musings

Life certainly has a sense of humor -- My entire life for the last month has been mostly spent on work for school, save for a couple times where friends have dragged me out of the house (thank you again Cliffy for the Red Wings game!). But honestly, even when I was an undergrad, my life never centered around school to the degree is has now. Maybe that is the teaching element, but I can see instances where it's a lot more than that.

My 33rd year is dictated by the card of Death, which sounds ominous, but it's really not -- it's a constant state of renewal and growth, like my baby boy, Phoenix sheading his skin. Last year was the Hanged Man for me... and everyone knows how that turned out. If you don't, ask me -- but be prepared for me wanting to talk more about current events, because last year honestly feels like an utter waste of time to me. Necessary yes, but in the long run, a year waisting my best energy on fruitless enterprises.

My point about humor may sound cryptic, but I have no words to express the severe complexities I have encountered lately. To describe them, would endanger the fun! I am throwing my Luck to the Fates whole-heartedly, and sit back and watch where the pieces may fall.

Oh, and btw -- I'm on fire this semester ! lol 

8:32 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

My Saturday Night
Current mood: grateful

I woke up today, pretty refreshed after heavy sleep and intense dreams at a pretty decent hour compared to my pre-semester start sleep schedule for a Saturday afternoon. I rolled over, and consulted my ever-demanding list of priorities and groaned... then I immediately took a shower, went to school and graded my projects. Once I got home, I stared at my dishes for awhile and then decided it was best to go pack a bowl if I was going to spend 5 hours cleaning my kitchen. 

Now, I am normally a very focused person, and I love my never-ending list of responsibilities, but after the week I've had, I decided to declare Saturday night MY night, started my first sink of dishes and popped in a movie. It's a shallow sink, so not much can soak at once and 4 hours and 6 sink loads of dishes and a movie later, I decide I mind as well fold my last load of laundry before comtuining on with my kitchen mess.

Having just smoked a second bowl and pleasantly in a fog, I open my basement door to head down to grab my laundry, when I am confronted by hissing and fangs. There, on the bottom shelves that runs along the wall inside the door and serve as my pantry, is an adolescent oppossum that has decided to make a cozy bed amongst my thousands of plastic Meijer bags that I use for garbage can liners and cat litter. Needless to say, I stared at it for a few seconds before slamming the door and sitting down on my kitchen floor to laugh at first, and then ponder how on earth to eradicate it from my basement. Then as I am on the phone, I keep opening the door to peek at it -- and it just sat there calmly, gave itself a bath and curled up like a cat... which is disturbing to me, since it looks like some mutant cross-breed between a very large sewer rat and a domestic feline.

Anyone who has stepped foot into my scary basement understands what the dilemna is -- there are all these ledges and ducts that lead everywhere, so anything that really wanted to stay, would just run through the maze to an untouchable spot and just hide there. Now it's 9pm on a Saturday night, and I know I won't be able to enlist city help, but I call the non-emergency police station number anyway, since animal control isn't listed in my blue section of the phonebook. The women who gave me the numbers couldn't stop laughing and I ended up hanging up on her without the usual pleasantries.

Having confimed animal control only works normal government business hours, I enlist brave Natalie and Cliff for the task at hand. The plan was for Cliff to shimmy through the window and shoot it with an air pistol, while the kitchen and back door was open and the opening to the dining room was blocked off. The idea was it would decide to run for freedom, and not at him. Just in case, he's armed with an incredibly sharp sword to dispatch a lethal blow.

What sounds like incredibly logical plans to all of us, fails... the possum decides to hunker down against the back step and just sit there, despite many rounds of plastic bullets, freaked out by Nat and I's voices in the kitchen. I shimmy into the basement, and the real fun starts -- it tears off under the couch down there to hide. Eventually, Natalie slams a laundry tub over it, we shove cardboard under the base and Cliff carries it outside to set it free. We fought well against the chaos, but it's just another reminder this week that the universe is one step beyond logic <3

Posted new videos, one of me video-taping the sleeping possum before they arrived. The other two are probably the last summer free-for-all-drinking-binges to be had with my upstairs neighbors. I post them pretty much to embaress Scott, who was in a rather unusual mood that night and eventually got himself into way too much drama and shit because of it. I really do love them both -- my terribly fucked up and yet growing, PAINS. If it weren't for there constant attention this past summer to make sure my head was on straight, I doubt I'd be in any condition to continue school this fall. And despite the drama, I am a grateful confidant and friend.

