imperfect

Everyone lies.
No one can keep a secret even though we all have them.
No one wins in this game,
and anyone that thinks they've come close is blind.
No one is perfect, we are all flawed, ugly people.
The trick is to try to be as good as possible while you're here.
Not in order to win some prize or promise of heaven,
but to make your time here as liveable as possible.
Not only for yourself, but the people that have to deal with you every day.

"love everyone, trust a few, do harm to none" -william shakespeare

we all lose something. some part of ourselves to the universe.

it cuts you into pieces, takes a few, and you sit and try to glue them back together.
you try to fill in the holes, present yourself as complete.
it eats away at you and you try to hold onto what's left.
when it takes a break from trying to kill you, to consume you whole,
you breathe.
you celebrate.
you smile.
then it comes back for more.
it scrapes out your insides.
it drains you dry.
it cuts open your veins and sucks up every drop.
and when you lay on the floor, empty and alone,
it's a relief.
it's a relief to be a shell, a deflated balloon,
because at least it's over.

so you build back up.
you heal,
you do your best to forget it all.
you smile more,
you laugh more,
you're happy.

and you never tell people about it because, well, no one wants to hear those kinds of stories.
even though we all have them.
even you.

From Wendy, to Peter

Once upon a time,
there was a little city that was full of people and full of light. There were families and houses, businesses and tall buildings. But most of all, there was love. There was so much love, in fact, that the little seven mile city could not hold all of it. So it sent its people out into the world to share its love.

There was one little girl who lived in the little city. All she wanted all her life, was someone to share her love with. She was a tiny gypsy whirl curl girl with lots of love and lots of power. She was a crystal pixie healer with a wild imagination and many dreams. At night, she would dream of a friend to share her love with. As she dreamed and dreamed, the world seemed to have other plans for her. The world needed her to heal people with her love. People who were sad, people who were sick, people who had no love of their own to give.

One day, a thing happened that the little girl could not love her way out of. Her friend, a shiny spiky dream techno beat boy was gone. All of the love they had for each other was not enough to save him from the sadness in his heart. It was that day that she realized that sometimes, people will be sad no matter how much you love them and that sometimes they will let this sadness consume them and block their love. After that, it seemed like people were disappearing all around her. Her blonde ocean love hummingbird girl was gone, her tripadellic funky slurricaine friend was gone, her dj jamma slamma ramma james was gone. All of the love inside her could not heal the sadness she felt. She knew it was still there, like a small ember in a pile of ashes, but she could not see it.

So when the little gypsy whirl curl girl was old enough, she went out into the world to try to learn happiness and love in a new place. A place that promised love and angels, beaches and sunsets. But once there, she realized that this place had no light and no love. It was made of fire and sadness and illusion.

It was there in the city of darkness and fire that the little curl whirl girl met a slinkster pirate cat hat tat boy. This picture pirate boy had dreamed his whole life of finding a city with light, life, people, houses, business, but most importantly, love. He also dreamed of meeting someone to share it all with. He seemed to have all the love that the girl had been missing. He was the boy from her dreams. He was from a far away place where people were angry and searching for love. He came to her with hope in his eyes, and love in his heart. The same small ember that glowed deep in her ash covered heart. But he too had been hurt by the sadness of life, by the dark and the fire of the city. He had been hurt so deeply that he could not see outside of his sadness. He did, however, see the love in her and it made him smile.

They fell in love and dreamed together and they could feel each others feelings from far away. They could make magic together and heal and laugh and love. They made plans for the future. She found home in him. She finally could see that love is not a place. Love is not a person, but it was something that is invisible, something that happens without you knowing. It takes you over and it makes you crazy. Their love together was the smell of jasmine and honeysuckle. It was the color of their eyes mixed together. Her dark cocoa, almost black eyes, mixed with his mostly blue, sometimes green, sometimes gray, sometimes hazel eyes. It was the flavor of a home cooked meal after a long time traveling. They put pictures in each others heads, they made color appear out of darkness. They inspired each other to make beautiful things. Her paintings were vibrant and full of surreal dream stuff. His tattoos were filled with life and danced on the skin.

Although they wanted nothing more than to share their love, the world saw fit to keep them apart. See, the pain and the hatred that surrounded them was so heavy, that the cat tat hat boy became poisoned. The fire and poison and darkness of the city clouded his vision. And so, he left the girl all alone to fend for herself in the sad city of demons.

