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.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, April 6, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, March 30, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Journey to the Precipice
When you were born, The Creator came and pressed his finger to your lips.
"Shhhh", he said. "you will remember what no one else does".
A scared child runs down the hallway of an empty house. Shadows chase her. She clambers into her room, where they cannot enter and dives under the covers of her bed. She is protected by a fortress. The walls glow while she sleeps and two dark figures stand behind the threshold. The tall one, who she has named Tom, stands and cocks his head to the side, a curious dog. Then he grins. His pale, dead face contorted with the grin as if it causes him pain. The blue-yellow tones of his skin are drowned out by the candle light in the room. His skin, hanging limply from his bones, (if he has any) ready to peel away and melt into the floor. The smaller one, about two feet high, with bright yellow eyes bares his teeth, a green algae color. He has no figure, more of a small lump with legs, no color, just a small black mass of shadow, but his eyes glow with the reflection of the candle.
The child knows she is safe, but they stand there, torturing her, keeping her from sleep. She rolls away from them, pulling the covers over her head, but leaving a space to breathe and more importantly, to see. She turns her head to make sure they are not getting closer. Terrified by the thought of them, she tucks herself back under the covers.
In her mind, she calls her angels. They appear in the middle of the room, glowing. These are not the angels of the bible, white, ethereal, winged. They are a ragtag bunch of spirits. Dead friends, guardians, people from the past. They begin from the right-hand side of the door, spreading a glowing barrier from the floor to the ceiling, working their way clockwise. they work all the way around the room to the other side of the door and seal the door with the same light.She knows she is safe
"Shhhh", he said. "you will remember what no one else does".
A scared child runs down the hallway of an empty house. Shadows chase her. She clambers into her room, where they cannot enter and dives under the covers of her bed. She is protected by a fortress. The walls glow while she sleeps and two dark figures stand behind the threshold. The tall one, who she has named Tom, stands and cocks his head to the side, a curious dog. Then he grins. His pale, dead face contorted with the grin as if it causes him pain. The blue-yellow tones of his skin are drowned out by the candle light in the room. His skin, hanging limply from his bones, (if he has any) ready to peel away and melt into the floor. The smaller one, about two feet high, with bright yellow eyes bares his teeth, a green algae color. He has no figure, more of a small lump with legs, no color, just a small black mass of shadow, but his eyes glow with the reflection of the candle.
The child knows she is safe, but they stand there, torturing her, keeping her from sleep. She rolls away from them, pulling the covers over her head, but leaving a space to breathe and more importantly, to see. She turns her head to make sure they are not getting closer. Terrified by the thought of them, she tucks herself back under the covers.
In her mind, she calls her angels. They appear in the middle of the room, glowing. These are not the angels of the bible, white, ethereal, winged. They are a ragtag bunch of spirits. Dead friends, guardians, people from the past. They begin from the right-hand side of the door, spreading a glowing barrier from the floor to the ceiling, working their way clockwise. they work all the way around the room to the other side of the door and seal the door with the same light.She knows she is safe
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
I'll see you when we get there
i'm here, reflecting on the past five years.
it has been a long journey, and i feel that i have come a long way. but i also know there is a lot of work to be done. i miss those that are gone, and those that are here but are not around.
i remember the phone calls. i remember the voices that told me. shaky, in shock, and somehow vacant. the voice that you use when all you can do is survive. when people ask you how you are and the reflexive, "i'm doin' alright, you?" automatically comes out. you operate like a robot, all programmed, no impulse, no creativity, no emotion. because once one emotion comes out, they pour out in a release that cannot be stopped.
fall
recover
fall
recover
fall
recover
you get a little more removed each time so that when you fall, you barely feel it anymore. you just know the familiar thud against the ground. you hear the familiar sounds of your life rushing by uncontrollably.
i come from a place where the young die unjustly. i come from a place where people kill each other and kill themselves. where violence is so deeply rooted in our culture that we begin to take it out on ourselves. the violence turns inward and it keeps going.
it has been a long journey, and i feel that i have come a long way. but i also know there is a lot of work to be done. i miss those that are gone, and those that are here but are not around.
i remember the phone calls. i remember the voices that told me. shaky, in shock, and somehow vacant. the voice that you use when all you can do is survive. when people ask you how you are and the reflexive, "i'm doin' alright, you?" automatically comes out. you operate like a robot, all programmed, no impulse, no creativity, no emotion. because once one emotion comes out, they pour out in a release that cannot be stopped.
fall
recover
fall
recover
fall
recover
you get a little more removed each time so that when you fall, you barely feel it anymore. you just know the familiar thud against the ground. you hear the familiar sounds of your life rushing by uncontrollably.
i come from a place where the young die unjustly. i come from a place where people kill each other and kill themselves. where violence is so deeply rooted in our culture that we begin to take it out on ourselves. the violence turns inward and it keeps going.
Monday, August 18, 2008
So You're Going to be a Senior...
as i approach my senior year of college i feel scared, overwhelmed, relieved, happy, and nervous all at the same time.
i have 8 months to get together my whole senior show and be ready to face the world as an adult with a degree...
i have been having a recent onslaught of small panic attacks whenever i think about school. they are usually followed by nausea and exhaustion. i start a week from today. it will be a long, scary road, but i also feel like it's going to go by quicker than i anticipate. i know that "tomorrow" i'm going to be standing at senior show, shitting my pants and wondering where the last 8 months have gone. i know it will be exciting, but it scares the hell out of me to think that shortly, i will be completely responsible for everything that happens to me. no more class, no more papers, no more critiques...
no use in wasting time,
back to Otis in a week!!
i have 8 months to get together my whole senior show and be ready to face the world as an adult with a degree...
i have been having a recent onslaught of small panic attacks whenever i think about school. they are usually followed by nausea and exhaustion. i start a week from today. it will be a long, scary road, but i also feel like it's going to go by quicker than i anticipate. i know that "tomorrow" i'm going to be standing at senior show, shitting my pants and wondering where the last 8 months have gone. i know it will be exciting, but it scares the hell out of me to think that shortly, i will be completely responsible for everything that happens to me. no more class, no more papers, no more critiques...
no use in wasting time,
back to Otis in a week!!
