Old Diaries and Broken Things

in the wake of getting a new computer (finally!) I’ve come to realize this, that being cut off from the world wasn’t that bad. i actually embraced this Dickinson-esque way of life; being broke and having broken technology is your own personal and free retreat, away from all the things that worry and distract you (as a writer).

it’s good to go back to simple things and write from scratch– literally. if you’re lost with something, go and try just writing, writing anything, with paper and pen. i don’t know, i felt more constrained trying to accomplish a first draft of a piece when typing it up instantly on a computer. you’re not impressing anyone with writing in pen and paper, you’re apt to mess up and that’s fine, just scratch that mother out! it never fails, and you’ll always end up with something good.

it’s also a good way to improve handwriting over a period of time– which sadly will never happen for me. at least my hand is better than it was in seventh grade- high school. yes, i know because i found my old diaries, funny old things! but i don’t care to really discuss the contents of them without looking like Andy Samberg jizzing in his pants 😛 the one person to embarrass you without fail is your younger self.

Some Life Hacks for a Girl in San Francisco:

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Know where banks are located. And hardware/art stores.

There’s always some substantial meal under $5 everywhere. Seriously.

Buy scarves in Chinatown.

You’re never going to get a seat on a BART train to the East Bay unless you do the following: catch the next (always constant) train towards SFO and get off at Civic Center Station or 16th Street; wait for your train there. There’s your seat and time killer.

Avoid the embarrassment of needing a bathroom when you’re nowhere near a public place. Pop into fancy hotels like Hyatt or Hilton if within distance.

Greet the MUNI drivers.

The back door on Muni. And always step down.

Free WiFi down at the Embarcadero Ferry Building.

“The White Bicycle”

Fuji!

like the mountain that stands, it’s there in the crowd in a weekday rush. it is morning, an underground tunnel, and a clearing for the white, wiry rust that he leans against the waist. mud cakes the tires; rags wind around the handles. it’s not something to notice really— it can’t fold up for the convenience of others nor does it shine so brilliantly in a dark metallic-like black.

but i could get away on it.

let it take me somewhere like a mountain, a new grandeur unseen in my commonplace commute, route, and life. it is a soft pearl blankness, a canvas for color and charisma, because that’s what it was built for— it was built to last, and built to endure whatever stakes so high or low to be faced. i see it here in this now, in this well-worn age, simple and patient and blank. it is a morning commute. the trains are filled with the rush and excitement, of only the people they carry.

i see now that fastened to the bottom are new pedals, bright and neon green. a good omen here— for there is yet to be life, life all over again for the steel vagabond.

THEY LIVED AND LAUGHED AND LOVED AND LEFT.

As told by James Joyce, in the most simplest and loveliest words to sum up the universal human story.

This was written on a sympathy card at work. It felt too broad to credit as just a quote. It deserves our attention; it certainly caught mine. It’s one of the most beautiful proses concerning death. And the lack of punctuation keeps this a flowing, current little piece that captures It in writing.

Just keeping this in mind. Always.

Life as a Travel Sage

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In these last few months I’ve emerged as one of the contributing writers to the new travel site Travel Sages. It’s the perfect wanderlust place for intimate, personal experiences of cities widely know. Of course, I’ve been giving my insight to city living in San Francisco, and I’d love to have you guys check it out! I’m not the only sage, but I’ve written 4 articles so far for the site.

Go ahead, read! Here they are:

The Mystical Fog of San Francisco

A Happy Place and Happy Hour with the Original Irish Coffee

Join a Secret Celebration at Belden Place

Off the Beaten Tour Bus to Alamo Square

Check out their other featured cities and stories as well, all amazing and wonderful content! We have only been live about two weeks, but so far so good– great feedback and following, especially since we’ve been reaching out on domains such as Yelp and TripAdvisor.

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So Tonight I Got Home Late, Exhausted– then I remembered “Moon River” exists in music box melody on Youtube.

I also stumbled upon this little musing of a quote:

stop for just one second.

think about all the people you’ve secretly had a crush on. all the people you’ve found attractive, but never said anything to. every stranger you’ve temporarily fallen in love with on public transportation. all the people you’ve dreamt of and thought of in the early mornings.

and now take a moment to realize that you have been this person for so many people… and you have no idea.