The girl cried and cried for a long time. She would cry herself to sleep at night and wake up with tears in her eyes, nose, and throat. The tears choked her so she couldn't breathe. She missed him and she felt lost without him. She felt like she lost her home, lost her dreams, lost her color and the pictures in her head. Her sleep was filled with fear and poison, with knives and spikes and tears. She tried everything to not miss the pirate cat tat hat boy. She tried to go on adventures, she tried to make new friends, but she could not stop missing him. One night, she made a wish on a magic star that one day, the catty hat tat boy would see his love ember again and come home. She could not make home in this big dark, hot city full of illusions and lies, demons and devils.

She tried to see the boy again, but he was still poisoned. He told her he still loved her, that he missed her, that he wanted to be with her again, that he was sorry, so sorry. He knew he could never go back, he could never fix it. He wanted to try. But he could not come back because he was trapped. The look in his eyes scared her. She forced herself, even though it was hard, to turn away from him until he was able to find himself again. It hurt her to see the pain in his eyes, the frown underneath the smile that he always had, pasted on his face.

She could never feel happy again, driving down the streets and seeing the empty look in the eyes of the people, the hungry mouths and the grabbing claws. They tried to fill themselves with poison to pretend that they were whole. They put on masks and paraded around, pretending that underneath, there were no tears, no pain, no cries at night when they went to bed, hollow and alone. She could not stand it there. She could not stay. Even though she had made many friends there, and seen many beautiful things, she could never make this place her home.

So she went home to her little city to be with her gypsy pirate family. She ran from the darkness and planned to never look back. She knew that there was a possibility that she would never see the boy again.

Even though the boy was a cunning pirate tat boy, he was also, sometimes, a doofus. He was lost in the desert. He tried and tried to find her again, but he began to feel that he was forever wandering in the hot desert dirt and all he found was cactus dust and tumbleweeds. The gypsy girl knew he was lost. She could feel his blindness. And since she and the cat tat boy could always feel each others feelings, she could also still feel his love and his fear that he would lose her forever if he did not find her soon. She used all her magic and all her spells to help the cat hat tatty out of the dust. She asked her family and friends to help her. They lit candles to give him clarity, to open paths for him, to give him prosperity and good luck, to heal him from the pain that buried him so deeply. She performed a ritual, to lift the hate and pain that was thrown onto them. To remove and revoke the poison that had broken them apart.

She was still scared though, for the boy had left her once before and hurt her many times. For some reason, she still had faith in the boy. She could not shake him or leave him be. She would wake up every day, see his face, and shake her head to get the images out. She could not believe, after everything, that he would ever want to come back, to apologize, to make a mends. She was not sure if she would ever see him again. His small attempts to contact her had made it harder and easier at the same time. She knew he still cared for her. She knew he still thought of her. But it was not enough to make her ask him the question she really wanted to ask, to tell him the things that she really wanted to tell him. He was gone a long time...

So she went along with her life, smiling more and more, feeling less heavy, less sad. She had left the place that had made her so miserable and now, she could heal and be happy. Although things did not go perfectly all the time, outside of the fire city, she was able to let them go sooner and stand back up with more strength and ability. She started to make more art than she had in a while. But still, the boy lingered in her mind. She felt less sad about it now, but still cautious and still nervous.

All the while, the cat-hat-tat-fire dancing-inky-surfer boy was thinking similar things. He knew that he needed to see the girl again. He knew that he wanted to go live in the little city and see the lights every night, feel the love every day, and see the girl all the time. He wanted to drive through the hills and smell the ocean in the fog. He wanted the sunrises that looked like a frosty window with the light shining through. He dreamed of it his whole life. So he asked her a question that he had been very afraid to ask. He wanted to come be with her in her little Victorian love house with her gypsy pirate family.

But this was not easy for the gypsy pirate family to accept. They had seen the girl cry and scream, they had seen the empty sadness building under her eyes, the heavy weight pushing her shoulders down and cramping the invisible wings she had sprouting from her back. Once, the wings were full and bright, and sometimes, when she laughed, they fluttered and almost lifted her off the ground. But for a long time, she had not laughed, she had not smiled. So they did not want to welcome someone into their home who had stolen her smile, stolen her laugh, filled her eyes with tears.

The girl had faith. She was not sure why, but the sound in the boy's voice was different somehow. He told her the things he was thinking, the dreams he had. And although the both of them were terrified of what was going to happen, they were happy because they were talking again. They were smiling like they used to, the pictures were coming back into their heads. They started to dream together again. And even though they were sad about other things, they still smiled when they talked. The girl could feel the smile in his eyes, the fear in his stomach, and the weariness of being without her in his heart. So to ease the stress and fear and anxiety for them both, she began to tell him stories. She told him that he reminded her of Peter Pan, and she thought of herself as Wendy. And that this moment was like when Peter and Wendy met. Peter could not get his shadow to stick. Catty Tat could not find her through the dust. They wanted to run away to a land where they never had to worry about grownup things like bills and work, stress and hunger.