5:21 AM - 6 Comments - 7 Kudos - Add Comment

Happy bday to me (and fun lyrics) <3

I just wanted to thank everyone for the kind bday wishes! I've had a splendid day, despite all the prep work I have done for the bbq tomorrow. I was just creating a playlist for the night when I ran across this song I hadn't listened to in forever. For some reason, I can't stop laughing, because the lyrics are so poignant right now (maybe due to the vodka, but, hell? why not say SOMETHING today?).

Hope you enjoy <3

Ladykiller by Lush

Here we go, I'm hanging out in Camden,
Drinking with my girlfriends on a Saturday night.
This guy says, "come and meet my girlfriend."
She's sitting in the corner looking rather uptight.
So I say "hello" and I try to be nice
But I see he's feeling itchy
Trying to play us off each other.
"Girls, girls, please don't fight!"
(We get the picture)
Hey you, the muscles and the long hair,
Telling me that women are superior to men.
Most guys just don't appreciate this;
You just try convincing me you're better than them.
So he talks for hours 'bout his sensitive soul
And his favourite subject is sex.
I don't think he even really wanted it
But, Christ, this guy's too much
(I wanna tell him)
I'm as human as the next girl, I like a bit of flattery
But I don't need your practised lines, your school of charm mentality so
Save your breath for someone else and credit me with something more.
When it comes to men like you, I know the score, I've heard it all before.
(Here comes the next one)
Blondie was with me for a summer;
He flirted like a maniac but I wouldn't bite.
I'm weak and he was so persistent,
He only had to have me 'cause I put up a fight
Oh God, the boy had such an ego!
He liked to talk about himself all day and all night.
You think you're such a ladykiller
But you were nothing special 'til you turned out the light!
When he's nice to me he's just nice to himself
And he's watching his reflection.
I'm a five foot mirror for adoring himself.
Here's seven years' bad luck!
(I wanna tell him)
When you say you love me you're just flattering your vanity,
But I don't need your practised lines, your school of charm mentality so
Save your breath for someone else and credit me with something more.
When it comes to men like you, I know the score, I've heard it all before.
Ooh, you're such a ladykiller, always on a winner, thinking that you're in there!
Oh boy, you're such a ladykiller, super sexy mister, call it what you will, oh
You think you're such a ladykiller, I just bet you're still there, posing in the mirror!
Hey girls, he's such a ladykiller, but we know where he's coming from and we know the score.

Currently listening : Lovelife By Lush Release date: 1996-03-05

5:17 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

anxiety and speaking in tongues

So, it's been eating at me for a while -- a simple letter pain-stakingly written in a severely arthritic hand... staring at me from my coffee table for about two months now where I dropped it, completely appalled..... Seriously beyond that, totally disturbed. And it's the exact  same brutal thing that has killed me for several decades now. What my sister and I quietly glance at each other across the room during family holidays -- a generalized anger, eating at our hearts.

For those who don't know, I have one remaining grandparent. I never met my grandfathers, who passed away before I was born. My paternal grandma waited long enough to see her first born son and daughter leave this earth both to over-indulgence and neglect before she sucumbed to time. How my father is still the man that he is (strong and proud) in the face of the cruelty he endured, I will never truely know.

But my maternal grandomther... she is a mystery.

Maybe I will never understand true Scorpios, or maybe I will never fully trust them because of her (it's so interchangeable, idk now), but it's the legacy she has bread -- the panic in my mother's voice when she speaks of what grandma does not want to hear and what grandma can handle... this is the life I grew up with.

When I graduated from Kendall with my first BFA, she proudly presented me with a Bible inscribed with my name... a "Living Bible" (the ones translated in modern colloquial, for those who don't know). It's because my mom always told me she was to frail to comprehend I wasn't a Christian... but the thing is, she's not frail at all! She's NEVER been frail!!!  She's 93 and proud and stoic, refused a cane for over a decade when the doctors told her she needed one, and the same with a walker... only to bend to it when severe pneumonia took her vitality two years in a row. Now she just makes my mom worry and suffer, just like my sister and I are doomed, unless our mother fights back against the tides.

So when I got the call about teaching at Kendall this fall, I of course, called my mom and dad first (my big break!!!). She was so proud of me, she cried so hard on the phone.... and I couldn't help crying with her after everything that has happened to me this year. And then she said, you have to call grandma -- I don't want to take this moment from you. There was a heavy pause, but I agreed to do it.

