Running Bunnies

I might just be saying this because I’m a time of the month tiger cub right now and I just finished a heart-wrenching book, but I’m definitely not saying it because I am sentimental about the loss of the year. I want to say this because it’s time to move on, but credit must be given where it is due.

Frightened Rabbit deserves all the love that hasn’t been used up this year. They’re not getting the leftovers. They’re getting the part that I’ve been saving, choice cuts of my heart. That’s a bit morbid, but there you go.

I just feel like they’ve been singing my theme songs for the most part of the year and without their words, I would’ve been a wreck right now. Instead, I was a wreck earlier, when no one was watching, which is great because sometimes you have to be in pieces to figure out which ones to throw away.

I discovered them in a fanmix for Will Grayson, Will Grayson. Through The Modern Leper, I was inducted into their cult, but it was more of a private cult that only included me and my room and my playlist and (occasionally) the stories I write.

The Loneliness* speaks of my soul, Things of the sold and Not Miserable of the trailer that I am secretly making on iMovie.**

It also helps that they remind me of Where’s Fluffy, the fictional band from Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist and that frightened is my favorite way of saying ‘scared.’ It’s a word I save for the good sentences and because of this band, every sentence gets to be a little better.

So here’s to you, Frightened Rabbit, my love, my heart and my year. Thanks for the lot.

(Special mention goes to Freelance Whales, who have also helped me in a few writing spots and have helped me to realize that oranges and generators are important things, but that’s for another day and will probably include a profession of devotion to a fellow hipsterdork.)

*Apparently, the title is The Loneliness and The Scream. Huh.

**Said trailer of my unfinished novel for NaNoWriMO 2011. It’s a comedy about suicide.

I was not meant for here.

So it’s Christmas, And I didn’t get a lot of gifts this year*, which is totally fine as the ones that I did get are top quality. (17-disc Harry Potter DVD collection, a pretty bag, a planner that didn’t cost me a single cup of coffee to name a few. Not to mention the stacks of books that I ‘gave to myself’.)

But the thing is.

I have SO many things. It’s alarming. I keep asking myself whether I need more and the answer is always a whopping YES.

Also, I can’t get this song out of my head.

I didn’t need these things, I didn’t need them, oh.

Took them all to bits, turned them outside in,

And I left them on the floor

And ran for dear life through the door, oh.

I never considered myself materialistic, but at the end of the day, books are still things. Things that–I was told–wouldn’t get me to heaven. Things that I could give away to people who need them more. Things that gather dust. Things that burn holes in my pockets. Things things things.

Is it possible to love things?

That is a question for CW100 poetry to answer.

I won’t explore the finer points of this thought (chase it to the badlands as it were) as I have other responsibilities to attend to, but it’s a thought that needs to be blogged before Christmas is officially over. It ends in about half an hour, and then the dead days begin. We transition from the fire to the fireworks. Six days to leave this year behind.

Merry Christmas. Hope you’re having a good one.

*It’s Perfume Year (perhaps a shout-out to that book I didn’t finish) Four bottles of perfume. Last year was Bag Year (shout-out to my bag lady habits?) Four of those bags that can be folded into compact rectangles.

This blog post was intended to be the first post for another new blog, hence the title. Will the newness never stop?

Anyway, I was going to go ahead and make that blog but then my old nemesis came to greet me: the username. And so the blog died before it was born. (That was a bad metaphor. If there are any expectant mothers out there, I’m sorry.)

I don’t know if that other blog is going to come true (like a dream) or to fruition (like a plan), but one thing is for sure: New Year’s Resolution: Be more decisive. I mean, I’m all for spontaneity, but I really have to plan these things more.

I’m also planning a book blog? If I can do that sort of thing.

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness

delirious hoarding crazy

Hoarding everyday, hoarding all the way.

Merry Christmas to me.

 

(Obviously, the best mind of this generation is me. CHAROT SANTOS.)

It’s the most wonderful time of the year!