Knowing that there was no place where these things happened here on earth, they told each other stories. They told each other stories of love, heroes, dreams, magic, and happy endings. They were unsure of the future, but they had the stories, the dreams, but most importantly, they had love.

Home

Lately i've been thinking about home. where is my home? what is home?
home is not a physical place. it's not somewhere i can drive to. there is no door, no key, no windows. there are no stairs to walk up, no room to sit in, no bed to lay on.

home is the faces of the people i love. home is the hugs you give me. home is when you bury your head in my shoulder, and i feel your love seep into me. hold my hand, walk with me, tell me you love me. remember when we used to be happy.

home is a kind word, a note, a message. home is a soft touch, a kiss.
home is sleeping next to you, wherever we are in the world. when we have the same dreams, when we wake up together. home is your voice over the phone. home is in the corners of your mouth, the tips of your lashes. it lives in your fingertips, in the way you tie your shoes. it's in the arch of your foot, the inside of your wrist.

home is a small box of photographs tied with ribbon in the closet. home is your handwriting. it is in the bend of your elbow, the way you turn your head.

it's when you walk towards me, its when we reunite. home is the way you tell me that i'm smart, capable, confident, pretty.

its when you know exactly what to say to make me smile. home is in laughing, in drinking, eating together. it's in long drives to nowhere and long conversations with friends. it's dependability, it's stability, it's support, tears, hugs, taps. home is when i run my fingers through your hair.

home is when i look in your eyes. when i see endless pools, time, future.
i see you as a father, a brother, a son, a lover, a friend. a mother, a sister, a daughter, an auntie. it is where you walk, it is the smell of your laundry.

home is in the things you make, the meals you cook. the smell of food in the air. home is cold ocean water, rushing over my feet.

home is us.

it's like a love letter.
all of these clumsy thoughts cobbled together with masking tape.
you structure each sentence carefully, weaving each word into the next, making sure it flows delicately and precisely.
the end of each sentence has to smoothly transition into the beginning of the next.

it's like a dance.
each movement has to fall directly into the next, on point, on beat, in sync.
you start with one leg, one arm, and the rhythm works its way into your blood and trickles over your whole body. the moves become liquid, iridescent, one becomes the next and they are chained together to become one entity.

it's like a story.
it starts off slow and simple. there is a conflict, a climax, a resolution. there are ups and downs, highs and lows. little stories within stories. subplots that make up a legend. and you don't know you're being lead trough a maze to an ending that you never expected.

crumble, crack, break

you wake up every day and you do the best you can, right?
you do what you can in the time that you have, correct?

sometimes, when i try to pull my life back together, when the pieces are laying all around me on the floor,
when i pile them up and start to set them out in order, so i can glue everything back together,
sometimes, it just seems impossible.

this place will forever be a heap of broken promises.
it's piled high on the floor of my bedroom.

a stack of not-so-white lies is toppling over by the back door,
like pieces of paper, little contracts, little lies, little false hopes, teetering, ready to fall.

when i look out the kitchen window, there's a field of empty dreams
that i can see clearly, so far away,
wildflowers blowing in the wind, grass growing high.

in the attic is a web spun of wishes,
its gossamer strands swaying with the weight and age of the house.
it stays there in the shadows, the wood soaking up the tears and blood that surround it.

in a place like this you have to take those fragile, beautiful pieces of yourself and lock them away in a box.
you have to hide them and protect them, but not forget about them.

as the pieces fall off, i wrap them in little scraps of dreams and put them in a hatbox under my bed until i have the time and the space to glue them back on. sometimes i take them and string them by the window so that the light shines through.

when i return home, i can be that rag doll, pasted, scrapped, tacked, sewn together, the rough edges showing clearly.
i can sit in my hatbox, with the pieces of myself laying about, free to fall where they may.

when i am here, i have to sand everything down, so that the edges are smooth, glossy, pristine. i have to pretend i am whole, without cracks, splits, chips or dings.
i become hollow to survive. the outside is sparkly and fresh, while the inside is empty, starving, wasting away.

at home, i can sit in the sun and dry out, fall in the grass and break apart, melt in a pond and feel it all.

for now i am locked in the attic, with my broken pieces, spider webs, broken promises, lies, dreams and wishes stacked around me. i hold them close, pulling my rag-doll me tightly to my chest,
and i wait.