So I did, and I spent over an hour on the phone. My grandma has this funny way of expressing emotion by talking about what she ate the last couple weeks, or months or years ago... it's this weird cryptic code no one has ever been able to crack. Seriously, her dailyjournals are full with this stuff. Not memorable moments, odd tidbits of advice, nothing.... just FOOD. And it's not like she's some food enthusiast... it's always the same thing-- a rib-eye steak, or tenderloin with mashed potatos, with carrots and green beans, also with a side salad with these lovely croutons and ranch (I can hear my sister already laughing). I guess I understand it, because the one and only time she ever really opened up to me was when I was in 5th grade and was assigned to talk about the depression with a relative. And she did... she talked about everything. I still have those notes.... but it was a very, very, very rare occassion.

But here's the understood thing about grandma -- don't ask about the dead. I know nothing, except what my mother remembers about grandpa... which is sadly very little because she slowly watched him die through middle and high school. She has some hideous questions about her childhood, that my grandma will never answer. I DO know when I was an infant both my grandma and my mom smelled his cologne in the hallway the first time I was at that house... but that's of course my mother's story, not hers. In very rare moods, she will talk about things, but it's so rare and you have to be alert enough to ask the right questions. After a few minutes, she figures out what the chess game is all about, and then she shuts off.

But this is what gets me the most -- every time something really good happens to my sister or I, my grandma can't help talking about our cousin Terry. Granted, he's done some amazing things, and lived in some amazing places... and he's the son of her sister, with his charming wife and his 3 sons... but the last time I saw them, his oldest son kicked me so hard in the shin, I still have a dent in the bone ( I was like 12). But what about my brother-in-law? What about all the countries he's visited? Why is Terry the GOLDEN ONE?

What absolutely KILLS me right now, is that after I called to talk to her, she sent me a hand-written letter, written in her horribly crippled hands, which I know just looking at the pages, how painful it must have been...  on everything Terry has been doing with his life lately, in FIVE PAGE FORM. I was given one sentence, for me, congrats... everything else, what Terry did over 2 years ago.

It was this giant slap in the face.

My mother has been telling me for almost 2 decades that my grandma can't handle the truth, and now that she's 93 I believe her. The time when I should have complained that she talked to me like every other person in her congregation is over. She was never frail before, but she is now. I'm thinking about all this now because I have to go home tomorrow... I have to face that woman who dismissed my adjunct appointment at Kendall as secondary to living in London, Paris, Prague... something I have worked so hard for, despite my bad choices.

All she ever does is remind my sister and I of what we will never be.

I really wonder about Terry. I really wonder if his life is as fabulous as she makes it out to be. Because the thing is, most people's lives are messy, complicated, and imperfect. My mother never told me I had to be perfect, but I learned I had to just the same.

(I love you, Kristen <3)

8:19 AM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Terrible of me, I know

But seriously, when I found out Jesse Helms died today, I couldn't stop laughing! When it came on the news, I burst out in this really loud cackle... and it wouldn't stop. I know I should feel something like pity for it being so painful of a death. But then I remember he must've raised a glass and laughed a lot after Mappelthorpe died of AIDS, after he slashed the NEA to almost nothing, and virtually anhiliated public broadcasting.

And right now, I can't help but smile that the Arts worst enemy over decades has fallen to the test of time. perhaps there really is hope for this country, on our day of "freedom"

12:41 AM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Revised Artist Statement

"It would not be too much to say that myth is the secret opening through which the inexhaustible energies of the cosmos pour into human cultural manifestation... The charcteristic efficacy to touch and inspire deep creative centers dwells in the smallest nursery fairy tale. For symbols of mythology are not manufactured.... They are spontaneous productions of the human psyche" -- Joseph Campbell, Hero With a Thousand Faces

"Man imagines that it is death he fears.... but what he fears is the unforeseen, the explosion. What man fears is himself, not death." -- Saint-Exupery, Flight to Araas

Investigating the essence of aesthetic beauty is the main theme of my work. Beauty, being a socially constructed concept is a necessary component of human existence. It is human nature to fear the unknown, and so we rationalize daily life into codes, symbols, morals and standards to live by to not only make sense of the world, but also to give life meaning. We have come a long way from the days when man looked at the sky and saw a chariot pull the sun across the heavens. Where we have sought to bring order and science to the world around us, we have given ourselves the building blocks of our own isolation.

