Sunday, June 21, 2015

Yer Olde Talke Aboute Hesse


Hermann Hesse is probably one of my favourite writers of all time. Which is probably a bit unfair, because I've only read Siddhartha, Steppenwolf, and Demian.

Siddhartha I looooved. Which is also totally unfair, because I really did read it at the perfect moment. I was going back to yoga, eating a lot of fruit, utterly happy about my life, and this book seemed like complete illumination and I just couldn't stop crying.

Demian was fine, but I knew nothing about Hesse's obsession about Eastern thought when I read it and I was like wtf half the time. I think that if I read it again my thriving psychomagicness would do a tribal dance over the cadaver of my dead rationalism.

And I just finished Steppenwolf, which at first made me think "this book really gets me. Fuck burgeouis ethos." But I did not enjoy it much and I don't think any of its profound psychobabble really got through to me.

But still, Hesse's probably one of my favourite authors of all time. GO BEATNIK FEELZ.



Thursday, June 18, 2015

September





The best part about analogues, is that you can forget about their existence until their rediscovery at the back of a drawer.

Pictures from September 2013.

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

People

Chile, Chile, lindo.


I've been driving around a lot lately. And not just 'cuz my university's on strike, although that's a huge part of it (you know, trying to fill in the dole winter-in-Santiago hours.) Friends, readers, family: The beauty of podcasts has entered my life.

Every minute that I spend behind the wheel is one where these magical words enter my ears and dance around my brain to a beat that says "ideas, ideas, ideas." I'm hearing wonderful people from around the globe talk about the marvels that come to their minds and every nerve of mine is charged with awe at the things that are going on in this world while Santiago remains being Santiago and the people in Santiago remain worried about our little-corner-of-the-world things.

And my friends that study abroad are slowly coming back home from their diaspora of knowledge-seeking, and they come back with tales of wonder that I can hardly believe they actually lived through. Classrooms with teachers that do more than just recite, and friends with minds that do more than just gossip, and I am full of envy. Envy and love, love for these friends who have such great minds and personalities that every moment I share with them is inspiring.

I love you, Chilito lindo, I love you so much, but you are starting to feel too tight. To small for a world that is oh, so big. And I love your poets and I love your mountains and I love your trees, but your people are starting to bore me, and I want to go out, permanently, to seek...

Friday, June 5, 2015

Escape




In spite of the relief that the autumnal leaves give the eye, Santiago's relentless contamination, noise, anxiety, conflict
exists
and one finds the need to escape
to find
that
geography has the potential for peace
the sea holds peace
the trees inspire peace
and one feels a renaissance of hope
of living.

Breathing.

Smiling.

Exhaling.

PS. And there's something so particular about the seaside during wintertime.

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Nostalgic

Sometimes I look back at my old blog posts and realize that my glory days are behind me. I mean look at these posts:

This one, because of the pretty pictures and how happy I was when I took them
This one, because my life is not that fun anymore.
The pictures.

Monday, May 25, 2015

Law Student


I'm a Law Student (nobody knows why) in a very politicized university and although I have a fair amount of talent for humanities and a fair amount of interest in politics, it's not who I am.

I like music and poetry and nature and people that make me laugh, and these might be COMMON THINGS but then why am I the only one that feels so eternally bored by this eternal talk about societies and injustices, when what I see around me are people and emotions?

I'm blind to society, which in my mind, is an artificial construct that is nowhere to be seen.
I see people.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

17



The memory of eleventh grade has been cycling through my thoughts a lot as of late. Because, unfortunately, I fear I've grown up. And there are more arguments to this conclusion than just my newfound self-control with alcohol.

This nostalgia for eleventh grade has not a thing to do with how much fun I had during that year (I was miserable 'till September.) It has absolutely all to do with the eviscerating passion that distinguished this year from any other. I have never read, written, listened to music, or loved a boy with the blind fury I did two years ago.

In fact, if I could live one year all over again, in spite of the misery and the angsty or drunken mistakes I reiteratively made, it would be eleventh grade.

I took out that year's notebook to relive that passion.

Here's one of the dooderdaffles I wrote back then:

An Open Letter to Seventeen

Dear Seventeen,
  a number.

  You are a number.

  You could be 19, or 32, perhaps 5, or maybe even 47. But no, you chose to be 17.

  Some could say Seventeen was "built." People, Seventeen is not Rome. It is not built in a day, nor in seventeen years. Seventeen is not built, but sort of created, in a mish-mash of stupid romances, of masturbating whilst listening to rock music, of downing a whole litre of cookies and cream ice cream and then crying and then vomiting, of nights racing from one point of the city to the next and then not remembering a thing (through the headache) the next day, a collection of 8:00 AMs pretending to take notes but actually doodling out lyrics in the margins, of professing love for coffee when it's really for the high, of smoking to look cool, of playing guitar to look cool, of wearing jean jackets and skinny jeans and jean shirts to look cool, of crying in the bathroom so as not to risk that coolness, of writing poetry (on your wrists, with knives), of making playlists but then never uploading or burning them, of ogling at books without reading them, of ogling at notes without studying them, of ogling at bodies without touching them, of ogling at phone numbers without calling them, of making mistakes, should be making more, sneaking the car out, crashing into another car before reaching the pavement, of hating your hair, her hair, loving his, shouting at your parents, seeking their hugs, wishing I could fly somewhere else, being homesick, listeing to music to ignore the noise, listening to noise to ignore the life, jogging out the litre of ice cream that you couldn't bring yourself to vomit, getting tired after the first mile, stopping after the second, to lay on the grass, look at the clouds, and see them go by…

  Seventeen, I don't understand you, because I don't understand myself. But that's okay, I'll keep on trying. I've got until Eighteen catches me, after all.