It’s been a pretty eventful week. (Lots of writing was involved and that’s probably the reason I can’t write this post without spell-checking or considering whether my words convey the proper emotions.) But today was definitely a worthy conclusion to my poetic heartaches.

So, as you can see, this holiday season has been an exercise in not being materialistic. Yeah, that’s why I went to Market Market and went starving hysterical naked over the 50-75-100 peso books. Yeah, that’s exactly it.

All that shiz worth 600. On a good day, 600 is worth like a novel and a notebook. TODAY HAS BEEN AN AWESOME DAY.

Of course, there stands the question of when I actually plan to read all that, but that’s the beauty of the last week before break. The sweet, sweet anticipation of things you plan to do, but never actually get around to doing. So, as of now, I don’t intend to read those books. I just intend to look at them until they melt. My to-read pile is around 12-15 books high right now. Melting would do it good.

I’ve been craving decent YA for the past couple of weeks and I’m glad I managed to get a few quality ones. ie, the ones without a frakking girl on the cover. I went to Powerbooks Mega yesterday–I am still very bitter toward its downsizing, but a girl’s gotta read–went to the nearest YA shelf and, I am not kidding you, ALL OF THEM HAD A GIRL ON THE COVER. Most of the time, the girl wasn’t even doing anything except stare dramatically at the reader, or have her face cut off at the edge of the cover. At least the girl on the Wintergirls cover looks…wintry. (Was there a time when guys were on the covers of YA books?) Also, Laurie Halse Anderson is one of the few female YA authors whose plots aren’t complete sex-driven and for that (and Speak and @replying to me once on Twitter) I love her to eternity.

Pictures of Hollis Woods was a book I’ve had my eye on since I saw it at the lounge thing we had for the Talentfest back in my first year of high school. It’s a nice surprise and I grabbed at it right away. (I actually kind of grabbed at everything.) Same goes for Louis Sachar’s Small Steps. I’m a bit concerned that they’d be a bit too childish for me now, but 1. authors I haven’t tried yet are decent until proven otherwise 2. anything without a fricking girl on the cover must be worth a look.

#2 was the reason I picked Freak Magnet without even knowing what it was about. Also, the original price was like 659 and the sale price was 100. Can’t argue with those numbers.

Picked The Fortress of Solitude because I was interested in reading something by Jonathan Lethem that wasn’t Freedom. need to find a way to tell Jonathan Lethem and Jonathan Franzen apart. (Seriously, I had to look at Goodreads to check whether I had that Freedom quip right.)

Away We Go is a cool movie. Jack Kerouac is a cool man and I’d been using Belief and Technique for Modern Prose as a calendar for the past few months. The 19th has always been a good day. Also, that copy had pictures and I’m willing to pay 50 pesos to see Kerouac, Ginsberg and Burroughs living it up in the 50s.

There were a few that didn’t actually make the cut: Hellbound Hearts and Spud: The Madness Continues both didn’t make it because I hadn’t read the original. (I was just tempted to take STMC because it was still plastic-wrapped. If books were guys, plastic would be a suit. No one can resist a suit.) Also, there was a David Foster Wallace quote books somewhere in there, something about fishes and water, but it turned out to be an essay divided into a paragraph per page. I’m not as willing to pay for Wallace as I am for Kerouac, I’ll give you that.

Deep inside, I really had my eye set on a Levithan book (actually, I was hoping that Naomi and Ely or Dash and Lily would pop up somewhere) and this fanfic-y book that was written by a 19-year-old, but overall, I’m very happy with my haul. I don’t know if that just comes with getting a good great hella awesome bargain or because the book-buying has become such a cathartic–if going crazy counts as cathartic–experience that happiness is practically inscribed into the activity, but I’m very very happy.

Also, all this has just inspired me to work harder at school. How very non-sequitur of me, I know, but since the loss of fandom, the aimlessness has been taking over. (This has especially taken its toll on me spiritually but that’s another story.) I’m just grateful for anything that can spur me forward through the last week of school, and for now, the thought of settling down and reading a good YA book is just that.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some makeshift knitting to do.

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