Blogspot. You've been amazing. But I've cheated on you repeatedly. I have a tumblr now. If you want, you can visit me @http://sanjuanitaevahernandez.tumblr.com/
Iloveyou. Adieu&Until we meet again...
Yours always,
-juanita<3<3<3
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Love Message from Beca:
I log onto my Facebook, and this is what greets me<3
"So, it just so happens that I REALLY love you. I've been in a mood for love messages lately, and you totally deserve one. I love you with all my heart and soul and you mean THE WORLD to me♥"
She's got me cryin' and whatnot :3 Ilovethisgalsofuckingmuch,..oops.
Pardon my French<3
"So, it just so happens that I REALLY love you. I've been in a mood for love messages lately, and you totally deserve one. I love you with all my heart and soul and you mean THE WORLD to me♥"
She's got me cryin' and whatnot :3 Ilovethisgalsofuckingmuch,..oops.
Pardon my French<3
If I Die Young:
- I want to be cremated.
- I want my ashes to be mixed in with the ashes of my things that no one else wants, and will burn easily.
- I want the mixed ashes to be thrown into the river. Any river.
- Mum gets all my life insurance money (spend it on property/building a house, kay mum?)
- Beca gets my anime, manga, and essays (but bury my Junjou Romantica with me, okay? C:)
- Ralph gets my everything else. He'll divide it, seeing as how he knows me best.
- Whatever I have that can be sold, sell it.
- I want strippers. Just kidding. No, serious.
- I want you all to get on your fucking knees, and say my name:D
- No one is going to cry. If you cry, I will personally kick your ass; so shut your face, 'cause you all look ugly when you cry.
- Pardon my French, I love you all so fucking much. <3
- So there you have it, I San Juanita Eva Hernandez, being of sound mind and sound body, do declare my will and testament. (Actually, it's just a shit ton of demands. Anywhore, screw you. I'm already dead so stfu and live a good life. GATA!)
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Le soleil se couche. Pourquoi ressent-on la nuit?
The sun goes down. Why does it feel like night?
Lately, I've been feeling a little choked up. I'll stop what I'm doing, and I'll think to myself, "What am I doing?"
It seems, as if, everything that I want, all of my hopes and dreams...they're suddenly so superficial.
And slowly, I've started to doubt everything. Everything. I don't understand anything. I have so much to give, I had plans. When did I cross the line, and become that which I detest?
...Le visage l'intérieur est juste sous la peau ...the face inside is right beneath the skin.
Lately, I've been feeling a little choked up. I'll stop what I'm doing, and I'll think to myself, "What am I doing?"
It seems, as if, everything that I want, all of my hopes and dreams...they're suddenly so superficial.
And slowly, I've started to doubt everything. Everything. I don't understand anything. I have so much to give, I had plans. When did I cross the line, and become that which I detest?
...Le visage l'intérieur est juste sous la peau ...the face inside is right beneath the skin.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Watching this new anime, (Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi) just makes my heart melt. Episode 9, and I've been clutching my pillow, gnawing my lip, wiping tears from my eyes, and reducing my fingernails to paper-thin shreds. I wish I could love as they love. The only thing blocking me is me, I know that but, it's so hard to remove the basic thought: I am nothing. I do not deserve that storybook romance, I deserve only what I earn, and as of yet I haven't earned anything. I am not beautiful. I am not lovely. I am not the kind of girl that poems are written of. I do not know what I am.
Sigh, and yet again I've managed to turn a post into a depressing mess. Look at me, I'm worthless. Sometimes, I really do struggle. I don't know what I'm saying. I have it easy. I just need to cut the bullshit and find my medium. Maybe I'll take up painting? I don't know. Oh well, this is good-bye. I really want to read North of Beautiful by Justina Chen Headley again. Wondrous book. It seems like all I do is read. Why is that? Adieu, -Jolie Laide.
Sigh, and yet again I've managed to turn a post into a depressing mess. Look at me, I'm worthless. Sometimes, I really do struggle. I don't know what I'm saying. I have it easy. I just need to cut the bullshit and find my medium. Maybe I'll take up painting? I don't know. Oh well, this is good-bye. I really want to read North of Beautiful by Justina Chen Headley again. Wondrous book. It seems like all I do is read. Why is that? Adieu, -Jolie Laide.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Quotes and Plans [Knives]...