  And I hope it won't!

Yours forevermore.



(Wishing I could commit all of those mistakes over again. Wishing the climax of my life hadn't been eleventh grade.)

Toodles,
An Almost Twenty-Year Old

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Interior Design

Picture of my trip to NYC a few weeks ago that has absolutely nothing to do with the matter of the post.


I tweeted something about interior design a few days ago, and it got me a bunch of Martha Stewartish new followers, so I guessed if I did a whole blog post on interior design, it might get me on TV or something.

The only problem is that this post is not going to be about interior design per-se, but about the fact that I have realized that, when it comes to picturing my dream habitat, it inevitably falls either into the category of  adorable house or funky loft.

For example:

  • Whereas I summon dreams of the beautiful garden with an abundance of poplars and cherry trees and flowers of all sorts I would have, I imagine the funky loft as being (obviously garden-less but) an oasis full of funky, funky house plants. Succulents and the like everywhere.
  • While in my dreams the adorable house is located at least considerably in the middle of nowhere, a quiet, quiet place, the funky loft is naturally set in the middle of Providencia or another really alive and diverse neighbourhood of the like.
  • The adorable house is decorated in wooden tones and homey shit like, who knows, flowery quilts and knitted whatnots and I seriously haven't given this part much thought. I do know, however, that the funky loft has very, very funky art noveau (that's the one from the 50's, right?) deco, and a collection of vinyls and very cool art.
  • Yet both have very loved bookshelves.
I would keep on writing but I'm tired of changing fonts and I think it can be summed up in this:

The adorable house is basically a very Anne of Green Gables aesthetic.

The funky loft basically looks like my writing workshop teacher's home:



 (These pictures are from her Instagram but, please, if you follow her, don't tell her about my existence because NOBODY KNOWS ABOUT THIS BLOG. The why is reason for another post.)

Toodles,
Ana


Friday, April 17, 2015

Hey



I've become a lazy blogger and resorted to this:

Crossing out the shit I've done

Upping the font size of shit I'm about to do

Graduated high school. Kissed someone. | Collected something really stupid. Smoked a cigarette| Got so drunk you passed out. | Gone to a rock concert.Helped someone. | Gone fishing. | Watched four movies in one nightGone long periods of time without sleep. | Lied to someone. | Snorted cocaine. | Failed a class. | Smoked weed|Dealt drugs. | Been in a car accident| Been in a tornado. | Been to a funeral| Burned yourself (this is a hilarious story please remind me to tell it to you someday.) | Ran a marathon| Cried yourself to sleep. | Spent over $200 in one day. | Flown on a plane. | Cheated on someone (does someone cheating with you count?) | Been cheated on. | Written a 10 page letter. | Gone skiing. | Been sailing| Had a best friend. | Lost someone you loved. | Shoplifted something. | Been to jail. | Dangerously close to being in jail. | Had detention. | Got in trouble for something you didn’t do| Stolen books from the library. OH MY GOSH I'M NOT THE ONLY DEGENERATE SOUL THAT DOES THIS? Gone to a different country. | Dropped out of school| Watched the “Harry Potter” movies. | Had an online diary. Hey guys | Had a yard sale. | Had a lemonade stand. | Actually made money at the lemonade stand. Been in a school play. | Been fired from a job. | Swam with dolphins. | Taken a lie detector test. I probably dreamed this one up but I feel I have. | Voted for someone on a reality TV show| Written poetry| Read more than 20 books a year. What if I generally read more than 40 books a year. | Gone to Europe| Loved someone you shouldn’t have. Most of us could say so much about this one we just don't. | Used a coloring book over age 12| Had surgery. | Had stitches| Taken a taxi. | Seen the Washington Monument. | Had more than 5 IM’s/online conversations going at once. | Overdosed. |Been in a fist fight/split one up. | Gone surfing in California. | Had a hamster/guinea pig. | Pet a wild animal. | Used a credit card| Did “spirit day” at school. | Dyed your hair. | Got a tattoo. | Got straight A’s. | Been on the Honor Roll. | Know someone with HIV or AIDS. |Made out with someone. | Played on a sports team. | Snuck out of the house. | Swore at a teacherGone laser tagging| Had a romantic relationship| Been on the TV. | French braided| Skinny-dipped. | Driven a car. | Performed in front of an audience| Gone bungee-jumping. | Been to Mexico. | Crashed a car. | Sky dived. | Been kissed in the rain. |Made an 11:11 wish| Drank alcohol. Ok so I'm like CURRENTLY drinking alcohol. Made a mistake. You mean like been human?

So my life apparently has been pretty interesting. Shouldn't be able to complain.

BUT IF BLAIR WALDORF COMPLAINS SO WILL I!!!! MUAHAHAHAHAHAAA.


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