Historically, the concept of aesthetic beauty has changed slowly, as our concepts of the universe changed. Through the creative forces of philosophers, writers, poets and artists over the centuries, the idea of "beauty" has slowly evolved. Today, in the postmodern world, it has virtually been annihilated, not only by the great social upheavals of the 20th century, but also by the sheer speed and cacophony of information we are bombarded with every day. There is really no longer a distinction between "good" and "bad." However, through this all, there still persist deeply entrenched archetypes, even if we are dulled to the examples, lurking in the shadows of our awareness.

My current body of work examines alchemy, both literally and metaphorically. While struggling my first semester in the MFA program trying to tell legend and myths in a contemporary voice, I came to the conclusion that I was being to literal in my narrative. During that time, however, I had been creating small brass and copper plates on the side that, at the time, were merely meditative – a resting place for my brain – while I agonized over my larger scale work. In the end, these small plates were the only thing I was satisfied with, and decided I had been fighting my nature for far too long.

According to Lewis Hyde in Trickster Makes This World, the elements of chance lie at the crossroads between two seemingly unrelated worlds, and through that intersection, all new life is born. He links it to the biochemist, Jacques Monod's theories on evolutionary biology. Hyde writes, "Accident is the single source of true innovation.... When a mutation meets its context we have pure coincidence, a crossroads event... Nothing new under the sun can exist without absolute chance; it 'alone is at the source of every innovation, of all creation in the biosphere'" (120).

My newest work is a series I call "Crossroads," a large scale project of copper, brass and steel plates, intended to hang in a grid. I have intentionally limited my materials to basic elements – ground pigment or stone, processed solvents and varnishes derived from wood (such as polyurethane or lacquer), and utilizing fire as the main catalyst. I create anywhere from six to ten plates at a time, changing one basic element about the process in order to perform my experiments. Each plate is treated differently in each run – some are scratched or sanded, others are sprayed with a solvent or water as the vehicle dries (usually polyurethane, tinted to various colors with pigment). I tend to be attracted to colors that reflect blood and soot, but have been expanding my natural inclinations to incorporate other colors as well, considering the various chemical reactions of the plates when in contact with the fire. Just recently, I have added both hot and cold patina processes that have produced exciting and variable results.

The true element of chance occurs in the next step, for I have absolutely no idea what will happen as they burn. Beforehand, I set up a stop-bath to set the results, changing the solution for each set I work with. I have used snow, vinegar, mineral spirits and intend on expanding to more corrosive substances to procure new and unpredictable results. The nature of fire is that I must work quickly and intuitively, with very little cognitive thought, otherwise they turn crispy black and must be scraped and reworked. What little thought I do allow myself, in this stage of the process alone, is child-like wonder, just as I watched frost form in dizzying arrays of organic forms spread out across a window pane in my youth.

From there, the plates are left to dry, and then I must make a cognitive decision as to where to go. This delicate balance between chaos and order is discussed in Nietzsche's Birth of Tragedy. Each can not exist without the other, yet order will always be dominated by chaos. Using alchemical symbols of the basic seven metals, combined with the geometrical elements of squares and grids, I bring a sense of balance between total chaos and order. The transparency of the polyurethane hints at more traditional forms of old masters' techniques, and captures an internal glow which is never static. The depth of colour and texture changes with the environmental light source, so the panels are never the same at any one point in a day. This makes them extremely difficult to photograph, which appeals to me as a conscious effort to reject the world of digital technology and reproduction. The very essence that make them unique can not be stolen through the lens of a camera.

For many alchemists, the ultimate goal was to create a compound that contained the seven basic metals, which is absolutely impossible according to modern chemistry. However, this was far more than just a physical reality for the alchemists. This mysterious compound or "prima materia" was simultaneously the presence and the absence of all life, and called many things such as: the bird of Hermes, Jacob's Ladder, and the seeds of bodies, dependent on what cultural background (be it Hindi, Greek, Muslim or Christian) the speaker came from. What is a constant here, is that the search for this prima materia was, in essence, the quest for the sublime. It was precisely that the quest WAS the transcendental substance, capable of curing age, sickness and even death. This prima materia has also been called the Holy Grail and the Philosopher's Stone in legends and myth. By using the various derivatives of alchemical signs for these seven basic compounds, the entire work as a whole becomes the literal embodiment of the sublime.

