so...

So I spent the whole day - well, a good portion of the day - making some beaded bracelets for few friends for saturday. Saturday is the day of Monster Massive. Should be fun and crazy. I'll post up some pictures later.

It doesn't start here in this blog..

Creativity at its best doesn't start here.

Give me anything to think about. Give me art. Give me writing. Give me science. Give me photos. Give me music. Give me the world. Give me life. Give me your problems, his problems, their problems.
You are not everything.

This is where it all starts

This is your life by domojoanne

The day I woke up, this is exactly how I felt -- when you're born without wings, when your visions are being blocked by some invisible force, when the day comes for you to cease living, breathing, and contributing to this Earth...That day when you wake up, just the way I did...That is when the desire for you to escape and run will trigger the ghost you'll become.

till the end...

I'll read until the end.

I'll write until the end.

I'll create until the end.

I'll wait until the end.

Usually...I'm not this asian but I am this random

Got done watching this korean drama 풀하우스"Full House."

I don't know...

I loved it.

Thought I just had to get this out.

sometimes i just want to write...like everybody else

dreambag

this girl, she looked up at the sky, sighed, and reaching into her oversized coat pocket for a cigarette. She lit the end and sucked in as much of the smoke her lungs can hold, and slowly blew it out, feeling the warm strain leave and loosen her chest. Somewhere in the distance, the girl heard lingering notes floating in the air. Before she realized what she was doing, it was too late to turn back. She was walking towards the music. There on the bench was a boy with his steady but slightly tense back against her, playing the guitar. His dirty, tangled hair blew in the wind, and it was a beautiful sight. The sun was starting to set behind the trees, and its red and orange lights gleamed on him. The girl's trembling hands dropped the cigarette to the ground. She heard his melancholy voice flow with the sound of the guitar and its notes hitting her ears. His voice - with a hint of depressed raspiness - painted a story. She felt her eyes close as she began to let him pour images into her head. An old train abandoned in the middle of the desert, with no one but the dust to keep it alive.

...And my day begins

http://www.theselby.com/

Veronica sent me this cute site, and it really does make me want to settle in a home right about now..decorate it with things -- things that scream "this is annie!" but hm...what am I like, really?