tried to write about the perils of psych major dating for someone’s birthday, and this song is the result haha. i don’t have equipment/editing software to make the quality any better. let’s just call this “lo-fi by force”. also haven’t done this sort of thing in a long, long time.


You pull out Sternberg on the second date
I find it funny that you’re trying to triangulate
These feelings that we feel, just to make sure they’re real
Is it passion, or intimacy, or can we commit
You think I’d just up and quit
You’re worrying ’bout nothing, I’m sure of it
You say that you’re fine, then ask “R U Mine?”
Don’t overthink it

Sit back and enjoy the ride
There’s no need to analyze every other word
It’s just absurd to think
I’m anything other than yours

Okay, let’s play it this way
We could go on all day
If I asked for a straight answer
So I’ll just put my hand there next to yours
I mean no offense, but how could someone be this dense?
But you recognize the subtle pleas
In my blog post ambiguity, so what gives?


Finally you put it out there
Caught me unprepared
Do you like me, yes or no?
Well-structured enough question, you have my full attention
To hell with apprehensions,
Like I’m twenty, and you’re eighteen
And I don’t mean to sound obscene,
But let’s just say you fill my brain with dopamine


Went through hell and back for Vantage Magazine. I’m reposting it here because I want to add my own photos + a link to its Storify. Check out our site and my co-staffers’ reviews, as well!

[View the story “Rissa x Oatmeal Diet” on Storify]


There’s a particular psych experiment that comes to mind when I look back on my diet. The Stanford Prison Experiment is exactly what it sounds like—a simulation of prison conditions where people played the role of prisoner and prison guard. Although it was set to run for two weeks, it had to be cut short on the sixth day due to how seriously the prison guards took their roles. The prisoners were subjected to hazing and other emotionally scarring acts of cruelty.

What am I getting at with this? You think you are consuming the food, but it will ultimately consume you.

I promise it will all make sense once you read my diet log.


In all its simplicity and fiber-rich goodness, oatmeal has become a household staple. I chose the oatmeal diet because, based on my inability to cook anything that isn’t preceded by the word instant, it was sustainable and realistic.

The plan—which I copped from—is simple enough to follow: I’d have a one half-cup of oatmeal for breakfast, another half-cup of oatmeal for lunch, and any kind of low-calorie dinner.

I aim to eat almost exclusively oatmeal throughout the day; the plan was to constantly think up ways to make the wonder-grain taste at least a little interesting to the palate.

DAY 01: Off to a good start!

The diet is starting off well enough, what with all my determination to get the two weeks over with as soon as possible. Googling for the results fellow fad dieters got, I found a lot of people who were happy with eating oatmeal twice, nay, thrice a day because they liked the warm, satiated feeling it gave them.

I have a plethora of supplies in the kitchen to enhance the flavor (or lack thereof) of what is to be my life-source for the next few weeks; we had cinnamon, yogurt, apple slices, raisins, honey and brown sugar, just to name a few of my favorites.



My first breakfast is a half-cup of plain yogurt mixed with a half-cup of apple-cinnamon oatmeal, paired with my ever-present cup of black coffee. This isn’t a bad way to start the diet at all. It’s a visceral sort of pleasure to have the warm goop slide down one’s digestive tract. Kind of like being hugged from the inside, if that makes any sense.

Seeing as I am a student for most of the week, I’ve also decided to start bringing oatmeal to school. I’ve prepared two small jars, just the right size to hold half-cup servings, of raisin-cinnamon oatmeal. I threw in an apple into the lunchbox, for good measure.


Reactions from seatmates range from curious (“What is that?”) to pitiful (“I’m so sorry for you, your meal looks so sad.”) but with the common denominator of disgust, because oatmeal isn’t the prettiest whole grain there is.

Dinner is what Parokya Ni Edgar would lovingly call tortang talong. I’m going to sleep happy and well fed. Read More

the wrought-iron fences i’ve built are actually decrepit veneers.


“we’re doing this–

they examine the new material, unimpressed. they themselves had come from the forge. they have an eye for weaklings. familiar with its oxidic darkness, backs burdened with decades of ache, knotted, emblazoned with lashes


that should have healed over ages ago. proof that they’ve had it much worse; it’s masochism and an odd notion of pride that keep them reopening. each wound a medal, an example set; each weapon smote, every shield borne out of pain. of course they feel–how can they not. they cannot lay on their backs after a day’s work without convulsing.  they actually have the gall to say

–we love you.”

“too weak. add more copper into the mix. try again tomorrow.” so be it. the flawed cast-iron is melted, back into formlessness.


you’re inexorable, stuck in the medieval age.

In middle school, I attempted to capture my immense admiration for this singer-songwriter. I spared no “role model” scrapbook project and no planner cover to do what I had to; the cacophonies of (unencumbered, numbered) words + scary-detailed photo collages were litanies of my adoration for you. I mean, just look at that flow chart down there. (Not to mention this entire category.)

You brightened up the better chunk of my childhood, and still are the undisputed champion of my Most Played list. You may never see this, but I hope you have the best of birthdays. Thanks for the inspiration, Jason Thomas Mraz.

Love, the Professional Clockwatcher.

P.S. Countless references on my blog have been made with your songs in mind.


There will always be certain characters that you can tell have amazing stories. Some of them, like these gentlemen, wear their stories on their sleeves–or on their skin, and with whatever they’re immersed in doing. The puppeteer wasn’t putting up a show, by the way–he was just spending quality time with his friend.

I really want to know your stories, but damn my shyness.

(On a sort-of related note: I miss having an actual camera. My phone can only take so much zooming.)

So I’ve been playing this horrendously translated Vietnamese bootleg of Pokemon Crystal. The amount of Engrish in the game is migraine-inducing. This article isn’t even exaggerating. Fresh out of playing another round of Vietnamese Pokemon Crystal, I’m not even sure I’m typing in correct grammar anymore. I’m not sure if that modifier is properly placed. Hell, I’m not sure of anything anymore.

In any case, please appreciate the fruits of my screencapping labor.

dj walnut


Read More

Second in the series. Stay tuned for Cece.


(Click on the image to download a .rar of the mix tape!)

1. Your Body Is a Weapon (The Wombats)
2. Nothing New (Lisbonne)
3. Crueler Kind (San Fermin)
4. Miserable (Tokyo Police Club)
5. Sell Yourself (Cage the Elephant)
6. Taste Me (Griefjoy)
7. Sic Transit Gloria… Glory Fades (Brand New)


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