— Tumblr user spookyphoque

Near-midnight intrigue of this though means one thing: Valentine’s Day is approaching at work, and I’m starting to feel the sentimental affects of it.

Aren’t strangers wonderful?

“Cool Kids”

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These people can go die. In all their being, waiting around with T’s of Oasis and Jarvis Cocker to the Strokes in order to signify this hierarchy of taste and experience in line—it all means nothing, not to me. They’ve all paid the same amount, drove the same distance (I’m pretty sure of it), and all have no exception to the head of the line—ahead of me.

            I’ve died and resurrected myself again, in every wandering thought I had in classes counting down to this moment and too weird that knowing now that this is the moment. It’s real, no longer an idle thought. It’s not even music anymore.
            This is going to be a night.
            Never could ask for a better birthday present, and I didn’t ask for Alyssa, Melissa, and Cat to be a part of this. But with three extra tickets in the package, had to put them to use. Had to make those girls’ lives worthwhile, too.
            I’m not so mad once the line’s moving. I’m elated, grinning, my mind all over the place—my eyes scanning the passing cheap luggage hole in the wall or that gritty-looking strip club for some reason called The Crazy Horse. I’m feeling crazy, but not for the sights of the voluptuous. I’m feeling crazy amongst my friends, that close-knit crowd around me of people who only relate to me in the same mania—I feel it in the cold air that’s telling me someone’s just lit up a joint.
            This isn’t just going to be a night anymore. I come to see this, just as I’m already in place to see one of the most significant bands in my life. At age sixteen, there’s not much room for definitive role models or icons—save those for the college conferences where they’ll be your guiding light. But you like to think you have role models, and cool ones at that. Arctic Monkeys were crazy. They were English. They must’ve been cool. The masses of shaggy heads and skinny jeans reaffirm this conclusion of mine.
            I was always told a live performance was worse than what the CD already fed me, and I couldn’t argue back due to my inexperience with any. It would ruin my hearing if anything. I realize I am fine though, only burdened with a plump pair of yellow ear plugs Mom bought for each of us. I don’t want any more burdens, and I’m only sixteen. I want to lose everything. Lose myself. And I am feeling it, as the lanky bodies tighten around us and I lose the other girls in seconds. I get Cat back. If I wanted to lose myself I sure didn’t want to be alone with strangers!
            The delightful smell of tequila floods the fresh air above, masking the dense sweat pouring from the masses as the lights dim. Is this a coincidence? All the senses turn upwards, to the air, the glowing electric stage, to the drum intro of “A Certain Romance,” the last song I played before the car took off from Concord hours before. I know it too well—it was a comforting sound to the new experience around me and my friend.
            I don’t want these people to die anymore. I want them to live, jump, sing horribly along to the tracks being performed by four considerably hot English rockers before my eyes. Who’s really cool here? Them? These people I wanted to do away with not that long ago? I smell the tequila again as I turn my nose up for fresh air. Something here is fresh tonight.
(image via Tumblr)

A new Blog for the New Year

I am a writer. Well in the works.

I work and live in the San Francisco Bay Area and am not shy to blogging. However, my original postings were not as successful as I hoped they would be. I’ve learned from my mistakes; and from this new year I plan to slowly move my old blog onto this new Dizzy Writer!
I graduated University of San Francisco, now in that fantastical stage en route to adulthood to find a job and a good space in time to write my mainly nonfiction and short stories. I started out as a novelist when I was a bad writer. Now I think I’m a decent writer, but that’ll be up to you as I continuously post some small works here.

As far as my writing platform, here’s this: I was an intern at McSweeney’s. interviewed the band The Airborne Toxic Event for an unpublished piece in The Believer, and read at various obscure word night readings around San Francisco. Currently I’ve taken my creativity into new realms, such as leading craft workshops for Paper Source in the City. I also contribute travel insights to my beloved home of San Francisco to travelsages.com.

As I freshly start anew here, I’m at a standstill. The world ahead in 2014 is continuous and unlived, and until we get there, this writer’s mind’s resting, until the life gets her dizzy once again.

P.K.

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