Our hands are gone. They were just cut. That gentleman was a ploy and falsehood a ruse. He jeers, “Me, love you? You must be confused. You are nothing more than a lowly beast. In size you are great, but in matter you are least.” I can crawl no more.
My body is dismantled. My back scratches the ground. “Burn the demon child!” shouts
abusers all around. “Stop!” screamed the leader of the pack. “Turn the jades around and whip them on the back.” As each lash falls a part of us dies. Our flesh is gone. Our body it cries. I was covered.
The one piece of beauty of which we can grace, Is the eyes, the lips, the beauty of a face. Our skull is now covered with surgeons' hands. "Sew her eyes! Cut her lips!" are only a few of the crowd’s demands. With no drug to take us to another place, they dive with their scalpels and destroy my face. My face that held beauty, love, and a smile, Is now the face of an untamed animal in the wild. I was beautiful.
Our legs gone. My hands no more. So they attack what is left, my soul and my core. “Wretch! Monster! Mutant we hate!” What did we order for life to serve us this plate? Yes, we are a monster. That was our predetermined life. “Let us take a last blow. Stab the heart with a knife!” They only knew me as the 50ft fright. Covered with hatred, they blinded their sight. To be destroyed was never our plan. My hearts one desire was to be just like man.
Monday, February 9, 2009
It IS a Small World After All
Recently I and a friend of mine had a discussion with a teacher about a common social networking site, facebook. He was stating has he didn't have one and it was kind of pointless. I disagree. Social networking sites, such as facebook, MySpace, blogger, and xanga all play a certain purpose in American society. Especially since this is a completely technology dependent century. In a recent study it was stated that 18% of people spend three to six hours on the computer a day. Now in an even more recent study it stated the average American with a facebook will spend at least two hours and thirty two minutes on it per day. Most people would say, “Oh what a waste of time”, but if facebook has a global network of fourteen million people- and growing. Then there must be something fascinating about the site.
Facebook helps young adults of all ages connect or reconnect with people the already know like classmates, people they have known old friends, and people they will know like potential employers.
There is also a certain psychology that lives within the confines of social networking. That is probably the one of the major reasons I will enjoy researching it. Why do people use facebook and what compels them to put up the pictures they have and write notes. It is all so mind boggling actually. What actually makes them so popular?
Another reason why this is a great topic is because it is not playing a part in world globalization. It is connecting people profile by profile. I have met people from across the world through facebook. I have never been foolish enough to give then any personal information about me, but it is interesting talking to people from across the globe. To hear about their perspectives and opinions on world issues is pretty fascinating. People I would no other way have any possible connection to facebook is that link.
Lastly I’ll enjoy researching this topic because I it applies to me. Facebook plays a relevant role in my life. I am the type of person who sucks at talking to people, because I get so nervous. Then I have limited text messaging, but with facebook I can talk to people anytime.
My only concern with this is doing the research. Social networking sites are fairly new to society. So actually books may not be available. So I might have to depend solely on online articles and interviews. Also I might wind up using stories to argue my point, which I prefer not to do. Especially if it is not my personal story, cause then it feels like exploitation. Also most articles that are found about social networking sites are against them. They speak only of the stories the girl who planned to meet up with this creeper she met on MySpace and came up dead.
Well that is pretty much it.
Poster Poster,
Tosin
Facebook helps young adults of all ages connect or reconnect with people the already know like classmates, people they have known old friends, and people they will know like potential employers.
There is also a certain psychology that lives within the confines of social networking. That is probably the one of the major reasons I will enjoy researching it. Why do people use facebook and what compels them to put up the pictures they have and write notes. It is all so mind boggling actually. What actually makes them so popular?
Another reason why this is a great topic is because it is not playing a part in world globalization. It is connecting people profile by profile. I have met people from across the world through facebook. I have never been foolish enough to give then any personal information about me, but it is interesting talking to people from across the globe. To hear about their perspectives and opinions on world issues is pretty fascinating. People I would no other way have any possible connection to facebook is that link.
Lastly I’ll enjoy researching this topic because I it applies to me. Facebook plays a relevant role in my life. I am the type of person who sucks at talking to people, because I get so nervous. Then I have limited text messaging, but with facebook I can talk to people anytime.
My only concern with this is doing the research. Social networking sites are fairly new to society. So actually books may not be available. So I might have to depend solely on online articles and interviews. Also I might wind up using stories to argue my point, which I prefer not to do. Especially if it is not my personal story, cause then it feels like exploitation. Also most articles that are found about social networking sites are against them. They speak only of the stories the girl who planned to meet up with this creeper she met on MySpace and came up dead.
Well that is pretty much it.
Poster Poster,
Tosin
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
I sometimes lose control of myself. My body will begin to do this weird thing. It is like it is shutting itself down or short circuiting. I know it sounds crazy, but it is like an out of body experience.