Monday, August 11, 2008
traveling through the mental landscape
it's time once again to evaluate my personal journey.
this summer has been a whirlwind adventure emotionally, geographically, and mentally. my limits have been tested and it has come to my attention that i no longer have the capacity for bullshit.
i have driven between Los Angeles and San Francisco at least half a dozen times in the past 4 months. the 6+ hour drive gives you a lot of time to think, as if you are not already lost in your head half the time. my car does not have air conditioning. driving in 95 degree weather for that long with nothing but warm air blowing on you really makes you value simple things in life. if you are ever in a situation similar to that, i suggest closing the windows and turning off the fan for 3 minutes. you will sweat and maybe even get dizzy. but open that window after those 3 minutes and i guarantee, its the best thing you've ever felt. it's not healthy to do this drive with such frequency, nor is it financially advisable with the current gas prices, but like my mom says, "love is supposed to make you retarded".
yes, ladies and gentlemen, i did it for boy. and i don't regret it one bit.
i traveled to the south of france for nearly a month. i have never been there and i speak very little french. it was a test of the mind over there in france. i have never been away from my friends or family for that long, i have always had one or the other. i was with my boss and her two amazing daughters. she and i travel well together and it was a good experience for me. the hard thing was trying to build a relationship while being half way around the world. it taught me a lot about myself and my boundaries. it also taught me a lot about love. it showed me that i can endure very difficult things (as if we didn't already know that) and come out on the other side in one piece. i have always known this about myself deep down, but this brought it to light.
another thing i learned was that i am a down-ass-bitch and a brilliant young woman. i am willing to make sacrifices and compromises for the things that are important to me without sacrificing myself. it has been a hard balance, but for me, the feelings have endured and although the present state of things is not ideal, i know that what i feel is true. i know that no matter what happens, i have been completely honest with myself. no more punk rock nightmares, no more addicts and alcoholics. no more delusional distractions from my personal demons. only loving people who i love who love me. people who see me for what i really am and still like me. people that i can spend days on end with and not get sick of them. people that feel like home. love is one of those things that you can try and try to describe, but it just makes you completely retarded. yep, love makes you retarded. you trip, fall, stumble, stutter, fumble, and slip. but it feels really nice sometimes. other times, it feels like hell. but we endure.
this summer has been a whirlwind adventure emotionally, geographically, and mentally. my limits have been tested and it has come to my attention that i no longer have the capacity for bullshit.
i have driven between Los Angeles and San Francisco at least half a dozen times in the past 4 months. the 6+ hour drive gives you a lot of time to think, as if you are not already lost in your head half the time. my car does not have air conditioning. driving in 95 degree weather for that long with nothing but warm air blowing on you really makes you value simple things in life. if you are ever in a situation similar to that, i suggest closing the windows and turning off the fan for 3 minutes. you will sweat and maybe even get dizzy. but open that window after those 3 minutes and i guarantee, its the best thing you've ever felt. it's not healthy to do this drive with such frequency, nor is it financially advisable with the current gas prices, but like my mom says, "love is supposed to make you retarded".
yes, ladies and gentlemen, i did it for boy. and i don't regret it one bit.
i traveled to the south of france for nearly a month. i have never been there and i speak very little french. it was a test of the mind over there in france. i have never been away from my friends or family for that long, i have always had one or the other. i was with my boss and her two amazing daughters. she and i travel well together and it was a good experience for me. the hard thing was trying to build a relationship while being half way around the world. it taught me a lot about myself and my boundaries. it also taught me a lot about love. it showed me that i can endure very difficult things (as if we didn't already know that) and come out on the other side in one piece. i have always known this about myself deep down, but this brought it to light.
another thing i learned was that i am a down-ass-bitch and a brilliant young woman. i am willing to make sacrifices and compromises for the things that are important to me without sacrificing myself. it has been a hard balance, but for me, the feelings have endured and although the present state of things is not ideal, i know that what i feel is true. i know that no matter what happens, i have been completely honest with myself. no more punk rock nightmares, no more addicts and alcoholics. no more delusional distractions from my personal demons. only loving people who i love who love me. people who see me for what i really am and still like me. people that i can spend days on end with and not get sick of them. people that feel like home. love is one of those things that you can try and try to describe, but it just makes you completely retarded. yep, love makes you retarded. you trip, fall, stumble, stutter, fumble, and slip. but it feels really nice sometimes. other times, it feels like hell. but we endure.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
lost in lost angeles
written sometime during midterms week:
lately, i have been drawn to the water. and not in a, "hey lets go to the beach sometime" way, but in a "i need to go to the beach and jump in the water NOW" way. i have been four times in the past week or so, three times to dockweiler and once to big dume. if you can make it out there, big dume is worth the trip, its rocky and there's a reef, but there are also tons of freckled little blond boys running around and clean water and awesome tide pools.
i approach the shore hesitantly. i have not been in the water in months. as the mother ocean greets me, i step into the water, the familiar cold sensation rushing through my legs. i feel the sand under my toes. i wiggle them. i look out toward the horizon and inhale deeply, sensing the cold mist filling my lungs.