There are many artists who have dealt with similar notions of the role of accident and its connection to the sublime. I am largely influenced by the conceptual aspects of Marcel DuChamp and Andy Goldsworthy, although I realize from a strictly formal level, my work is very different. DuChamp was primarily concerned with the removal of the artist' hand and the habitual habits therein as a rejection of a logical universe represented by academic painting. For Goldsworthy, it is the artist who responds and interacts with an environment as a sort of meditative response to something ephemeral and larger than self. Although my plates are not physically kinetic like much of their work, the role of lighting and how it changes the surface appearance for the viewer based on the vantage point or time of day is the largest performative part of the work. The nature of the high gloss finish obscures the plates lingering on the fringes of any given vantage point, encouraging the viewer to move about, closer and then farther away to see the totality.

For the last decade or so, my work has almost always sprung from inspiration attained through literature, film or legend, so it is a natural progression for me to incorporate ancient myth with contemporary culture. By re-examining these stories, I attempt to combine them with today's vernacular, in hopes to bring something akin to an "urban soul." This is not meant in an overtly romanticized way, for I still believe that the artist is an integral part of being IN a society, not above or beyond as some sort of mystical prophet. I would like to think that my educational background, possessing both a BFA in Painting and BS in Art History, enriches my work with a deeper cultural context.

It is not necessary that the viewer exactly understand what I'm trying to say, just so long as it sparks some kind of internal contemplation. However, one thing I would like is for him or her to interact with the work, very much like the state of meditative wonder I must stay in during the catalytic process. Each plate is a fixed, brief moment in time where set known parameters yield a completely unexpected accident of chance. My hope is that the viewer finds the random marks of happenstance fascinating, even if they are merely testimonies to documentation of an alchemical process.

6:17 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Enough

Bicycle Tricycle Lyrics, Rosie Thomas

Bicycle tricycle take me far with
My hands on your handlebars. I can’t
Be homecoming queen for every boy
That falls in and out of love with me.
I won’t look back
I’ve been here before
I’ve been here before
I’ll turn my back
Whatever it takes to let him go
Flower dress strawberry red
I must confess you’re my safety pin
Hold me together hide me well
So he cannot tell the state that I am in
I won’t look back
I’ve been here before
I’ve been here before
I’ll turn my back
Whatever it takes to let him go
Roller skates figure eights
Roll me away and I won’t complain
I’ll bring my raincoat boots and umbrella
So he can’t ever rain on my parade

Currently listening : When We Were Small By Rosie Thomas Release date: 22 January, 2002

12:25 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Reason Why

Reason Why lyrics, Rachel Yamagata

I think about how it might have been
We’d spend our days travelin’
It’s not that I don’t understand you
It’s not that I don’t want to be with you
But you only wanted me
The way you wanted me

So, I will head out alone and hope for the best
And we can hang our heads down as we skip the goodbyes
You can tell the world what you want them to hear
I’ve got nothing left to lose, my dear
So, I’m up for the little white lies
But you and I know the reason why
I’m gone, and you’re still there

I’ll buy a magazine searching for your face
From coast to coast, or whatever I find my place
I’ll track you on the radio
And I’ll sign your list in a different name
But as close as I get to you
It’s not the same

So, I will head out alone and hope for the best
We can pat ourselves on the back and say that we tried
And if one of us makes it big
We can spill our regrets
And talk about how the love never dies
But you and I know the reason why
I’m gone, and you’re still there

So, steal the show
And do your best to cover the tracks that I have left
I wish you well and hope you find whatever you’re looking for
The way I might’ve changed my mind
But you only showed me the door

So, I will head out alone and hope for the best
We can pat ourselves on the back and say that we tried
And if one of us makes it big
We can spill our regrets
And talk about how the love never dies
But you and I know the reason why

Currently listening : Happenstance By Rachael Yamagata Release date: 08 June, 2004

2:58 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

The Artist Tempermant

Unlike the popular belief that all great artists live in an Ivory Tower and cut their ears off for the unrequited love of a prostitute, most of us are comepletely sane, rational human beings. I -really- love how we're treated though... like lepers. The nice facade.... we're some sort of idiosyncracy outside of normal life. Really not too far off from the conservative Christians in their ideologies, huh? 

