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susie — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 03:59:54 +0000

scopophobia is the fear of spectators, of being seen.
soteriophobia is fear of dependence on others.
spectrophobia is the fear of specters, of ghostly beings.
stenophobia is the fear of narrow spaces.

this summer i have enjoyed many comic books. pornographic ones, ones about ghostly spirals, and one [치즈 스위트 홈] about a cat with large, expressive eyeballs. i loved the latter so much that i also watched the animated version and experienced paroxysms of joy, a rapturous empathy, over this face:

this face, this face! this face is my current desktop. this cat’s face is my true face, this cat’s feeling is my feeling. it is the feeling i have when my coworker says, “hi!” so i look at her, and she tells me about her morning, and i look at her, and she tells me about her day, and i look at her, and she tells me about her summer, and i look at her, and she tells me about her life, and i look at her, and i think, “you mean nothing to me.”

i looked for other series to enjoy. my usual source recommended this one:

but i did not like the look of this husky with his high, firm breasts.

instead i read the way of the gladiator. i enjoyed such anecdotes as the hippopotami eating a boatload of virgins with rouged nipples, so i wanted to experience more of the beefcakes’ ways… through netflix i watched an american television program called spartacus: blood & sand.

i will review it.

first i will explain the title:

the “spartacus” is the angry, slim, fighting hero.

the “blood” is in the title because the gladiators fight. consequently blood shoots out of the body to express the body’s discomfort.

the “sand”… well, it’s a great disappointment; because of the title, i had high expectations for the sand. but the sand is just there, on the ground, it is literally just a kind of dry dirt. when i watch this show i worry that the sand will get inside of the fighters’ panties and chafe the groins; the panties are in the casual, masculine style.

next i will explain my emotions towards the show.

first was fear, because this program is too manful. i will admit that sometimes, i like men; but only one at a time, and not the thick kind, and i never like twenty of them to just come at me all at once. in this show, all the thick men just come hollering at you all at once, yelling, and their thighs rage and thunder and eventually blur together into one massive thigh, like a voltron made of thighs.

next i felt terror. so NOISY, these men! always they make such a hullabaloo! don’t they know it raises the blood pressure? i worry so much for their health, what with the chafing of their groins and the high blood pressure.

then i felt hunger. because the program is too long, exceeding 30 minutes. i went to eat and forgot to view the rest of the show because i was busy eating a tomato and looking at a good cat in my yard.

so the emotions of this show are fear, terror, and hunger, all peppered with maternal worry. here is my advice to spartacus: “drink more antioxidant-enriched green tea and wash with water instead of olive oil.”

in conclusion, i do not recommend spartacus: blood & sand, because none of the men on this program are dream husband materials.

and that is a picture of my desk. i made a green rabbit and a deer this past sunday and three tiny poops made out of clay, but i didn’t picture them, i have to paint them gold

susie — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 03:02:48 +0000

“undr” is my new mantra.

yesterday i rested and made:
1. fluffy paper
2. dead blue pig-dog (he’s ugly)
3. tragic bear (held together by pins until i can find proper joints)
4. necklace (my favorite braid to make)
5. thaumatrope

the thaumatrope is an old optical toy: a paper disc spins on a string, merging the two faces into a single image. this thaumatrope demonstrates sleep paralysis [가위눌림].

during sleep paralysis i’m always aware of being trapped a breadth away from reality. recently i “woke” to see a man hunched in my bedroom. i knew it was just a trick of light, but i couldn’t un-see his body, long and black, dead still except for the twitching of his fingertips, and the wet white light in the corners of his eyes. his lips were slightly parted, and there were no inhalations of breath to punctuate the low, desperate sound that hissed from his throat. i understood this noise came from the plumbing in my apartment, not from any phantom; i knew that once i was fully awake, the illusion would resolve itself. i waited. i could hear my neighbors’ movements, and my window glowed as the pre-dawn blue transmuted into a.m. gold, but i couldn’t rouse completely. i was still trapped between sleeping and waking as the man’s hands started shaking.

the thaumatrope makes me remember… do you remember, when we were children? we would race from one room to another, and understand that the wall we passed was not a single mass, but two faces, back to back, with a space in between. do you remember longing to see the ghosts that lived in that unseen space? we would imagine ghost games, inventing rules and backstories, and at some point the space between reality and play would diminish to the thinness of a paper disc.