Maybe it would hurt a little less

If you could just be a footprint in the sand,
That washed away with the tide,
Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much.

If you were a sandcastle I spent all day building,
With turrets and princesses trapped in it's towers,
And a drawbridge that led to the place where our love grows,
And a wave knocked it all down,
It would still hurt less.

If I built us a little house to live in,
With terra cotta walls,
Lace over the windows,
A back yard for the dog to play in,
And a flower garden out front,
And a hurricaine knocked the whole thing down,
Reduced it to rubble and mud and ash,
It would still hurt less.

If I painted the walls with flowers,
And the night sky and life and death and birth,
And it always smelled like dinner and muffins and pie,
If I lit candles to protect us every night,
And always got you up on time for work,
And we grew old together,
And one night you passed in your sleep,
It would still hurt way less.

If we had children and we named them after myths,
Little faces that looked like you and me,
Little you's and little me's dancing around,
Learning to sing, play, laugh, and cry,
And it turned out just to be a daydream,
It would hurt less.

If I had made the whole thing up,
And you never loved me,
Never knew me,
If the whole thing was a figment of my imagintion,
It would most certainly hurt less than this.

Full-tilt Boogie, and other thoughts

As i procrastinate, i am thinking of movement.
I am working on my thesis, and working on my life.
Movement is so strange. sometimes there are points in your life where everything is swirling around you so fast that you can't seem to get a hold on anything. other times it is moving so slow that you feel like you are stuck and can't even take a step forward. currently, i am experiencing both. which i thought could never happen. school is moving so quickly that as i watch the calendar days fall away, i am becoming increasingly paranoid about what i am going to do after graduation. step one is to graduate, obviously. step two is to go home. i have decided that i cannot stay in LA after graduation. i need to go home and reconnect with myself. this place makes you forget who you are. over the past four years, it has slowly sucked out my soul. this may sound negative, but for me, going home is a positive thing. i need to be back in my element again, but i also need to renew myself in San Francisco. i cannot go back and fit into the same life that i had before i left. i am not the same puzzle piece as before. i have changed so drastically, that i expect it to feel somewhat like moving to a whole new city. one that i have never experienced before. my anxiety is mostly around finding a job up there that suits me. but i really don't have time to worry about that, it will come sooner than later and i can deal with it then. for now, i have to face the reality that i have about six weeks to get all of my paintings done in order to have enough time to properly prepare my senior show. its flying by, and i'm hoping to have a grasp on it in the next two weeks.

the slow part of my life is the personal part. i have been sitting, stagnant, for months. after a parting of ways, i was extremely upset, disoriented, and lost. i was in a real bad way. after sitting on my parents' couch for all of winter break, crying myself to sleep every night, and eating everything that could possibly fit in my mouth, i decided to get up. i couldn't sit and wait around for things to change, i had to make the changes myself. and now that things are coming full circle (slowly but surely-ish) i find myself having to be patient in a way that i never have before. i am forced to just sit and watch the days drag on. there is nothing i can do about it, there is nothing i can say to speed up the process. i have to wait. i hate waiting. i am a very impatient person. but if i rush things, i know it's going to blow up in my face. so in the meantime, while the magic does its work, and while the universe sorts things out, putting them into little files and pulling out old ones and moving them around, i sit.

there is a push and pull that is happening as a result of this dichotomy. i am flying around, trying to get all this work done, but then, out of nowhere, comes a moment of absolute stillness. sometimes it's peaceful and calming. other times it is unsettling and it makes me anxious. i don't know exactly how i am supposed to handle these two opposing parts of my life, but i am doing my best to be patient and keep working through them.

when i feel rushed, the slowness is where i want to be, and when i feel stuck, i crave the movement. it feels like i am in a whirlpool, being tugged around and sucked into the center. hopefully there will be answers there?

for now, i have no time for stillness in my work. i have to produce and i have no other option. i am letting the stillness be the top of the river water, looking calm and slow, and the movement be the undercurrent, ready to suck down anything that should so happen to dive in. that's a little terrifying, maybe i need a better analogy.

the only comfort i have is that time will keep ticking. and i will eventually come to an answer. everything is going to happen the way its going to happen, and when its going to happen. and it won't happen any other way.

presently, i am full-tilt boogie (as my teacher would say) on my work. taking a moment to pause, and enjoy the still quiet that surrounds me.