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I got a new journal...
First of all... OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY FREEEEEEEEEEEAKING GOD!!! GIIIIIIRL, I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU. I'm really overjoyed. Tremendously pleased. I'm just speechless!!! Hong, even though I had no doubts, cause you rock in ways I can't count, I'm just thrilled! Happy happy happy happy!!! Ohhhhhhh... that's very good news.
Also, I've tried calling you, but can't catch you, and you don't reply to e-mails... [yes, i'm crying] We'll be in touch. Promise!!! You're soooooooo not getting rid of me so easily. I've known you for too long. Mwwwwwwwwah!!!
Second: I got a new journal thingie... It's updated often. I'm not neglecting it like this one. It's just to inform people who I know with what's going on. It's not a hideaway journal of secret thoughts, it's for everyone who cares. I post links to photography, eventually I'll get my scribbles on there, and maybe my artistic make-up. But I don't want to traumatize people. So, please... if you're remotely interested, do visit MY NEW JOURNAL IS HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I hope to see you there, dear. I miss you. Leave comments if you desire. But I'll be checking this one often now that it seems that you CAME BACK US!!!
[Milliong hugs!!!]
I feel sad, anxious and forgotten. I'm sick of calling people only to feel that I'm intruding in their lives and that they have to "tolerate" my babble. So I've stopped calling. But no one gives a damn, so I guess that's why I feel somewhat lost in all of this. I want to go back now. I really hate the idea that when I'll wake up tomorrow I have to go to work. I hope I'll never have to work at a place like that again. I feel like I'm wasting away. Getting dumber and dumber every day. I tried drawing today and couldn't. I don't remember the time when my drawings were so hideous and I had really bad days. I feel like crying but what's the point? I really miss home and people. I miss Hong. I want to go home really badly. I really really want to go home for Christmas but I can't. I miss everyone. Christmas would be hell just like my birthday. Ohmygod, it's a lot harder than I thought it would be. But the worst is that I've been so unproductive all weekend. I wait for them like for a breath of air after being submerged in water for the longest time, and when they're finally here I want to do everything but can't pull myself together. Sad, quite... But it's okay. I'll get myself in shape, after all, everything comes to an end.
Nov. 16, 2003
OKAY!!! None of this garbage like yesterday. Got to pick up the pieces and masking tape them together. I don't give a fuck afterall. Which brings me to the next point...
I went to a photography store and I saw my baby... Nikon F80. After gathering enough strength I vociferously peeled myself off the counter leaving a trail of lipgloss and drool. As of yet unreachable dream that can send me soaring in the creative heaven in either medium of choice SHALL be acquired. Anyway... the desire for a new purchase has risen from the fact that I'm quite a peach and left my sis my Canon EOS Rebel. As a result I feel utterly unequipped and crippled. My other baby was also there, Pentax Optio S. Sexy little bitch...
those girls don't come cheap, as you probably know.
Thing is... ever since I got here all I wanted to do is take photos. I wish that I had been more serious about it in school, but I know that whatever I learned so far will not fade or deteriorate. Photography is by far my favourite medium. I never have to think too much or worry endlessly about the outcome. A purely subconscious method of selection happens when I look through a small view finder aiming at my next victim. I think it's the only thing that I'm incapable of rationalizing. I see it, I shoot it. Simple... I don't know why or how. I can't explain it or tell what I see... I just do. I always thought that camera does all the work. And if I'm lucky maybe I get 3 decent exposures out of roll of 36 which is more than what I can ask for.
I can't handle more than 5 hours in the darkroom. It's both physically and mentally exhausting. The smell of moisture, the chemicals that leave your hands soapy for hours, and dim orange lights... it all makes me think of morgue for some reason. And if you ever tried to develop the film at 10 pm in an empty school you probably get more vivid imaginings of what that place can transform itself into. It's my mad man's laboratory. I love coming back to it. Some people sing there... I just keep quiet listening to the rhythm of tiny stream of running water.
Back home I have an entire stack of developed but never printed negatives. They are my jewels. My evidence of the mirrored reality; inverted, frozen and unrecognizable. Among them there is a portrait of my friend blithely smoking in New York park, dwindling waves of Atlantic Ocean in Maryland, the stilted almost ironic portraits of my aunt and a grandfather that probably reveal more about their relationship that anything else I tried to capture. They are louder and more sincere than any words I can write. I don't create anything. I simply obey my camera's desire to release its shutter.