something inside me crinkles and cracks open like the crust on the top of sand when the salt mixes with the sand when the tide has gone out. it looks solid from afar, but when you step on it, it breaks open to reveal the warm soft sand underneath.
there is something so alluring for me about the beach. i can remember being drawn equally when i was a child, looking out onto the shore from the car and yearning to run full force out into the water. it's not a simple or subtle thing. it's an overwhelming and powerful need. A need in the way that one needs to breathe. i don't feel truly at peace unless i am near water. river, stream, creek, ocean, rain, any body of water will do. fresh or salt, the water makes me feel at home.
having lived in san francisco for all of my life has harbored this need to be near the water. when you are surrounded by water on 3 sides, you kind of can't get away from it. it becomes part of your life. bridges and shores, fisherman and small boats, boat houses, glass beach, sunsets, sunrise. the clearest you've ever seen are on the san francisco shores. nothing is as pure or untainted for me. i am sure that somewhere in nature there is something more pure, but for me, it is the clearest thing i have seen in my travels. from the shores of mexico to the beaches in egypt, i have seen nothing better than a sunrise at the pier in san francisco, and i have seen many.
the world is complicated and i find myself so restricted when i am at school, working, with friends, or elsewhere. even when i am by myself, i feel, at times, so held in. but when i am in the ocean, in the water, i am free. i am myself at the most pure state. i am in my element. i walk through the water away from the shore, towards the great open space held before me. the horizon seems infinitely far away. if i had a boat i would sail toward it until i cold take it in my hands and hold it.
when i am hurting, emotionally or physically, the only medicine that seems to cure me is the salty sea air. a wash in the ocean.
the cold water licks my legs and pulls me forward. i tuck my dress up around my thighs and walk in farther. seaweed swirls around my ankles, teasing and taunting me to go farther. the waves rise like flames and engulf my waist, wrapping around me like the arms of a lover. the sand brushes past my feet and i feel as though i am floating on the surface of some wave, i watch and wait for the water to beckon me more. we play a game. we push and pull each other back and forth. i dare it to come out and it dares me to walk in. we flirt and dance, i walk with a swirling motion, gravity no longer affecting me, like a soft tango or waltz.
then she starts to push. she senses my uncertainty and knows that if i go in further i will not return to shore, i will wade there forever in the surf, content to abandon civilization. so she pushes me out, waves slapping my legs hard, like a mother wolf pushing its pups toward food. she pushes and i follow her lead, slowly retreating to the sand, to the shore. she enjoys the visit, but will not indulge in keeping me for herself.
i return to the shore, tingling and cold, covered in salt and sand, in a complete state of bliss and enjoyment.
we have bonded for as long as it took for me to reconnect with her. we danced, we swayed, we played and sang. and when it was time, she sent be back, with clarity and peace as a farewell.
lately, i have been drawn to the water. and not in a, "hey lets go to the beach sometime" way, but in a "i need to go to the beach and jump in the water NOW" way. i have been four times in the past week or so, three times to dockweiler and once to big dume. if you can make it out there, big dume is worth the trip, its rocky and there's a reef, but there are also tons of freckled little blond boys running around and clean water and awesome tide pools.
i approach the shore hesitantly. i have not been in the water in months. as the mother ocean greets me, i step into the water, the familiar cold sensation rushing through my legs. i feel the sand under my toes. i wiggle them. i look out toward the horizon and inhale deeply, sensing the cold mist filling my lungs.
something inside me crinkles and cracks open like the crust on the top of sand when the salt mixes with the sand when the tide has gone out. it looks solid from afar, but when you step on it, it breaks open to reveal the warm soft sand underneath.
there is something so alluring for me about the beach. i can remember being drawn equally when i was a child, looking out onto the shore from the car and yearning to run full force out into the water. it's not a simple or subtle thing. it's an overwhelming and powerful need. A need in the way that one needs to breathe. i don't feel truly at peace unless i am near water. river, stream, creek, ocean, rain, any body of water will do. fresh or salt, the water makes me feel at home.
having lived in san francisco for all of my life has harbored this need to be near the water. when you are surrounded by water on 3 sides, you kind of can't get away from it. it becomes part of your life. bridges and shores, fisherman and small boats, boat houses, glass beach, sunsets, sunrise. the clearest you've ever seen are on the san francisco shores. nothing is as pure or untainted for me. i am sure that somewhere in nature there is something more pure, but for me, it is the clearest thing i have seen in my travels. from the shores of mexico to the beaches in egypt, i have seen nothing better than a sunrise at the pier in san francisco, and i have seen many.
the world is complicated and i find myself so restricted when i am at school, working, with friends, or elsewhere. even when i am by myself, i feel, at times, so held in. but when i am in the ocean, in the water, i am free. i am myself at the most pure state. i am in my element. i walk through the water away from the shore, towards the great open space held before me. the horizon seems infinitely far away. if i had a boat i would sail toward it until i cold take it in my hands and hold it.
when i am hurting, emotionally or physically, the only medicine that seems to cure me is the salty sea air. a wash in the ocean.
the cold water licks my legs and pulls me forward. i tuck my dress up around my thighs and walk in farther. seaweed swirls around my ankles, teasing and taunting me to go farther. the waves rise like flames and engulf my waist, wrapping around me like the arms of a lover. the sand brushes past my feet and i feel as though i am floating on the surface of some wave, i watch and wait for the water to beckon me more. we play a game. we push and pull each other back and forth. i dare it to come out and it dares me to walk in. we flirt and dance, i walk with a swirling motion, gravity no longer affecting me, like a soft tango or waltz.
