Personal Curation, Works, & More

[zegalba]

Virga, the phenomenon of rain not reaching the ground. Virga is produced when rain is falling from the base of the cloud but evaporates in dry air before reaching the ground surface.

[nevver]

What we’re reading, Felice Casorati

[tokyo-fashion]

10+ Tokyo Street Styles in Harajuku w/ Avantgarde, Japanese Alien Barbie, LED Kawaii & Nishimoto Style

Featuring SunnyBunnyCupcake, Lily, Haruki, Rinne Amano, Nishimoto, and more. Everyone we know is tagged on Instagram.

[aluraelizabeth]

23rd Birthday

Ten years ago you saw two gay teenage girls fall in love on television. You were 13. Do you remember how you felt? You were dizzy when you stood up. Remember what you thought? You thought, “no but I can’t be gay…how could I ever tell my family?!” Women are such creatures. Soft. They smell wonderfully and kiss gently. They are full of character and life. Songs. Songs on a breezy evening. A rope swing and summer denim. Comfortable. The first time you had sex was with a man. You loved him. The second, third, fifth, twelfth, and thirteenth person you slept with was a man. You didn’t love them but you loved sex. Some of them brought girls into the bedroom, for you it was all in good fun. The fourteenth person you slept with was a woman, but she was straight and so she never called you again. Confused, you slept with many more men after that. Men are not creatures. They are houses with bronze planks. You can see your reflection when you look at them up close. You admire them because they are straight lines. Horizontals in rugged terrain. Easy refugee in the terrible storm of growing up. Your cousin is gay. She would be 27 if she weren’t dead. When you were 10 and she was 14 you knew she was gay. You knew by the way she talked about her friends. She died before she ever told you she liked them more than friends. Sometimes you wonder if she died before she told anyone. Sometimes you wonder if she died before she told herself. You are an impossible creature; it is your birthday, you are in love with loneliness, and capable of intimacy only with your own self-deprecation. You are vulnerable. You don’t want to be torn-down. Refused. Ridiculed. You are afraid you are wrong. You are afraid you are right. You are afraid of what your future holds. You are afraid.

[aluraelizabeth]

When I left high school, I thought I could be a liar, a seductress, or a biology enthusiast. I thought that graduating - that turning my tassel from one side to the other - would make me into something different. In some ways it did. Soon after moving away, I got a real taste of casting away the cloak of monotony and familiarity but it was not the daydream I had formed in my head of ‘being alive’ and following desires. No, it was alien and terrifying - adjectives I did not expect to feel or find. When I tried to lie, peers called my bluff. When I tried to be a seductress, men called my bluff. When I tried to be a  biology enthusiast, intellectuals called my bluff.  I was lead to believe - by some news article, or short story, or television program - that I could do anything I wanted in this world. The 21st century American Dream: be happy, be busy, be selfish,  be in love, but if you try too hard, you will be found out.   

[aluraelizabeth]

Ha, I don’t need anyone, I will never need anyone. I will travel this world, city to city, sea to sea, and I will never rely on a single person but myself. I will work for myself. I will support myself financially and emotionally. I will learn for myself. And I will never ask for help.

I will be hard on myself - I expect to be disciplined and successful, but not rigid and materialistic. I will be confident and outgoing, kind and forgiving, hard-working and fearless. I will be thin and beautiful and always happy. I expect absolute perfection and will always put mind over matter. I will set high expectations for myself, but never for others. In fact, I will let my co-workers take advantage of me; I won’t expect loyalty from my friends; I will never require support from my family; and I will never demand respect from my lovers. People will use me, manipulate me, disregard my feelings, forget me, and I will never let it phase me. I refuse to disillusion myself with expectations of being treated better.

I will care about other people, but I will never trust them. I will love other people, but never with all of my heart. The bad ones are liars, cheaters, thieves, manipulators, sexual predators, and selfish fools. The good ones will surely die or fade away into the cruelty that is this world. I understand that some may have truly good intentions, but the end of the day, death and darkness will stop any such intention in it’s tracks without hesitation. I will never forget this.

I will develop a thick skin.

I will be self-sufficient.

I will be invincible.

I will always be alone, but it will never matter.

- tragic promises made to myself in 2011 and their implicit consequences on my psyche 

[aluraelizabeth]

“WHOOO ARE YOU?” SAID THE CATERPILLAR. ALICE REPLIED, RATHER SHYLY, “I–I HARDLY KNOW…”

never in between caring more about you and caring more about me.

no middle ground, either loving lavishly or shunning love completely.

always an extreme: sometimes, the loner sometimes, the prom queen. I’ll be this or I’ll be that – cuddlesome / cantankerous, but it does not seem that I can reach   the appropriate mean.

[aluraelizabeth]

today you asked: what are you running from? so I breathed some life into my bubble gum.   I looked you in the eye and gave my reply: hun, I’m not running from – I’m running for fun. 

[aluraelizabeth]

when there were boys to chase and to

kiss me but not date me and when I would 

write poetry for my stupid tenth grade 

english class, my teachers would always 

give me and A because I always had a way with 

making them feel what it was like

to be fifteen with a broken heart,

but with the whole world ahead of me. 

now, I write poetry about how life won’t

love me back, or take me on a real date.  

I do it because I’m sad and I want the whole 

damn world to know what it’s like to be twenty,

waiting for my life to call, while my fake friends

constantly, condescendingly whisper in my ear:

“Why wait up, little girl?”

I haven’t written a poem I’m proud of 

since my prom date left the after-party with

my best friend Kate when we were seventeen;

I think I need a boy to fuck and forget me because

I want to go back 

to worrying about 

the more trifling 

things.  

[aluraelizabeth]

A DISJOINTED HAIKU OR TWO ABOUT SPONTANEOUS LIFE SHENANIGANS

Spring is here at last

The wind kissing my bare legs:

It inspires me

So I decided

To be an actress today

And I joined a play

Spring rejuvenates

And, oh, it’s just what I need  

I was getting bored