Did you realize almost every great master used the golden ratio inside their compositions? I can sit with slide after slide if you want proof. It astounds me that intelligent folk still  buy into that EMO pure art from the soul legacy... that artists have to suffer to create "pure" art. The truth is, we (the as closest to pure ones) don't obsess about making our mark on the world. We're not that egocentric...  Truth is, we don't care if we ever make an impression on the gallery world whatsover. It interrupts our creative space, and is a gigantic hassle shamlessly self-promoting.

This artist  "Tempermant" you seem to be so caught up in.... haha... indeed. Do you have any idea how we talk to each other? Didn't think so... hypocrisy lies everywhere, but we do acknowledege when an image rings true. Did you know an industrail designer, who's obessed with math is still considered an arts degree? So... at least those fascinated in theoretical math are getting internships at my school, I guess....

Oh, did you not know??? The Fine Artirts can be kind and honest and giving!!! But the thing that  holds most relationships from becoming anything else??? -- can I civilize them? Wow.. most of us have been beaten down since Modernism, so we can't escape the over-wearied Van Gogh references. And yes, he was a brilliant painter, but I can name a 100 painters that lived "normal" lives and are still monetarily worthhy on the stock market.

So, here's my suggestion... ... before I taking a stab at mathematics, and before you do at art... can we just at first admit what we are weak to both fronts? Because this kind of annimosity is getting us nowhere. A game indeed... do you really spend this much time with other people, picking their brain??

7:49 AM - 2 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

Disturbed

Earlier today, before I headed to class, I was woken to the sounds of my field mice who occassionally get a bit hyper and run all over the cage. For those who haven't heard the back story of why I have them, let's just say my tricky kitty dragged them in, and strangely since I put them in a cage, Ceinwyn has ceased to catch any more. I'm normally not a rodent fan, and contemplated at first on feeding them to Phoenix, but decided against it after a few days. They are terribly hilarious to watch -- everywhere form runinng/fighting on the treadmill wheel for hours to the four little brown bodies curled together so tight, there's no real recognizable mouse parts to be seen. Odd thing is, I've had them for months, so I either have all female or all male mice. ^^

In my grogginess this morning, I noticed the squeaks were a little louder and more frequent than usual, but the sheets were so soft, and my dreams had been so vivid, I easily slipped back into a slumber. It' the same routine every morning: hit the snooze twice, bathroom, glass of water, back to my bedroom to feed the mice and fish, get dressed... ect. What I found was the most disturbing thing I've seen in awhile...

The smallest mouse was lying limp on the floor of the cage, face bloodied and frozen in an open-mouthed scream. The other three, who were surrounding the carcas, quickly ran off into the tunnel. Here these little creatures, who were so affectionate to each other day in and day out for months, huddling together for warmth, exchanging baths... they just turned on their friend and companion. I know, I know... perhaps the small one was sick and it was nature's way of compassion, like a mother cat eating her malformed kittens, but it's the betrayal that gets to me the most.

It's as if they woke up and suddenly didn't recognize their friend anymore, and protected the nest to the death. And standing there, with the small limb form on my palm, I couldn't help but cry. Even before all of this I would have pointed him out as my favorite, and the symbolism was just too intense for me to ignore.

Will anyone ever trully understand me? Seems like lately, all I've been doing is having to explain myself over and over again to the people I love. Isn't it better to just live a solitary life so that I never wake up to find that the relationships I've forged were nothing but smoke and mirrors? Or am I just to self-absorbed with pain right now and can only see that I could save myself from all the cruelty?

11:03 AM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Dreams and whatnot

I remember so vividly this night back in high school, when a friend who was my complete opposite, went out with me to Kensington Valley park on a "date." This flirtation had gone on for years, but we were total opposites -- he was serious, political-office bound and conservative to the core. I was always in AP classes, but a recluse, and people just left me be... not out of malice like some others I witnessed, but certainly not with open arms. I was content with being alone, and I always have been. 

But for some reason Adam found it amusing to argue with me specifically, and the respect for radically different opinions sparked on that date like always. There's nothing odd about the story, really... except for what happened that night. After continuing that same firey energy exchange we always had debating various topics... we kissed in the headlights of my parent's car. Although he had been physically warm all evening, his kiss was cold... and he says to me after it : "Are you confused yet?" I was so angry by it, I drove him home in silence.

Funny thing is? Looking back, I think that same pattern has followed me. I bring all of this because of a dream I had last night about my father. He and I have always had a bond that surpassed any ideological ideals, one that my mom doesn't even get. Yes, yes... daddy/daughter syndrome, ect... but perhaps the reason I fail in relationships is the exact reason why a quivering-legged 16 year old girl didn't just leave a jackass stranded out in the woods for playing head games.