then she starts to push. she senses my uncertainty and knows that if i go in further i will not return to shore, i will wade there forever in the surf, content to abandon civilization. so she pushes me out, waves slapping my legs hard, like a mother wolf pushing its pups toward food. she pushes and i follow her lead, slowly retreating to the sand, to the shore. she enjoys the visit, but will not indulge in keeping me for herself.
i return to the shore, tingling and cold, covered in salt and sand, in a complete state of bliss and enjoyment.
we have bonded for as long as it took for me to reconnect with her. we danced, we swayed, we played and sang. and when it was time, she sent be back, with clarity and peace as a farewell.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
in first gear
we started off slow, and built up speed.
before i knew it, we were in 5th gear, careening down the highway with no particular place to go.
and suddenly, you told me to drop it down to second.
the gears were grinding, the engine screaming and i was afraid it would explode.
we slowed down, approaching grid lock and i dropped down to first.
you looked at me as if i had done something wrong.
because for you, first gear was not enough and third was too much, but i still loved you in fifth.
before i knew it, we were in 5th gear, careening down the highway with no particular place to go.
and suddenly, you told me to drop it down to second.
the gears were grinding, the engine screaming and i was afraid it would explode.
we slowed down, approaching grid lock and i dropped down to first.
you looked at me as if i had done something wrong.
because for you, first gear was not enough and third was too much, but i still loved you in fifth.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
face forward, back to the land
i have seen the face of hatred,
and it's funny because it looks a lot like the face of ignorance.
i have seen the face of fear,
and it looks a lot like the face of love.
i have looked into the eyes of adversity and seen the swelling tide within them.
i have watched the hearts of those around me fall to pieces, crumble and blow away.
but today,
i face the sky.
and it's funny because it looks a lot like the face of ignorance.
i have seen the face of fear,
and it looks a lot like the face of love.
i have looked into the eyes of adversity and seen the swelling tide within them.
i have watched the hearts of those around me fall to pieces, crumble and blow away.
but today,
i face the sky.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Yemaya and Oshun: a ceremony
we went to the land about a month or two after Frick died. we had all been through some traumatizing experience, and it was a chance for us to go out in nature and find peace. sarah taught us a ceremony. it was the reunion of the sister orishas Yemaya and Oshun. Yemaya is the goddess of the sea, of salt water. Oshun is the goddess of sweet water, the rivers and lakes. we waited until night time and she gathered us around next to the fire and presented a few objects.
components: fresh water, sea salt, a bowl, cedar branches, rose petals.
Sarah arranges the cedar branches around the fire in a path. she holds out rose petals and explains that we are talking about death. the rose petals represent beauty. at death, beauty is always present. i feel a rush of sadness through me. i can see the words "no regret, no blame, no pain, ONLY BEAUTY" written on the wall in permanent marker. images of dead eyes resound in my mind.
she assigns me the job of holding a large bowl of sweet water at the dark end of the path. i stand by myself, in darkness while people come around the circle, pick up a pinch of salt and then come to my end and place it in the bowl and then proceed out of the circle. i stand alone, isolated, in darkness, tears streaming down my face as my arms weaken under the weight of the bowl. this experience is a metaphor for my life. people come and go, but in the end, i am standing alone, bearing the weight of our experiences.
we walk in a procession down a steep hill that leads to the river. we are singing Amazing Grace. we get to the edge of the water and each person tosses in a handful of rose petals and i reunite the two orishas Yemaya and Oshun as i pour the salt water from the bowl, mixed with my tears into the river. i pour the pain of loss and heartbreak into the river and i watch it get taken by the current and swept down under the surface of the water. i am the messenger of our pain, the group of people that are here with me. we pour our sorrows into the river and feel the water take them. they come out of us and become a part of the universe, no longer a private, internal experience, but a thing that all kind share. we become a part of a world older than our grandfathers, our thoughts, feelings, and spirits are rejoined with that from which we came.
components: fresh water, sea salt, a bowl, cedar branches, rose petals.
Sarah arranges the cedar branches around the fire in a path. she holds out rose petals and explains that we are talking about death. the rose petals represent beauty. at death, beauty is always present. i feel a rush of sadness through me. i can see the words "no regret, no blame, no pain, ONLY BEAUTY" written on the wall in permanent marker. images of dead eyes resound in my mind.
she assigns me the job of holding a large bowl of sweet water at the dark end of the path. i stand by myself, in darkness while people come around the circle, pick up a pinch of salt and then come to my end and place it in the bowl and then proceed out of the circle. i stand alone, isolated, in darkness, tears streaming down my face as my arms weaken under the weight of the bowl. this experience is a metaphor for my life. people come and go, but in the end, i am standing alone, bearing the weight of our experiences.
we walk in a procession down a steep hill that leads to the river. we are singing Amazing Grace. we get to the edge of the water and each person tosses in a handful of rose petals and i reunite the two orishas Yemaya and Oshun as i pour the salt water from the bowl, mixed with my tears into the river. i pour the pain of loss and heartbreak into the river and i watch it get taken by the current and swept down under the surface of the water. i am the messenger of our pain, the group of people that are here with me. we pour our sorrows into the river and feel the water take them. they come out of us and become a part of the universe, no longer a private, internal experience, but a thing that all kind share. we become a part of a world older than our grandfathers, our thoughts, feelings, and spirits are rejoined with that from which we came.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Love, The Blues, and Adrenaline
Hey all you kids out there in stereoland,
I have spent the last 4 days straight at school from sometime in the early afternoon until at least 3 or 4 in the morning. I believe I am running out of steam. But that is unrelated.