The first time I had this feeling was at thirteen when I went to my first funeral. Anthony might have been the only person I ever truly cared about past the point of a platonic friendship. So when I heard the news that his father passed away, I was heartbroken. Not because I had known his dad intimately, but merely because I love Anthony and hate to see him hurting. The funeral was held on a beautiful Saturday afternoon and I had spent most of the morning helping set up at church. My mind had been on Anthony for days and how I shouldn’t cry at the memorial service. The sanctuary was packed full of people so I found a seat in the back. The moment I saw the casket as naturally as a waterfall tears began to find their way from my eyes to my cheeks to my chin to their final resting place, the floor. The funeral was beautiful. I regain my composure making me last to leave the sanctuary. As the February sun beams down I see Anthony. I lose it. My composure, which I had just spent minutes on holding, leaves me. The crying intensifies. He walks towards me with his hands in his pocket. As he gets closer he removes his hands finally he is right in front of me with arms wide open. With my hands covering my face I begin to cough up the words, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried so hard.” He holds me and instantly I stop. Everything is gone. All but one sense leaves me, touch. I feel him. I don’t sense him holding me. I feel him as if I were his clothes. I felt his heart beating against his ribs. His ribs pressed against his pectoral muscles and his skin one his shirt.
I have always known I was the black sheep of my family. I love them all, but I am the odd one out. I was under constant scrutiny during 8th and 9th grade. One day had gotten in trouble –as usual—and my parents just let me have it. I didn’t say anything back. I walked to the back yard and, rage took over. Blinding, deathly rage like lava began at my core and began to seep out everywhere. I became inhuman. I began beating on the trees with bare fists. I saw my hands bleeding. I smelled the blood, but I just couldn’t feel it. All I felt was rage. I felt conscious and unconscious. I walk into the house and my mother screams. My hands are covered in blood. She washes them and wraps them. The next day I look at my hands. They were destroyed. I promised myself that day I would never allow myself to feel rage.
Two Saturdays ago me and my dad got in a tuft and-as always-whenever me and my dad get in a fight I end up getting hurt. So I put on my jacket, walk on the lawn and just lay there. Out of nowhere a single tear leaves my eye. Before I could stop the first one from escaping there was one in the other eye. I tried to control it all, but suddenly too many tears had gotten loose and they all stampeded out of my eyes. It was 9:00 PM and there I was weeping in the middle of the lawn. After what felt like an eternity-but was probably five minutes- I stopped. As the remaining tears made their way out of my eyes, I took off my jacket made it into a pillow, and looked upward. I started breathing normally. Everything began to fade away. The grass that was so uncomfortably poking my skin was gone. My ears became deaf to the trickle of cars passing the neighborhood. The salty taste of tears dissolved on my tongue. I couldn’t see the stars anymore, only the darker hues of the night sky. My breathing slowed down until it reached a halt. I was gone. It wasn’t sleep because I was conscious, but it felt like the seconds before death. I have never died nor have I been close to death, but I oft wonder if it will feel like that. I want it to.
I know whoever is reading this is probably like this girl is such a freak, but know me better than that. I don’t do emotions. I act on control. I have to control so much, but that is the beauty of when this happens. I have no control. I let it be.
To a certain extent I am embarrassed for writing on this. People have always seen me as someone who is in control, and it has made me into a monster. Luckily the complete joy in all of this is when I lose control. I feel like a human.
Pleased to Post,
Tosin
The first time I had this feeling was at thirteen when I went to my first funeral. Anthony might have been the only person I ever truly cared about past the point of a platonic friendship. So when I heard the news that his father passed away, I was heartbroken. Not because I had known his dad intimately, but merely because I love Anthony and hate to see him hurting. The funeral was held on a beautiful Saturday afternoon and I had spent most of the morning helping set up at church. My mind had been on Anthony for days and how I shouldn’t cry at the memorial service. The sanctuary was packed full of people so I found a seat in the back. The moment I saw the casket as naturally as a waterfall tears began to find their way from my eyes to my cheeks to my chin to their final resting place, the floor. The funeral was beautiful. I regain my composure making me last to leave the sanctuary. As the February sun beams down I see Anthony. I lose it. My composure, which I had just spent minutes on holding, leaves me. The crying intensifies. He walks towards me with his hands in his pocket. As he gets closer he removes his hands finally he is right in front of me with arms wide open. With my hands covering my face I begin to cough up the words, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried so hard.” He holds me and instantly I stop. Everything is gone. All but one sense leaves me, touch. I feel him. I don’t sense him holding me. I feel him as if I were his clothes. I felt his heart beating against his ribs. His ribs pressed against his pectoral muscles and his skin one his shirt.