diary pages:

i thought of the optical toy again as i tried to keep my body from going into autopilot mode while socializing. i felt worn because i had to be a thaumatrope and spin my mind, words, and expressions into a coherent, consistent personality, and to form responses that were coherent and consistent with others’ conversation. i have no hatred for people; these people were intelligent and lovely; they just weren’t special to me.
i do wish i were a little better with people though. i talked to steve a while ago and he showed me how stupid and gullible i am… except nobody’s mistreated me, nobody’s lied to me, nobody’s made any promises to break to me. i let myself be cheaply used. i have to do better by trusting in facts and actions without superimposing my own baseless assumptions and expectations. i have to see past illusions. so to inspire myself i have been bellowing this song all day:

BE A MAN / WE MUST BE SWIFT AS THE COURSING RIVER
BE A MAN / WITH ALL THE FORCE OF A GREAT TYPHOON
BE A MAN / WITH ALL THE STRENGTH OF A RAGING FIRE
MYSTERIOUS AS THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOOOOOOOOOOOOOON

i love to sing this part in my deepest, most hunky voice because it inspires me to be crazy manly like mulan. i like very much the word “beefcake” so i’m trying to have the qualities of such, as i understand the “beefcake” to mean… i try very strenuously… every day i am trying to be crazy manly and hunky, like a river, typhoon, raging fire, and the moon, ALL AT ONCE…

but…

…i am 97 pounds of weak meat, so i can’t wrestle huns… i could not even open a jar of preserves today… i cried during a movie trailer about talking owls because the music told me to cry… i cried through toy story 3… i cried while reading a book i didn’t even like… while playing fatal frame, i screamed “NO!” every time a ghost attacked and paused the game so i could flail/cry/shake… i make teddy bears… and i make pig-dogs…

is hard to be manly.

susie — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 05:43:18 +0000

i can not post more, because i’m working on my incredible novel.
it’s a love story, of course. the one magnificent line i crafted today:

“his hair was somewhat brown, as were his long pants.”

susie — Mon, 12 Apr 2010 08:09:25 +0000

i haven’t posted any paintings, because they are too large to scan.
in march, i made a booklet (20-page story) for someone,
and i liked it so much that i’m going to make one every month.
i illustrated with a sharpie and a letraset marker…
simple tools, nice break from big paintings.

here are 12 pages from my diary. i always keep it in my purse.

susie — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 10:07:26 +0000

I.
“where did i leave my last breath?” a silk moth despaired.
because her sense of direction had been impaired,
she reached for a compass — but her arm wasn’t there.
phantom limbs clutched at nothing and pointed nowhere.

II.

you can buy another shirt with my pictures. i’m glad this was printed because i thought of my cousin when i drew it. i wanted to send it to her. here are a doll and a bag i am making for her, too:

pay attention to the mustachioed cat i drew on the bag. that mustachioed cat is a real cat and my current muse. she is now one of my important people/cats.

III.
what else happened recently?

i fell asleep at the opera, because i am a classy lady…
i became obsessed with the line, “i admonish my dung-lotus!” from midnight’s children and wished i were somebody’s dung-lotus…
i sat on two coat hangers; they broke…
my best friend made me watch breakfast at tiffany’s, and the only thing i enjoyed about it was the name “holly golightly”…
i got my revenge by making her watch carlito’s way, which is a brian de palma movie, and therefore shit. but it’s a different shit than breakfast at tiffany’s; it is the kind of shit that becomes fertilizer for thousand-petaled dreams in my dung-lotus soul. my favorite scene is when al pacino with his manly muttonchops tells his bitch:

chubby pink hearts exploded out of my eyeballs at this scene.
why? why do i love this scene? for many reasons!
and by “many” i mean “one.”
this one reason is that young al pacino plays my ideal man: a romantic prince with a tough guy exterior. so basically, my dream husband is like a tiny, gorgeous puppy stuck inside of a deadly cactus.

i made that picture, to show my dream husband. (and no, the bones serve no anatomical purpose… because the bones are puppy treats for the dog to eat or to bury for fun! ^_~)

so this is what i like to dream every morning as i eat cocoa puffs with soy milk out of my plastic gold tony montana goblet. if you find such a man, please send him to me. you can send him naked but packed safely in bubble wrap by usps priority mail (no insurance necessary). i will pay for all shipping and handling costs.