There comes a time in your life when you feel like you are done playing games and you just want to grow up and lead a normal life. I wonder what normal looks like anyway. Normal has always seemed boring to me. Big house, white picket fence, 2.3 children, a husband that works, and....where do I fit into this picture again? I am nobody's wife, I am nobody's woman, I am not a baker, a waitress, a house cleaner, or a homemaker. I don't put my hair in curlers, I don't cook dinner every night, and I don't wear an apron.I know this may seem a little rash, but I kind of don't know what home life is supposed to look like. I see what my family looked like. My dad working hard every day, ruining his back and knees, my mom taking night classes when I was a kid to get her credential. Dinner was on the table (thanks to my grandmother) and for the most part we all sat down and ate together every night. That's not to say that my childhood was perfect. I had my fair share of family feuding. But that's not what I'm talking about.
I have reached a point where childish games and superficial relationships are no longer fulfilling enough. I have realized that the friendships that I have had and the friends that I have lost make me see friendship and relationships differently that a lot of other people. I see friendship as a malleable thing. Friendship to me has always gone deeper than "oh, we hang out". I have had my share of pseudo-non-platonic friendships with people. I'm not talking about sex. I'm not talking about romance. I guess the closest word to it is intimacy. There is this level of friendship that if you can reach it, will change your entire perspective on what a friend is and can be. It is a friendship where you can be physically, emotionally, and spiritually close with someone without all of the things that come along with relationships. It is a complex and tricky thing to have, I won't lie. But it is also beautiful and precious. I don't know many people that can relate to me on this, but if you're out there, you'll know what I mean. Flings and fair weather friends aren't enough anymore. Romantic relationships are borderline impossible at this point. I don't expect people to be willing to give of themselves so much as I have given to a select few people. It can be exhausting, but it can also be the most rewarding thing you will ever experience.
Is this what love looks like? Do we wait around for that exact feeling? And, excuse the pity party but, what if the person we found that feeling in is gone? Do you strive for that same feeling, or take each individual for a new opportunity to learn and grow in a completely unique and challenging way?
The moments in my life seem so much more digestible when I look at them from afar. When seen in a macro lens, they become way too intense for me to handle. One memory acts as a catalyst for another, and out pours my entire life in the car on the freeway to an unsuspecting friend that until now has only heard snippets of these things.
It sends you in a downward spiral, especially when you think about what tomorrow means and it seems impossible to scrape your way back up the walls of this rabbit hole that we are all falling down and suddenly, no one cares but me.
so, love. You hear all the songs, you read all the poetry, you see all the movies, but you have no idea what it means until it completely smacks you in the face. You stumble, you fall, you can't make coherent sentences. It feels like you are actually degenerating. You feel crazy. I asked my mom, "why do I feel so stupid?". she told me, "love'll do that to you honey". Makes me wonder if this love thing is really good for us. It kind of seems like a blinder to hide the ugly truth. But I think that's a little pessimistic, even for me. I guess I'll figure out what it means as I go. For now, I'm just tumbling down, without pause, full force, headed straight for some insane crazy upside down wonderland.
In conclusion to my rant:
--Adrenaline is not infinite.
--The Blues make you...blue
--love makes you stupid
good night,
get some sleep,
dream sweet dreams.
I have spent the last 4 days straight at school from sometime in the early afternoon until at least 3 or 4 in the morning. I believe I am running out of steam. But that is unrelated.
There comes a time in your life when you feel like you are done playing games and you just want to grow up and lead a normal life. I wonder what normal looks like anyway. Normal has always seemed boring to me. Big house, white picket fence, 2.3 children, a husband that works, and....where do I fit into this picture again? I am nobody's wife, I am nobody's woman, I am not a baker, a waitress, a house cleaner, or a homemaker. I don't put my hair in curlers, I don't cook dinner every night, and I don't wear an apron.I know this may seem a little rash, but I kind of don't know what home life is supposed to look like. I see what my family looked like. My dad working hard every day, ruining his back and knees, my mom taking night classes when I was a kid to get her credential. Dinner was on the table (thanks to my grandmother) and for the most part we all sat down and ate together every night. That's not to say that my childhood was perfect. I had my fair share of family feuding. But that's not what I'm talking about.
I have reached a point where childish games and superficial relationships are no longer fulfilling enough. I have realized that the friendships that I have had and the friends that I have lost make me see friendship and relationships differently that a lot of other people. I see friendship as a malleable thing. Friendship to me has always gone deeper than "oh, we hang out". I have had my share of pseudo-non-platonic friendships with people. I'm not talking about sex. I'm not talking about romance. I guess the closest word to it is intimacy. There is this level of friendship that if you can reach it, will change your entire perspective on what a friend is and can be. It is a friendship where you can be physically, emotionally, and spiritually close with someone without all of the things that come along with relationships. It is a complex and tricky thing to have, I won't lie. But it is also beautiful and precious. I don't know many people that can relate to me on this, but if you're out there, you'll know what I mean. Flings and fair weather friends aren't enough anymore. Romantic relationships are borderline impossible at this point. I don't expect people to be willing to give of themselves so much as I have given to a select few people. It can be exhausting, but it can also be the most rewarding thing you will ever experience.
Is this what love looks like? Do we wait around for that exact feeling? And, excuse the pity party but, what if the person we found that feeling in is gone? Do you strive for that same feeling, or take each individual for a new opportunity to learn and grow in a completely unique and challenging way?
The moments in my life seem so much more digestible when I look at them from afar. When seen in a macro lens, they become way too intense for me to handle. One memory acts as a catalyst for another, and out pours my entire life in the car on the freeway to an unsuspecting friend that until now has only heard snippets of these things.