Shattered glass images prey upon lovely gleaming young tile painted a blue of deceit, a blue of lapis lazuli, a blue of toxic familiarity, a blue of adoration and oily hair and glossy smiles…
In the yellow chloroform filled waste of an organ, brimming with the salty waters of indulgence. Do you see the profound darkness, acid-like splattering, congealing across the marbled carving in your tomb? Thou hast not gathered enough dust in thy lifetime to make up for the lack of praise and Immortality you sacrificed into the chair of man-to-man combat and abseil, broken into a chorus of ‘Oohs’ and ‘Aahs‘, followed by ‘You firsts’ and, ‘I insists’.
Where are you going and why, what will you do and when, what means will you use and how, manipulation: trepidation, manipulation: stipulation, manipulation: modest inflammation!
Amidst gloomy Grey skies and interim truths; Ethics account for values, but what part does Vanity play in Evolution? Those that were fit to admire their reflection moved across the wings of time in a commonplace grandeur, oh, how easy it is to forget who you are, amidst lovely chocolate-covered-mint-tainted-biscuits-and-strawberry-wine-with-a-side-order-of-a-small-equipotent, luxury and life, how…desolate.
What did you say your name was? Surely, you have a title of some sort, a way to remember you perhaps? A signature cologne, a certain tattoo, symbolic and rich in bergamot meaning?
In the absence of fate only comment scents can be thought, and uncertainty brewed when recognition fades; when designing satire is your only form of entertainment, “Oh what a pitiful life thou hast made!”, and accounted for.
Hide your hair, behind a bonnet of white that is not yet white, and not-nearly-white, but merely-white, or clearly-white or nonsensical-white as the soon-to-be-bride …it's green-white and Grey-white and blue-white and yellow-white and orange-white and ecru.
It's perfect and imperfect and repetitive and stressed and unbleached but oh so clean and imaginarily arbitrarily Gone with the wind, gone under the water, gone away in fire, gone into the Earth, gone, simple G-O-N-E, gone. Simple yet not-so-simple. How we humans judge time, harshly and frail, bitter and weak, broken and intended… our greatest asset is also our least relevant; have you any idea what it is? The debate has gone on for so long, I sometimes wish to flip a coin, pick a side, and be done with it.
To be praised for my choice, or exiled for my actions, exhilaration presages evolution.
Democracy demands delegation, while distinct disadvantages disarm direct derogatory diffusion, dithering about on an errand for the up-and-coming débutante, who has just announced her engagement to the Prince of Contribution, who so gladly drove the decision to domesticate herds of deer and wolves and snakes; thinking that snails and horses would come along their natural way and oh! Look at that escargot.
Language and Literature contribute to the joining of words, jointing letters, programming the basic needs of our culture, and responsive taboos each etched into our minds so willingly and decimating that only catastrophe awaits those who while their time away…
While I find that experimenting with love and emotion and human fascination in the divine and mysterious, is both enchanted and repulsive,…the need for all things to be led and controlled; our survival hinting at more than dependence, yet our ultimate destruction lies between the hunches that whatever we do will not make it to tomorrow, and our little thought-bubbles which we cartoonishly just pictured, here upon this silken paper; will influence tomorrow, governing our every crucible, salivating appropriately on command and as expected when the chimechimechime of a hand-held bell is heard…
By what can the temper of the ocean be quelled? Blood sheds blood which sheds blood upon blood upon blood, and soon, no one is left in the general population with any faint recollection of noone and everyone has been drained of emotion and Latin texts until finally the last human Emotion is unstoppered as Alas! Oh no! Oh dear! The fatal path of formality left standing alone and beguiled, clumsily attracting vultures and flies, pheasants and swine with bloodless cries that disturbingly are not really filled with any blood at all!
Exempli gratia, the music of a mob, characteristic and immobilizing, the whirlwhirlwhirl of a ceiling fan, spinning about the way it's always done because that's just the way that things are done! How evil. Nothing is as evil as a reactionary, an acute of the sort of mind in which mindful Mab sends her maid Maurine out to the forest in search of spear minted fairy floss, spun by the most fawned of floss-sinners, and forever ostracized as the underdeveloped status quo, beginning with amber and ending with Gris, painted on with a roaring cough of henning and touted about in a roundabout way,…
At the head of the humor-mill lies the lye of the rumor-mill, who's head-woman just toasted the captain Tulle, I can almost taste the propaganda this will generate, even more gustatory pleasing, the spicy courteous heresy of ‘a toast to you all of our finest and cheapest champagne!
My, how spontaneously, absolutely, unorthodox of you,…[to the side] be careful Amber, Todd has the plague.
By evening anybody who’s anybody knows, but of course this was all generated when little Ms. Somebody couldn’t keep her trap shut until after your flight to Paris.