Sunday, July 13, 2003
Obsessive complusiveness starts ... NOW!
Why do I do these things? I plunge head first without reason escaping all merits of common sense. I booked a ticket to Toronto to visit friends battling loneliness but knee-deep in penury and debt. I ran off to the store across the city just to make sure that I can't find LeSportsac tote in Red Pepper nylon and I do, indeed, have to order through the website. Bags don't make people happy... I think.
My pathological desire to accumulate things, friends and feelings leaves me with nothing but a certain undesirable emptiness. I talked to my friend about it realizing that it's a compensation for something fundamental. You stuff that void with credit card reciepts, coats, and 20% tips hoping that your deficiency won't be too noticeable. You shield yourself from who you really are, hiding behind the mask of [i don't claim to be these things, just so you know] "trendy", "cool", "knowledgeable", "expensive", "different"... that one always made me laugh. Or better yet "original". That adjective reeks of juvenile pretentiousness, hence my fervent dislike of the term. I guess what I'm afraid of is that stripped of all ornamentation and self-embellishment people won't like me all that much. I know, it goes against everything I ever said about not giving a fuck of what people think of me. Which I really don't, but still...
What if I'm just a hollow shell with no substance; frivilous and ostentatious, questioning every aspect of my own importance. What if I disappear one day and most would not even notice, while others might only think of me while passing a MAC counter. Horrible and quite sad, really... Yet, sardonically I'd laugh, and self-indulgently tell you that I knew that all along.
Saturday, July 12, 2003
Current mood: lazy, nostalgic... paranoid
Current obsession: canned pineapple
I LOVE this web page... LOVE IT!!! And just when I think I can let go and move on to greater things in life, it drags me back right where I was three years ago just as relentlessly devoted and inspired. Take a minute and read the lyrics. Maybe that little lump that those more cynical in nature refer to as the heart would get slightly warmed up by the trace of someone else's quiet agony.
I think I'm getting paranoid again. Partly it can be blamed on the fact that I sustain my existence in virtual solitude. And the other reason is that I have so little to occupy my time with, yet all of what I aim to accomplish during the day seems to be impossible. Time has lost it's meaning... entirely.
Friday, July 11, 2003
I... CAN'T.... STARE.... AT..... AUTOCAD......... ANYMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!!!
Thrusday, July 10, 2003
Current mood: dizzy... is that a mood at all?
Current obsession: amazon.com
If anybody knows what "balustraded" means, by all means tell. This language is rather unfathomable. Yet, no surprises there... me no english... I found a cool book, y'all. I'd definitely like to allay my book wish list once the poverty issue becomes the thing of the ancient manuscripts. When, though? WHEN? Any attempts of mine to tamper with AutoCAD results in severe abomination with my own endeavours, not to mention brain hemorrhage. The inextricable webs of line-weights and dimentions induce inordinate slumber upon my gentle frame. It's like an invisible sleeping pixie dust is sprinkled all over me and my bubbles (say hello to my new bitchin' computer). I'm having flash backs of my first brush with this dreadfulness of vector programming... Yet, then I was young, naive and sanguine... Those were the days. [cue sunset background and a glass of whine on the porch table]
Aahhhhhhhhhh... yes, yes, the book!!! Tis titled Secure the Shadow: Death and Photography in America I'm currently undergoing a new wave of Victorian Gothic infatuation. It has been a pattern for years that each summer brings forth anew the muched loved, yet so undereducated, on my part, interest. I shall commit myself to go further than simple observation of victorian fashion this time. I would actually [gasp] read. Wish me luck.
Another little number that caught my attention is A Morning's Work: Medical Photographs from the Burns Archive & Collection, 1843-1939. As inviting as it appears to be I'm not entirly sure if I can stomach most of its contents. All things medicinal, the vintage but of course, have a strange appeal as of lately. Ahh... I can smell the ether already. Each year, it seems, forces me into even further descend into darkness ... the slightly disturbing becomes the norm, the slightly illegal becomes a curiousity. I need salvation. Have a good night!
Wednesday, July 9, 2003
Let's give it another go... shall we, dears... The lack of worthy graphics on this page burn my retina every time I click it. Hence, the year old absence. Miss me yet? I shall make an effort to change the current lavender morbidity into something more suitable.... such as lipsticked boy Ryutaro... just watch me, y'all.