It sends you in a downward spiral, especially when you think about what tomorrow means and it seems impossible to scrape your way back up the walls of this rabbit hole that we are all falling down and suddenly, no one cares but me.
so, love. You hear all the songs, you read all the poetry, you see all the movies, but you have no idea what it means until it completely smacks you in the face. You stumble, you fall, you can't make coherent sentences. It feels like you are actually degenerating. You feel crazy. I asked my mom, "why do I feel so stupid?". she told me, "love'll do that to you honey". Makes me wonder if this love thing is really good for us. It kind of seems like a blinder to hide the ugly truth. But I think that's a little pessimistic, even for me. I guess I'll figure out what it means as I go. For now, I'm just tumbling down, without pause, full force, headed straight for some insane crazy upside down wonderland.
In conclusion to my rant:
--Adrenaline is not infinite.
--The Blues make you...blue
--love makes you stupid
good night,
get some sleep,
dream sweet dreams.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
winter break
my eyes reach across the dense yet charmingly cozy landscape that is San Francisco. the past year of my life has been spent running circles around my two lives. when i was younger i had my palm read and the person told me that i have two life lines which means that i will always live two lives, always walk down two paths and always struggle to keep them in balance.
So as I stand atop twin peaks, gazing down at this place that is so familiar to me, i am comforted knowing that although progress has taken its toll on our little city, the landscape remains essentially the same. the silhouette of the monstrous tower condominiums looms next to the bay bridge as a sign of progress for the sake of progress. San Francisco cannot expand laterally anymore, so it must go up. I question whether we can fit anymore people here.
While i watch the Los Angeles urban and suburban sprawl spread like cancer over the once serene flat lands and the smog reach its soot-covered hands out to what used to be wetlands and Indian territory, I wonder if San Francisco will ever get that bad and I pray that it won't.
I spent a lot of time this break contemplating myself and where i fit in this world. i live in a metropolitan area that is very different from most metropolitan areas and when i am in LA i live in a working class area with people who look like me and work like my parents work and earn the wages my parents earn.
As i strive to do well in my department at school i wonder what effect my demographics will have on the work world when i enter it. i am entering a field that gives you a one shot chance at either being great or being doomed to be poor and homeless. Since concept art is so competitive, i want to up my game this semester so that i can equal if not surpass my classmates. five drawing classes should do the trick. but i wonder, when this is all said and done, if i get an amazing high paying job, will i still be able to harbor the same values that i do now? or will i be sucked down into the abyss of the workaholic and the strive for a bigger paycheck?
It seems as though in the art world you are either on top or you're a nobody. there are a few freelance and independent artists that are breaking these boundaries lately, but it is rare and you still have to know the right people and the right people still have to know you. networking is a three-headed demon that can either make or break your career. if the right people remember you for the right reasons, you can make it big. if they dont remember you at all, or worse, if they remember you but hate you, you're S.O.L.
Let's get one thing straight. I am not, nor have I ever been or doubtfully will be one of those people that lives in their sketchbook. I try and try to sit myself down and sketch for hours. Often, at most, i get about an hour of work done. Soon thereafter, i start either hating everything i've drawn, or i just go stir crazy and throw the damned thing across the room. the edges of the page seem limiting to me and i long for a bigger canvas. i long for the medium, space, and skill to make the pictures in my head a reality. Much of the time, these representations come out muddled, half-assed, or just plane ugly. i think the best bet for me at this point is a multimedia project where i can just let loose. again, time, space, medium, skill, all factors in the completion of the piece. not to mention that i have no idea what to make it about. as a concept artist i must discipline myself to draw draw draw. no sleep, just draw, no eat, just draw, no life, just draw. but many of you who know me would say, "F* that!"
...and i agree. the pull between my personal life and my art life is strong and unyielding. it is relentless and un-tamable. my art side is an amorphous being that swirls with colors and undefinable shapes that choke me in my sleep. and my personal life is like an angry tree goddess curled in the corner of my mind, ready to strangle me with her long branches at any moment for neglecting her.
i must find a metaphorical rolling pin with which to roll myself out to a medium thickness without bubbles or rips so that i may comfortably fit over the pie that is my life.
So as I stand atop twin peaks, gazing down at this place that is so familiar to me, i am comforted knowing that although progress has taken its toll on our little city, the landscape remains essentially the same. the silhouette of the monstrous tower condominiums looms next to the bay bridge as a sign of progress for the sake of progress. San Francisco cannot expand laterally anymore, so it must go up. I question whether we can fit anymore people here.
While i watch the Los Angeles urban and suburban sprawl spread like cancer over the once serene flat lands and the smog reach its soot-covered hands out to what used to be wetlands and Indian territory, I wonder if San Francisco will ever get that bad and I pray that it won't.
I spent a lot of time this break contemplating myself and where i fit in this world. i live in a metropolitan area that is very different from most metropolitan areas and when i am in LA i live in a working class area with people who look like me and work like my parents work and earn the wages my parents earn.
As i strive to do well in my department at school i wonder what effect my demographics will have on the work world when i enter it. i am entering a field that gives you a one shot chance at either being great or being doomed to be poor and homeless. Since concept art is so competitive, i want to up my game this semester so that i can equal if not surpass my classmates. five drawing classes should do the trick. but i wonder, when this is all said and done, if i get an amazing high paying job, will i still be able to harbor the same values that i do now? or will i be sucked down into the abyss of the workaholic and the strive for a bigger paycheck?
It seems as though in the art world you are either on top or you're a nobody. there are a few freelance and independent artists that are breaking these boundaries lately, but it is rare and you still have to know the right people and the right people still have to know you. networking is a three-headed demon that can either make or break your career. if the right people remember you for the right reasons, you can make it big. if they dont remember you at all, or worse, if they remember you but hate you, you're S.O.L.