A good friend told me tonight that we forgive too much, and sacrifice ourselves for a cause we already know is doomed to fail. I want to break the pattern, but how?

12:07 AM - 2 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

late night insomnia

OK, so many of my Christian friends probably will hate me for this blog.... but due to my insomnia lately, and only having 3 channels, I've taken to watching TV 13's gospel hour from Shepherd's Chapel at 4:30 in the morning for a good laugh. At first, it was just background noise left over from hours of TV while I was play Maple Story, but tonight, I was so aghast at what I heard, I grabbed my NIV bible off the shelf (left over from a Bible as Literature class from my undergrad) and started looking up every reference he threw out.... it was disturbing to the core.

Not only did he blatantly lie about what verse and chapter he was reading from, it was tailored to make nocturnal moody people "come back to the fold." It was all spoken effortlessly, and someone who didn't have a bible in hand wouldn't have questioned it one bit. But this was an insult more to believers than someone like myself. 10 of 12 verses he quoted in a row had absolutely NOTHING to do with his sermon what-so-ever, nor even resembled anything close to what he "quoted" it to be originally. Yes, two of them was spot on to what he was saying. I actually enjoyed him explaining that crossing sticks to find water wasn't witchcraft, but science and proof of god's love.... I'm sure that might offend a lot of scientists who don't believe in that phenomenon either

This sermon was, of course, interrupted by a commercial for the CD to spot the "mark of the devil" in the coming age, sponsored by the same church.... at $19.95 (shipping and handling extra).... Hell, his answer to the how old is the human race? He goes on for 3 minutes selling spree about his 3 cd series on "the beginning" while evading the question all together...

This is ABC in Grand Rapids, with no tag lines saying it's sponsored by, or the "views not expressed by the network".... Don't I have 4 other channels I ignore that air this stuff 24/7?

12:53 AM - 3 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

Isis and Osiris

It's been so long since I've written a blog... but this dream I had last night was to potent to ignore.

I'm sitting in a messy large room, on a shabby couch. The large windows are covered with tapestries and the stucco walls are painted a vivid deep purple. There's no glass on the windows, and hot breeze ripples the tapestries in dusty sunlit trails onto the tiled floor. In front of me, is a large metal freezer where a coffee table should be. Im wearing all black... a long silk skirt, and in my lap are shards of frozen human tissue... the remains of my lover's skull.

It's like broken shards of pottery, and I'm trying to piece together his face. I have the disturbing feeling of this frozen tissue becoming soft and thawing in my fingers, but they just won't lace together again. I'm not scared though, I know once they are thawed, they will mend themselves... and once I put the pieces back together, I will breathe his soul, trapped in my heart, back into his shell and he shall return to life.

Odd to have a dream of a myth I love so well, yet haven't thought of in awhile. Sometimes my own unconcious suprises me.

10:27 PM - 4 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment

fun find

This was generated by my input from this website, http://www.brown.edu/Courses/FR0133/Fairytale_Generator/gen.html

"Precocious little boy," mother called me.  She told me that if I were to ever follow father into the mountain mists I would lose myself forever.

 One of them who came forward looked nothing like the others.  She was dressed in white fluff and smelled clean.  Her eyes were like a child's.  "I'm in need of assistance," she said softly.  "I need some help and I think you can help me."

My mother bade me to return home twice to comfort her hunger.  But on the third time the hunger sunk such a pit in her stomach that it fell into the ground and would not move. 

As I approached the top of the mountain a white spectacle blinded me for an instant.  When I blinked again I saw a white dragon shifting over the mountain like a layer of foam riding ocean waves.  I could tell by its movement that it was a territorial creature; I could tell that it would fight me before allowing me to press further.

My brother hit me on my head, and while I lay in a half-awake state I felt him dig through my pockets and saddle bag.  "Look mother, look what I have for you," he shouted.

"As a child, my son could dance along the soil so quickly that the men who died and live in the ground could not catch him.  Prove this to me now,"

The soil on my skin turned into sprinkles of gold dust.  The people proclaimed me some kind of god.

