(no subject)
Dear community of livejournal companions,
I would just like to inform you of my most recent decision to quit school and piano altogether to embark upon a new moderately bohemian lifestyle in New York where I plan to explore my inner artist as a renegade pop rock guitar poet. My parents already Okayed to it.
I arrived at this choice earlier this evening at my grandmother's house where, quite to my surprise, I found adjacent to the bathroom a small room with not only a reasonably dinky guitar but also a warm welcoming audience consisting of my brother, a chihuahua needy for affection, an elusive lab, and a rowdy crowd of creepy dolls. The room was lit by magic and a curious doggy scent, which, when mixed together in one room, produce the awesomest undoubtedly most gnarly venue for a blooming artist like myself. I sat against the bed with guitar in hand, tasting the inspiration of today's dessert, yesterday's allergies, and tomorrow's promise for success and totally sweet leftovers. I hammered the A string and strummed the strings. A lurid dissonance pervaded the room. I knew those crazy baby dolls were crying, crying from the sadness of the chord--crying for more. I gave them more! I sang a song--an impromptu song--about love [Broken love (First love in the supermarket in aisle 3)]. The words soared out of my mouth off the tip of my tongue haphazardly, smoothly. I played with the anticipation of the fans. I gave them controversey: I sang of hungry hippos, former ugly doll girl friends, hot dogs stolen by my grandfather, and, of course, gender confusion when it comes to seeing pictures of younger siblings you hardly know anymore.
Words cannot fully explain what ignited the spark of music from within me this evening, so I will describe it to you with this chord progression that I will spawn from the depths of my mind which will coordinate accordingly with my eyes and fingers to type onto this computer screen of wonder:
Emin17 GMaj45 C Q5
Maybe it was my new orange sweatshirt that flamed the musical ammunition. Maybe tonight was the sugary culmination of all the sweet food consumed over past many days. And maybe..
Go long Icabod. Stay gold Ponyboy.
There is a pie on the kitchen table. It sat there all day, exposed to the bareness of the air of this spider-infested house. I ate that pecan pie, and I ate everything it was about: justice.
-----
In other words, I'm in Florida now but will return home tomorrow evening. Sadly snow falling on cedars, Believing in Jesus, and a mound of calculus awaits me as well as college stuff for UVA and WM. Ha ha. College.
My week long experience in Florida has led me to the following conclusions:
-When you're in total relaxation, you start having really intense dreams.
-Even when you're trying to relax on vacation, school can secretly be on your mind. I'm not exaggerating when I say that every dream I had took place at school or some school related event. Is there something wrong with me? What does this mean???
-The asian population is about 17 in the state.
-Walmart is a lifestyle.
-I have tremendous beginner's luck: we went to an arcade where on my first try at a game, I casually won 500 tickets.
-I am not only indecisive but also irrationally indecisive and peculiar: I decided to keep the 500 tickets as a souvenir rather than spend it on a helicopter, electric shock pen, marbles, shady black light bulbs, or 50 war head candies.
-I have trouble singing melodic minor scales without a piano.
-If I had the option, I would relentlessly wear the same pair of clothes day to day.
-Biking within a small circular track around a large patch of grass under the sun while listening to music is mighty relaxing.
-The Sun is Love is a great CD
-Whining dogs break my heart. Why doesn't the news?
-Excessive video gaming makes my wrist hurt--caution.
-Shopping for presents for people who happen to be shopping with you is most difficult. When you find a cd you want to buy for someone during the Christmas season, definitely buy it rather than wait until you go to Florida. Because if you don't, you'll be stuck buying the person a cd of merely Selections from the Original Broadway version of Rent.
Enough Said.
Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.
I would just like to inform you of my most recent decision to quit school and piano altogether to embark upon a new moderately bohemian lifestyle in New York where I plan to explore my inner artist as a renegade pop rock guitar poet. My parents already Okayed to it.
I arrived at this choice earlier this evening at my grandmother's house where, quite to my surprise, I found adjacent to the bathroom a small room with not only a reasonably dinky guitar but also a warm welcoming audience consisting of my brother, a chihuahua needy for affection, an elusive lab, and a rowdy crowd of creepy dolls. The room was lit by magic and a curious doggy scent, which, when mixed together in one room, produce the awesomest undoubtedly most gnarly venue for a blooming artist like myself. I sat against the bed with guitar in hand, tasting the inspiration of today's dessert, yesterday's allergies, and tomorrow's promise for success and totally sweet leftovers. I hammered the A string and strummed the strings. A lurid dissonance pervaded the room. I knew those crazy baby dolls were crying, crying from the sadness of the chord--crying for more. I gave them more! I sang a song--an impromptu song--about love [Broken love (First love in the supermarket in aisle 3)]. The words soared out of my mouth off the tip of my tongue haphazardly, smoothly. I played with the anticipation of the fans. I gave them controversey: I sang of hungry hippos, former ugly doll girl friends, hot dogs stolen by my grandfather, and, of course, gender confusion when it comes to seeing pictures of younger siblings you hardly know anymore.
Words cannot fully explain what ignited the spark of music from within me this evening, so I will describe it to you with this chord progression that I will spawn from the depths of my mind which will coordinate accordingly with my eyes and fingers to type onto this computer screen of wonder:
Emin17 GMaj45 C Q5
Maybe it was my new orange sweatshirt that flamed the musical ammunition. Maybe tonight was the sugary culmination of all the sweet food consumed over past many days. And maybe..
Go long Icabod. Stay gold Ponyboy.
There is a pie on the kitchen table. It sat there all day, exposed to the bareness of the air of this spider-infested house. I ate that pecan pie, and I ate everything it was about: justice.
-----
In other words, I'm in Florida now but will return home tomorrow evening. Sadly snow falling on cedars, Believing in Jesus, and a mound of calculus awaits me as well as college stuff for UVA and WM. Ha ha. College.
My week long experience in Florida has led me to the following conclusions:
-When you're in total relaxation, you start having really intense dreams.
-Even when you're trying to relax on vacation, school can secretly be on your mind. I'm not exaggerating when I say that every dream I had took place at school or some school related event. Is there something wrong with me? What does this mean???
-The asian population is about 17 in the state.
-Walmart is a lifestyle.
-I have tremendous beginner's luck: we went to an arcade where on my first try at a game, I casually won 500 tickets.
-I am not only indecisive but also irrationally indecisive and peculiar: I decided to keep the 500 tickets as a souvenir rather than spend it on a helicopter, electric shock pen, marbles, shady black light bulbs, or 50 war head candies.
-I have trouble singing melodic minor scales without a piano.
-If I had the option, I would relentlessly wear the same pair of clothes day to day.
-Biking within a small circular track around a large patch of grass under the sun while listening to music is mighty relaxing.
-The Sun is Love is a great CD
-Whining dogs break my heart. Why doesn't the news?
-Excessive video gaming makes my wrist hurt--caution.
-Shopping for presents for people who happen to be shopping with you is most difficult. When you find a cd you want to buy for someone during the Christmas season, definitely buy it rather than wait until you go to Florida. Because if you don't, you'll be stuck buying the person a cd of merely Selections from the Original Broadway version of Rent.
Enough Said.
Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.