Let's get one thing straight. I am not, nor have I ever been or doubtfully will be one of those people that lives in their sketchbook. I try and try to sit myself down and sketch for hours. Often, at most, i get about an hour of work done. Soon thereafter, i start either hating everything i've drawn, or i just go stir crazy and throw the damned thing across the room. the edges of the page seem limiting to me and i long for a bigger canvas. i long for the medium, space, and skill to make the pictures in my head a reality. Much of the time, these representations come out muddled, half-assed, or just plane ugly. i think the best bet for me at this point is a multimedia project where i can just let loose. again, time, space, medium, skill, all factors in the completion of the piece. not to mention that i have no idea what to make it about. as a concept artist i must discipline myself to draw draw draw. no sleep, just draw, no eat, just draw, no life, just draw. but many of you who know me would say, "F* that!"
...and i agree. the pull between my personal life and my art life is strong and unyielding. it is relentless and un-tamable. my art side is an amorphous being that swirls with colors and undefinable shapes that choke me in my sleep. and my personal life is like an angry tree goddess curled in the corner of my mind, ready to strangle me with her long branches at any moment for neglecting her.
i must find a metaphorical rolling pin with which to roll myself out to a medium thickness without bubbles or rips so that i may comfortably fit over the pie that is my life.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
that ole devil called love
Billie Said it Best:
"It's that ole devil called love game
Gets behind me and keeps giving me that shock again
Put a ring in my eyes
Tears in my dreams
And rocks in my heart
It's that sly ole-sun-of-a-gun again
He keeps telling me that I'm the lucky one again
But I still have that ring
Still have those tears
And those rocks in my heart
Suppose I didn't stay and ran away
Wouldn't play
That devil-what a potion he would brew
He'd follow me around
Build me up, tear me down
Till I'd be so bewildered
I wouldn't know what to do
Might as well give up the fight again
I know darn well he'll convince me
That he's right again
When he sings that siren song
I just gotta tag along
With that ole devil called love
He'd follow around
Build me up, tear me down
Till I'd be so bewildered
I wouldn't know what to do"
"It's that ole devil called love game
Gets behind me and keeps giving me that shock again
Put a ring in my eyes
Tears in my dreams
And rocks in my heart
It's that sly ole-sun-of-a-gun again
He keeps telling me that I'm the lucky one again
But I still have that ring
Still have those tears
And those rocks in my heart
Suppose I didn't stay and ran away
Wouldn't play
That devil-what a potion he would brew
He'd follow me around
Build me up, tear me down
Till I'd be so bewildered
I wouldn't know what to do
Might as well give up the fight again
I know darn well he'll convince me
That he's right again
When he sings that siren song
I just gotta tag along
With that ole devil called love
He'd follow around
Build me up, tear me down
Till I'd be so bewildered
I wouldn't know what to do"
Sunday, December 9, 2007
reflection, the things we don't want to see
it has recently occured to me that i am not like anyone else. i am completely different in many ways from all of the people around me. but i also know that everyone is different, everyone is weird, even if they don't show it and everyone, at some point in their lives, feels alone and isolated.
sometimes i wonder if it is just me that feels this drastic flaming difference between themselves and the outside world. i have come to a place that i never imagined myself staying in for very long and i have tried to make a home here.
Los angeles is weird. los angeles is bipolar. in some senses it embraces all of these different people and gives them a place to stay. drive six miles from where you live, and you see a whole different demographic and a whole different lifestyle. but for me, that transition is slow. if you drive six miles from where you live in san francisco, chances are, you'll end up in the water. people in SF don't have to go very far to step outside of their demographic. LA is weird like that. in la, you can stay in your own little bubble and you never have to experience life if you don't want to. you go to your local coffee shop, your local grocery store, your laundromat. but that's what irks me about it. people don't step outside of themselves. people stay in their neighborhoods and keep to themselves and never experience anyone different from them. it's frustrating for someone like me who loves to meet new people and find out what their lives are like. i have worked in non-profits for years and i always meet new people and i always find out something new about life. it's hard to be in a place that is so "diverse" on paper, but so segregated in reality.
in san francisco, you only have to walk two blocks before you enter a whole new neighborhood. i live on the edge of two neighborhoods and all kinds of people are always coming through.
i'm never comfortable in just one place. i like scenery. i like to change my atmosphere and shake things up. i am not tame, nor am i boring. this has become painfully obvious in the past few months. school is daunting and perilous and i have been scraping my way uphill for the past two months. home is tugging at me. my father has been in and out of the hospital this week and i am missing my family very much.
but still, i am trying to find the beautiful things in life. i think what keeps me going is those little bits of beauty that we see everyday and take for granted. sunsets, intense formations of clouds, how clear the night sky in LA can be after it rains. i have not seen the stars so brightly since i moved here until the other night. to see the entire orion formation brought up something in me that has been repressed for almost three years. the need to be in nature. the need to know that i am still a part of a living breathing earth. that we are all so small when we look up at the sky. mostly. the comfort of knowing that we all look at the same sky, that we all live on the same planet, and that even though war and hate may separate us, that those things keep us united and have made a bond that goes deeper than that.
as i carve my path in this world, i try to remember that everything i do affects people. every move that i make has an affect on someone. as an artist, i have a responsibility to express humanity. i have a responsibility to show people that they are not alone in the world. that someone else feels like they do and that they are not freaks, that they are not abnormal, and that they are just like me. so when i feel isolated and alone, how am i supposed to make everyone feel included in my little world?
i'm missing my lost ones, my angels. i walk through this world, pretending that i have not experienced the things that i have and that i live a normal life like everyone else. we all have our demons, but how often do those fears and paranoias come through into this world? i call them angels because that is the closest word that i can think of to express what they are to me. i look to them for guidance, i look to them for protection, for comfort in times of dispair and pain. the thing is, the loss of these people has caused much of the pain that i often need comforting for.
i realize that i live two lives. i live the one at home where everyone knows me and my deal and understands that when monica is upset, she's upset for a reason. but i also live the life here in LA where when i'm upset people are like, "whoa, what the hell was that?"
it's hard to balance these two lives. it's hard to feel like a whole person when i feel like so many pieces of me are missing.
i know....emo, right?
sometimes i wonder if it is just me that feels this drastic flaming difference between themselves and the outside world. i have come to a place that i never imagined myself staying in for very long and i have tried to make a home here.
Los angeles is weird. los angeles is bipolar. in some senses it embraces all of these different people and gives them a place to stay. drive six miles from where you live, and you see a whole different demographic and a whole different lifestyle. but for me, that transition is slow. if you drive six miles from where you live in san francisco, chances are, you'll end up in the water. people in SF don't have to go very far to step outside of their demographic. LA is weird like that. in la, you can stay in your own little bubble and you never have to experience life if you don't want to. you go to your local coffee shop, your local grocery store, your laundromat. but that's what irks me about it. people don't step outside of themselves. people stay in their neighborhoods and keep to themselves and never experience anyone different from them. it's frustrating for someone like me who loves to meet new people and find out what their lives are like. i have worked in non-profits for years and i always meet new people and i always find out something new about life. it's hard to be in a place that is so "diverse" on paper, but so segregated in reality.
in san francisco, you only have to walk two blocks before you enter a whole new neighborhood. i live on the edge of two neighborhoods and all kinds of people are always coming through.
i'm never comfortable in just one place. i like scenery. i like to change my atmosphere and shake things up. i am not tame, nor am i boring. this has become painfully obvious in the past few months. school is daunting and perilous and i have been scraping my way uphill for the past two months. home is tugging at me. my father has been in and out of the hospital this week and i am missing my family very much.
but still, i am trying to find the beautiful things in life. i think what keeps me going is those little bits of beauty that we see everyday and take for granted. sunsets, intense formations of clouds, how clear the night sky in LA can be after it rains. i have not seen the stars so brightly since i moved here until the other night. to see the entire orion formation brought up something in me that has been repressed for almost three years. the need to be in nature. the need to know that i am still a part of a living breathing earth. that we are all so small when we look up at the sky. mostly. the comfort of knowing that we all look at the same sky, that we all live on the same planet, and that even though war and hate may separate us, that those things keep us united and have made a bond that goes deeper than that.
as i carve my path in this world, i try to remember that everything i do affects people. every move that i make has an affect on someone. as an artist, i have a responsibility to express humanity. i have a responsibility to show people that they are not alone in the world. that someone else feels like they do and that they are not freaks, that they are not abnormal, and that they are just like me. so when i feel isolated and alone, how am i supposed to make everyone feel included in my little world?
i'm missing my lost ones, my angels. i walk through this world, pretending that i have not experienced the things that i have and that i live a normal life like everyone else. we all have our demons, but how often do those fears and paranoias come through into this world? i call them angels because that is the closest word that i can think of to express what they are to me. i look to them for guidance, i look to them for protection, for comfort in times of dispair and pain. the thing is, the loss of these people has caused much of the pain that i often need comforting for.
i realize that i live two lives. i live the one at home where everyone knows me and my deal and understands that when monica is upset, she's upset for a reason. but i also live the life here in LA where when i'm upset people are like, "whoa, what the hell was that?"
it's hard to balance these two lives. it's hard to feel like a whole person when i feel like so many pieces of me are missing.
i know....emo, right?
Saturday, November 10, 2007
flipbooks, tightrope walkers and thumbelinas
weird dream diary
entry # 1:
mike and i are driving to malibu in a red convertible that reminds me of a cross between the mr. toad's wild ride car and the chitty-chitty bang-bang car. the car flies up off the road and into the air. i ask him to park the car and i jump out and float down from it on a hoola hoop.
entry # 2:
i am in a big old hotel walking around the grounds with my friends. we come across a pond/pool that is overgrown with vines and lily pads. the architecture is greek and the pond is surrounded by a kind of maze with pillars, walls and floating stones. there is a woman in a tattered Victorian dress sitting at the edge of the pond one one of the stones. she is screaming, "they killed my daughter! they killed my daughter!" i walk over to the edge of the pond. she hands me a small girl, who is the size of my hand, drenched in water. she asks me to do something. i rinse the girl off in the pond, and move the hair out of her face. she lays there limp and pale. i look up at the woman, tears streaming down her face.
p.s. these dreams are copywrited....
entry # 1:
mike and i are driving to malibu in a red convertible that reminds me of a cross between the mr. toad's wild ride car and the chitty-chitty bang-bang car. the car flies up off the road and into the air. i ask him to park the car and i jump out and float down from it on a hoola hoop.
entry # 2:
i am in a big old hotel walking around the grounds with my friends. we come across a pond/pool that is overgrown with vines and lily pads. the architecture is greek and the pond is surrounded by a kind of maze with pillars, walls and floating stones. there is a woman in a tattered Victorian dress sitting at the edge of the pond one one of the stones. she is screaming, "they killed my daughter! they killed my daughter!" i walk over to the edge of the pond. she hands me a small girl, who is the size of my hand, drenched in water. she asks me to do something. i rinse the girl off in the pond, and move the hair out of her face. she lays there limp and pale. i look up at the woman, tears streaming down her face.
p.s. these dreams are copywrited....
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