I have always known I was the black sheep of my family. I love them all, but I am the odd one out. I was under constant scrutiny during 8th and 9th grade. One day had gotten in trouble –as usual—and my parents just let me have it. I didn’t say anything back. I walked to the back yard and, rage took over. Blinding, deathly rage like lava began at my core and began to seep out everywhere. I became inhuman. I began beating on the trees with bare fists. I saw my hands bleeding. I smelled the blood, but I just couldn’t feel it. All I felt was rage. I felt conscious and unconscious. I walk into the house and my mother screams. My hands are covered in blood. She washes them and wraps them. The next day I look at my hands. They were destroyed. I promised myself that day I would never allow myself to feel rage.
Two Saturdays ago me and my dad got in a tuft and-as always-whenever me and my dad get in a fight I end up getting hurt. So I put on my jacket, walk on the lawn and just lay there. Out of nowhere a single tear leaves my eye. Before I could stop the first one from escaping there was one in the other eye. I tried to control it all, but suddenly too many tears had gotten loose and they all stampeded out of my eyes. It was 9:00 PM and there I was weeping in the middle of the lawn. After what felt like an eternity-but was probably five minutes- I stopped. As the remaining tears made their way out of my eyes, I took off my jacket made it into a pillow, and looked upward. I started breathing normally. Everything began to fade away. The grass that was so uncomfortably poking my skin was gone. My ears became deaf to the trickle of cars passing the neighborhood. The salty taste of tears dissolved on my tongue. I couldn’t see the stars anymore, only the darker hues of the night sky. My breathing slowed down until it reached a halt. I was gone. It wasn’t sleep because I was conscious, but it felt like the seconds before death. I have never died nor have I been close to death, but I oft wonder if it will feel like that. I want it to.
I know whoever is reading this is probably like this girl is such a freak, but know me better than that. I don’t do emotions. I act on control. I have to control so much, but that is the beauty of when this happens. I have no control. I let it be.
To a certain extent I am embarrassed for writing on this. People have always seen me as someone who is in control, and it has made me into a monster. Luckily the complete joy in all of this is when I lose control. I feel like a human.
Pleased to Post,
Tosin
Monday, February 2, 2009
BS on BS
With great sorrow I admit that people have used major events in American history-both invigorating and devastating- for their profit. I do not plan on saying that Springsteen's CD was an memorial or a monopoly on the events. I do think if you were not there or you didn't lose a loved on September 11 then you cannot accurately sing a song, or write a poem, about the events.
It just goes back to show that people will monopolize anything. I hate to do this, but I am going to tie President Obama into a blog (to see why I hate this please refer back to the blog entitled Facing America). Okay so during the election how easy was it to find a place to purchase Obamorbilia? Pretty easy. It was everywhere, on the street corners of Atlanta to the local Walmarts it could be found everywhere, even on facebook. Yes, it was a historical event and I know some of the people selling t-shirts and such were trying to sell a piece of history, but how many of you think those merchants were just trying to make a sale? Raise your hands. Yep, I see you, and I agree.
To me it seems America is a real sell out. In fact if people could earn money from it, they would probably sell their souls or at least have people rent them for the weekend. Now do all Americans hold this sentiment? No, but we live in a world the perpetuates that money = success, success=happiness, and happiness=money. It is a sad reality, but all people want is happiness in the form of money. What people need to realize is that money doesn't bring happiness. Happiness comes from a contentment with the job you are doing and the knowledge that you could always do more. In fact you could apply that to every aspect of your life: relationships, finances, education, and ect.
As for Springsteen he is a character, but all I know is that as long as there are events-good, bad, and the such-there will be someone trying to make a cheap buck off of it.
Posting Done,
Tosin
P.S.-Also if you are going to get pissy over this then you kind of have to have your feather ruffled at the song "My President is Black" by Young Jeezy.
It just goes back to show that people will monopolize anything. I hate to do this, but I am going to tie President Obama into a blog (to see why I hate this please refer back to the blog entitled Facing America). Okay so during the election how easy was it to find a place to purchase Obamorbilia? Pretty easy. It was everywhere, on the street corners of Atlanta to the local Walmarts it could be found everywhere, even on facebook. Yes, it was a historical event and I know some of the people selling t-shirts and such were trying to sell a piece of history, but how many of you think those merchants were just trying to make a sale? Raise your hands. Yep, I see you, and I agree.
To me it seems America is a real sell out. In fact if people could earn money from it, they would probably sell their souls or at least have people rent them for the weekend. Now do all Americans hold this sentiment? No, but we live in a world the perpetuates that money = success, success=happiness, and happiness=money. It is a sad reality, but all people want is happiness in the form of money. What people need to realize is that money doesn't bring happiness. Happiness comes from a contentment with the job you are doing and the knowledge that you could always do more. In fact you could apply that to every aspect of your life: relationships, finances, education, and ect.
As for Springsteen he is a character, but all I know is that as long as there are events-good, bad, and the such-there will be someone trying to make a cheap buck off of it.
Posting Done,
Tosin
P.S.-Also if you are going to get pissy over this then you kind of have to have your feather ruffled at the song "My President is Black" by Young Jeezy.
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