12:59 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

11.16.07

My dreams are quite disturbing lately, probably a symptom of heavy amounts of stress with two weeks left of school. One rather long-winded dream of three David's trying to kill me -- chasing me through a shopping mall, I'm able to trick them hiding beneath a circular coatrack and run out the other exit of a clothing store. Heading down a branch I assume would lead me to another outside exit, I run into a room with tarped cages and find it's a dead end. I push and push against one of the makeshift walls and pop out outside, behind the mall where semi trucks and a brown delivery van are starting to pull away.

I'm frantically trying to flag one down, and the delivery van pulls up and I realize all three of them are sitting in the front seat. They're laughing as they get out and I turn and run toward a steel fence. One is opening the back doors of the van and the other two start to chase me. I climb the fence and drop down. I slip and fall, and tumble down to a ravine of a river. I make it to the other side, heavy with low scrub trees and quietly walk for miles. I know they're still following me, but I can't tell how close they are.

I come upon a wooden structure standing on a sandbar in the middle of the shallow river. I wade out to it, knowing that I have found the spot. The wooden beams are whitewashed like driftwood and there's an eagle's nest perched on the top. A snow white eagle with black eyes watches me from her nest. I decide to climb up to the nest, and the eagle tucks her head beneath a wing, undisturbed by my presence. I reach a hand into the nest and pull out a willlow branch that's been wound with a braid of silver hair. I look back, down the river, and see the two David's have slowed their progress, knowing it's too late to catch up. I stand and turn toward them, and smiling, I wave the wand in the air and disappear.

I find myself standing in a shared driveway between to 40's style bungalows. Huge oak trees envelope the houses and the sky is in that deep purple twilight stage right before dark. I realize I'm almost too late and run toward the neighbors house. The front door is unlocked and I let myself in. Starting in the kitchen, I start frantically grabbing up taco bell wrappers and vodka bottles from the counter. I've been hiding out in this house for weeks and the people are coming back from vacation. A silver mini-van pulls into the driveway and I freaked out that I'm going to get caught. I assume they're going to come through the back, so I make my way to the front door. I am wrong, though and they almost see me through the paned glass on the sides of the door.

I slip through the sliding glass door and out through the backyard. I stash my garbage beneath a pine shrub before hoping over it into the next yard. I enter my house, into a darkened living room. I haven't been home in months, and the place smells like it's rotting. The only light is coming from a mammoth glass cage sitting on the floor. It's a terrarium, housing many fish in the water that's about 6 inches deep. The water is algae-ridden and I'm scared all the fish are dead. I grab the algae scraper so that I can remove it from the sides to see, and as I look in, I realize that Phoenix is in the process of swallowing my box turtle.

David approaches from behind -- he was sitting in the dark, sulking on the couch. This version of him, I'm not afraid of.... but he wants to know why I have abandoned him for so long. He stands there quietly, waiting for an answer when I point out Phoenix and we quickly jump into action. I grab him up, and David holds most of the body as I squeeze upward on the throat. He starts to regurgitate the turtle, which has hidden itself inside inside it's shell. The turtle ends up being fine and I set him inside a smaller tank nearby. I realize just how much I've neglected my huge menagerie of animals, and that Phoenix wouldn't have normally eaten the turle if he had been fed in the last 6 months. David and I spend hours in silence cleaning the walls of tanks and cages, feeding and carrying for sugar gliders, field mice, and many species of reptiles.

Once we're done, I throw back the heavy curtains in the windows and it's bright daylight outside. The rest of the room looks as if it's been ransacked -- books and paperwork lie in heaps on the floor. I turn around and David has disappeared with the light. I realize he was only a ghost.

I slowing begin to pick up a stack of cooking books and climb the stairs to that brightly lit room I dream of often with white walls and hardwood floors. The ceiling is vaulted and light pours through skylight windows. The only piece of furniture is the roll-top desk I purchased recently, but it has a glass-doored bookshelf attatched to the top. Placing the cookbooks inside it, I close the door with an old-fashioned hook latch and turn around. I'm amazed to find all of the furniture to the room has returned.

There's a heavy oak four poster bed with a sheer mosquito net canopy, a small night stand with an oil hurricane lamp. There's a terracotta-tiled kitchen through a rough-hewn plaster doorway. I strecth out on the bed and gaze out an unscreened window at the ocean just beyond a thriving tropical garden. The sounds of jungle chatter is heavy in the air, combined with the roar of the waves on the shore. The smells are heavy and comforting. I close my eyes, and listen to the sounds.... and then I woke up.

12:19 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment