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♥ precious.
la bella vita;

Cara

loves: black and white photography. poetry. vintage stores. thunderstorms. good ambience. fairytales. disneyworld. black kohl and fuschia lipstick. red and purple skittles. turquoise beads. icing but not cakes. might-have-beens. the dandy warhols. within temptation. automatic loveletter. mediaeval baebes. troy. interview with a vampire. the oc. making 11:11 wishes. purple glitter. mermaids. my-little-ponies. magic.

expertise: melodramaticks. eyeliner. laughing. goodbyes. hanging in there.

♥ music on, world off.
shh.

soundtrack to life.

♥ scream(?).
live.

♥ past .
instant time travel

December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010

♥ adieu .
set them free

AMANDA
ANDRE
ASH
DEB
ELEMM
07IP04!
08IP04!
JOSH
KAT
LISA
QIU
RENJEAN


♥ credits .
thankyouverymuch

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Saturday, February 16, 2008
hello, old friend. 12:57 AM

sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.
---

I'm in a funny mood today;
not funny-haha, just funny-funny-- weird-funny, jamyourfingersintothekeyboardandscream kinduv funny.


"this is the story of the boys who loved you
who love you now and loved you then
some were sweet and some were cold and snubbed you
and some just laid around in bed

some had crumbled you straight to your knees
did it cruel, did it tenderly
some had crawled their way into your heart
to rend your ventricles apart
this is the story of the boys who loved you.

this is the story of your red right ankle."


that song keeps running in my head.
I've been listening to The Decemberists a lot, these past two days. I'd never really liked them in the first place, so I don't know why I started, but I like them now-- a kind of twangy, bumpkin indie.

On grey suburban nights they make the most apathetic babysitters; but that's all right with me. As long as they can get through the cracks and the crevices in my head and provide a rhythm and enough distraction for me not to pay attention to the tension coming from outside, and the thoughts in my head, I'm fine--
-- I like drowning myself out, I like drowning the outside out,
it works better that way.


maybe if I close my eyes and tap my feet together three times like Dorothy
I can make everything go away.