My how silly of me, climbing this mountain, just because it's there doesn't mean I should climb it, oh I am crazy, what was I thinking?! But that ladies and gentlemen, that is the absolute beauty of it! Why, my dear heavens, you weren't thinking at all! And, I beg your pardon, Sir, but wasn't it wonderful?
Oh, woe me, norms meat, woebegone [Soliloquy] the tides of temptation and oh how that apple tempts me! [Monologue] Yet I know one bite, one fatalistic bite and the world as we know it will cease to me and to all that will come from me, Oh! [Aside] From, all the chaos and Irony here to tonight, I wish to welcome you by singing a well known duet with thee, …continue Maestro?
Breaking, bumbling, stopping, stumbling; wheedling your hours away, tattooing ire upon your skin, letting the ink fill you and stain your blood with teeny droplets of remorse. Catapulted headfirst, upon a Journey of Life, a game of feelings and desperate whining, shooed away at the most unlucky of moments,…your shenanigans are costly, you realize that don’t you? For all of your happiness and self-worth, accumulated garbage in a secondhand shop somewhere in France, lolling about with your tongue sticking out and an extreme hope for a picnic-worthy spot, and an advantageous glimpse of the Tour de Force.
Monarchy and loyalty bridge a fine gap, that which is meaningless and that which is meaningful, that which is probable and completely impossible; you were broken, now you are fixed, you are lost, but now you have a compass. So which way will you go? Will you skip merrily down the street in the latest of amazing shoes, or will you trudge wearily through the mud, a trucker's atlas in your first hand and a glass of fermented rue in the next?
Put your hand in your pockets, this doesn't concern you. Put your two cents in while they're worth something, then take a dip in the indoor heated swimming pool; allow no one to recognize you, not even for an instant,…for the most dangerous enemies are the ones who are honest with you.
Look someone famous, where will you go…come to me, Mona and let us Rome the streets of Italy. Clever girl, foolish girl, lovely girl, wondrous girl, beautiful girl, insane girl,…inane girl, but one-substantial-woman. Random generated numbers, find the patterns? Look-at-de-dew. 3.141592653584 la~la~la~la~la. Material comforts sabotage the prime numbers within you, how far have you gone, on pity and charity alone?
When the real questions to ask, is “May I ask you something?”
In the yellow chloroform filled waste of an organ, brimming with the salty waters of indulgence. Do you see the profound darkness, acid-like splattering, congealing across the marbled carving in your tomb? Thou hast not gathered enough dust in thy lifetime to make up for the lack of praise and Immortality you sacrificed into the chair of man-to-man combat and abseil, broken into a chorus of ‘Oohs’ and ‘Aahs‘, followed by ‘You firsts’ and, ‘I insists’.
Where are you going and why, what will you do and when, what means will you use and how, manipulation: trepidation, manipulation: stipulation, manipulation: modest inflammation!
Amidst gloomy Grey skies and interim truths; Ethics account for values, but what part does Vanity play in Evolution? Those that were fit to admire their reflection moved across the wings of time in a commonplace grandeur, oh, how easy it is to forget who you are, amidst lovely chocolate-covered-mint-tainted-biscuits-and-strawberry-wine-with-a-side-order-of-a-small-equipotent, luxury and life, how…desolate.
What did you say your name was? Surely, you have a title of some sort, a way to remember you perhaps? A signature cologne, a certain tattoo, symbolic and rich in bergamot meaning?
In the absence of fate only comment scents can be thought, and uncertainty brewed when recognition fades; when designing satire is your only form of entertainment, “Oh what a pitiful life thou hast made!”, and accounted for.
Hide your hair, behind a bonnet of white that is not yet white, and not-nearly-white, but merely-white, or clearly-white or nonsensical-white as the soon-to-be-bride …it's green-white and Grey-white and blue-white and yellow-white and orange-white and ecru.
It's perfect and imperfect and repetitive and stressed and unbleached but oh so clean and imaginarily arbitrarily Gone with the wind, gone under the water, gone away in fire, gone into the Earth, gone, simple G-O-N-E, gone. Simple yet not-so-simple. How we humans judge time, harshly and frail, bitter and weak, broken and intended… our greatest asset is also our least relevant; have you any idea what it is? The debate has gone on for so long, I sometimes wish to flip a coin, pick a side, and be done with it.
To be praised for my choice, or exiled for my actions, exhilaration presages evolution.
Democracy demands delegation, while distinct disadvantages disarm direct derogatory diffusion, dithering about on an errand for the up-and-coming débutante, who has just announced her engagement to the Prince of Contribution, who so gladly drove the decision to domesticate herds of deer and wolves and snakes; thinking that snails and horses would come along their natural way and oh! Look at that escargot.
Language and Literature contribute to the joining of words, jointing letters, programming the basic needs of our culture, and responsive taboos each etched into our minds so willingly and decimating that only catastrophe awaits those who while their time away…
While I find that experimenting with love and emotion and human fascination in the divine and mysterious, is both enchanted and repulsive,…the need for all things to be led and controlled; our survival hinting at more than dependence, yet our ultimate destruction lies between the hunches that whatever we do will not make it to tomorrow, and our little thought-bubbles which we cartoonishly just pictured, here upon this silken paper; will influence tomorrow, governing our every crucible, salivating appropriately on command and as expected when the chimechimechime of a hand-held bell is heard…
By what can the temper of the ocean be quelled? Blood sheds blood which sheds blood upon blood upon blood, and soon, no one is left in the general population with any faint recollection of noone and everyone has been drained of emotion and Latin texts until finally the last human Emotion is unstoppered as Alas! Oh no! Oh dear! The fatal path of formality left standing alone and beguiled, clumsily attracting vultures and flies, pheasants and swine with bloodless cries that disturbingly are not really filled with any blood at all!
Exempli gratia, the music of a mob, characteristic and immobilizing, the whirlwhirlwhirl of a ceiling fan, spinning about the way it's always done because that's just the way that things are done! How evil. Nothing is as evil as a reactionary, an acute of the sort of mind in which mindful Mab sends her maid Maurine out to the forest in search of spear minted fairy floss, spun by the most fawned of floss-sinners, and forever ostracized as the underdeveloped status quo, beginning with amber and ending with Gris, painted on with a roaring cough of henning and touted about in a roundabout way,…
At the head of the humor-mill lies the lye of the rumor-mill, who's head-woman just toasted the captain Tulle, I can almost taste the propaganda this will generate, even more gustatory pleasing, the spicy courteous heresy of ‘a toast to you all of our finest and cheapest champagne!
My, how spontaneously, absolutely, unorthodox of you,…[to the side] be careful Amber, Todd has the plague.
By evening anybody who’s anybody knows, but of course this was all generated when little Ms. Somebody couldn’t keep her trap shut until after your flight to Paris.
My how silly of me, climbing this mountain, just because it's there doesn't mean I should climb it, oh I am crazy, what was I thinking?! But that ladies and gentlemen, that is the absolute beauty of it! Why, my dear heavens, you weren't thinking at all! And, I beg your pardon, Sir, but wasn't it wonderful?
Oh, woe me, norms meat, woebegone [Soliloquy] the tides of temptation and oh how that apple tempts me! [Monologue] Yet I know one bite, one fatalistic bite and the world as we know it will cease to me and to all that will come from me, Oh! [Aside] From, all the chaos and Irony here to tonight, I wish to welcome you by singing a well known duet with thee, …continue Maestro?
Breaking, bumbling, stopping, stumbling; wheedling your hours away, tattooing ire upon your skin, letting the ink fill you and stain your blood with teeny droplets of remorse. Catapulted headfirst, upon a Journey of Life, a game of feelings and desperate whining, shooed away at the most unlucky of moments,…your shenanigans are costly, you realize that don’t you? For all of your happiness and self-worth, accumulated garbage in a secondhand shop somewhere in France, lolling about with your tongue sticking out and an extreme hope for a picnic-worthy spot, and an advantageous glimpse of the Tour de Force.
Monarchy and loyalty bridge a fine gap, that which is meaningless and that which is meaningful, that which is probable and completely impossible; you were broken, now you are fixed, you are lost, but now you have a compass. So which way will you go? Will you skip merrily down the street in the latest of amazing shoes, or will you trudge wearily through the mud, a trucker's atlas in your first hand and a glass of fermented rue in the next?
Put your hand in your pockets, this doesn't concern you. Put your two cents in while they're worth something, then take a dip in the indoor heated swimming pool; allow no one to recognize you, not even for an instant,…for the most dangerous enemies are the ones who are honest with you.
Look someone famous, where will you go…come to me, Mona and let us Rome the streets of Italy. Clever girl, foolish girl, lovely girl, wondrous girl, beautiful girl, insane girl,…inane girl, but one-substantial-woman. Random generated numbers, find the patterns? Look-at-de-dew. 3.141592653584 la~la~la~la~la. Material comforts sabotage the prime numbers within you, how far have you gone, on pity and charity alone?
When the real questions to ask, is “May I ask you something?”
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