Useless post! ^_~
- Train in
Useless post! ^_~
- Train in
10. I love Dita von Teese
11. I love Sea of Shoes
12. I love fashion
13. I wish I could just not sleep
14. Part of being here is loving yourself
15. Good night
1. I’m just not a partier. I can’t deal.
2. I like dancing.
3. I’m about to put on an episode of Daria and clean my room.
4. I am definitely getting up in 6 hours.
6. I miss a lot of people
8. I’m learning slowly to keep myself good company - I mean, fuck, I’m not bad
9. Here I am, vomiting privacy in an ultimately public space
DARIA ON DVD WON’T HAVE THE ORIGINAL MUSIC
This is Tokyo. The bustling metropolis at the heart of modern Japan is alive with quirk and question; in two minutes, you can walk by a Buddhist temple, six boutiques, a peaceful park, and a drunk 16 year old girl. It truly is majestic.
However, beneath the gridless pavement and railway system of legendary efficiency, there thrums a darker pulse, something quite unutterable. To quote Her Majesty Sophia Petrillo, “it’s something dirty. I can’t put my finger on it, but if I did, I’d have to wash it.”
Wandering the streets of Tokyo, day in and day out, I have been brought to this point. Shibuya, Shinjuku, Shin-Okubo. Harajuku, Yoyogi, Akihabara. Amidst the glowing signs and Shinto shrines, I am plagued by one question.
I can’t help but wonder: why am I imitating Carrie Bradshaw while eating ice cream seven hours before class?
Well. Annelise and I met at Ikebukuro around 10:30, all ready to glam it up till last train… and then, what happens? We meet, hold one another, express love, anoint one another with gold paint (truth), and embraced by the blessings of Queen Ayumi and the frightful stares of Japanese on the train, we cavort toward the location of Trump Room.
We are greeted by a sign reading “3F - Nude Trump”, and a locked stairwell.
We busted our fashions out, painted ourselves, and dragged our bodies to Shibuya at 11 for this. We were had.
But, all is not lost. She and I cavorted gaily back to our trains, sassing lovingly through dark alleys, and I not only made last train home (after a scary moment at Shinjuku), but managed to grab a “Choco and Vanilla PArfait” from the 7-11, for that last little goodnight calorie.
Mmmm. Ice cream and five hours of sleep. What more glamorous evening is there?
Did I get snapped for dropsnap.jp yesterday? yes?
the last couple days - well, like the last week - has encompassed such utter brilliance and radness that I can’t begin to describe. It’ll have to come in chunks. And best of all, it isn’t over.
That being said… I really miss home. I find myself constantly thinking of that little patch of grass across from my house on Camano, or walking down streets that are dirty, heterogenous, and full of plaid, and getting extremely homesick. I guess Mishima was right; the journey is just the process of losing ownership.
I wish I had a magic phone to call and text people whenever I wanted at home, but, as it is, I have to be on my computer in order to call or be called.
Enough of this. I have to finish my homework and take a poop so I can be glamorous in time for a high fashion party I was exclusively invited to on the streets of Omotesando.
I mean… what?
THIS PET SHOP BOYS CD I GOT FOR 100 YEN AT JOCHI HAS THAT SONG FROM THE DARIA CREDITS
“How can you expect to be taken seriously”
Today was a Ghibli kind of day. I want to live in that world. Why is hard for me to tweet about my day?I just don’t recall things like that!
For me, this morning like
many others is a good day promised,
it’s a warm wool blanket with a mother’s smell,
or a breakfast brought to you en route to your classes.
Toast in paper towel, wrapped in heat and lather, dressed and barely breathing.
There will be a big post soon!
“I mean, look at us. Look at where we’re meeting up. Shibuya.” Joelle
oh, hello, twitter; I’m in Tokyo and just wandering
Missed a penis festival, didn’t miss shopping, bunkers of post apocalyptic yum, and grocery shopping.
I live here in Tokyo, what the fuck?
The exhaustion of a long day in progress
brings peace to troubled heart -
alone, locked into future misty, it is filled
with the slumbrous presence of tomorrow