Current mood: I got blisters
Current obsession: tea with milk, no bisquit, please
To all of you whom I failed to bid a fare adieu I appologize. It wasn't my intention as I was rather abrubtly shipped off to the prairies. The latter would be discussed profusely in following episodes of "Slight tints..." Given my currently unempoloyed status that further and futher pushes me toward the condition of poverty I must add that the city has very little to offer in terms of entertainment. I dislike it. The ever popular art of observing passing by strangers gave me little pleasure today due to the lack of proper subjects. How many khaki chinos must I witness before giving up the activity altogether? Don't bother with the answer, really...
I feel like an outsider, ... again. Strangely I feel a lot better locked up in a basement with drawn shutters pointlessly tampering with AutoCAD. For some reason that feels a lot more normal than walking on the streets of this uninteresting strange city. City is not a very good word. I can compare it better to a passenger on an airplane sitting next to you. You remain seated so closely for hours perfectly aware of each other's presence, yet oblivious to each other's lives. Once you land you'll never see each other again... thank god, for most cases. Edmonton is my airplane neighbour.
Saturday, July 5, 2003
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The title is pretty much self expanatory judging by the looks of this site. [nervious laugh] Let it be the home for Lanie's useless rants, bias opinions and general obsessiveness. Much love is sent to Lika, best friend of some seven years, for encouraging me to put this... monstrocity on the net for everyone to see.
In case of emergency, please contact cherryglass@hotmail.com
Disclaimer:
Even though i'm 99% sure that the only people who visit this thing are the ones mentioned, I just thought I'd add a line anyway. English is NOT my first language, nor is it my specialty, as you have all noticed I'm sure. In fact I almost had no contact with it for the first 14 years of my life. The mistakes are the results of my on-going exploration withtin this medium, as well as, occasional lack of attention or typing skill. I suck... so yeah...
Vanity Fair:
I'm 22...I have a slight (?) Russian accent. A pure maple leaf at heart who is in love with all things pretty. A bit eccentric at times, but overall a decent human being.
In a company of:
Lika
Jeannie
Linh
Satsuki-chan
Sound:
The Strokes, Ladytron, Interpol, Plastic Tree, Bjork, Dave Matthews Band, Aphex Twin, Radiohead, Alec Empire, Tori Amos, Faye Wong, The Cure, DDT, Kino, Depeche Mode, Nine Inch Nails, Asian Dub Foundation, The Clash, Placebo, jungle D&B, psy trance, and Frank Sinatra...
Cinema:
In the Mood for Love, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Velvet Goldmine, Run Lola Run, The Pillow Book, Sonatine, Andrei Rublev... and Star Wars
Written word:
One Hundred Years of Solitude, The Master and Margarita, Anna Karenina, The Catcher in the Rye, Invisible Cities, The Hero of Our Time, Moonlight Shadow...
Graphic Art:
Neil Gaiman & Dave McKean, David Mack, Narumi Kakinouchi, Keiko Nishi, Haruhiko Mikimoto...
Architecture:
Herzog & De Meuron, Morphosis, Coop Himelblau, Peter Zumthor, Kazuyo Sejima, Zaha Hadid...
Fashion:
Chanel, Comme Des Garcons, Yohji Yamamoto, Rei Kawabuko, Junya Watanabe, Dries Van Noten, Olivier Theyskens, Marc Jacobs, Jean Paul Gautier, Victor and Rolf, Sonia Rykiel, Jil Sander, Prada, Miu Miu, Anna Sui, Luella, Costume Nationalle...
Brands:
Diesel, Lithium, Adidas Original, Puma, h. Naoto, Christopher Nemeth, French Connection UK, united colours of benetton...
Life revolves around:
Friends, tea parties, Ryutaro, black and white film, boys in eyeliner, rain with thunder, 80's nostalgia, bubble tea slush, dancing, Christian Dior make-up, fish, J rock cosplayers, ravers, making coffee cakes, red hair dye, straight shots, photography books, mod, Jelly Belly, acrylic paints and good brushes, big tattoos on people other than myself, pierced lips and eyebrows, brit actors, top hats and crinolines, colour purple, writing poor stories, Nylon, making plans, making lists, city lights at night, reading on a bus, dictionaries, and daydreaming...
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