Wednesday, December 31, 2008
On Top Of The World
I think air balloons are just marvelous.
I would like to ride one.
And live in a cloud.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Sunday Best
Today I watched Doubt, a stunning, spare movie about conviction. It was, in movie speak, riveting. Morally provocative. Two ecclesiastic thumbs up. I highly recommend you and your beloved see it with a large coke, small popcorn and nerd rope.
It was so riveting that, well, I had an idea. A bit of background:
The movie was set in the Catholic Church setting circa 1969. I’ve never been much of a church goer, but I do like the idea of wearing dresses that require a trench coat and gloves every week to sit and contemplate the fiber of my spiritual essence in a gloriously cavernous church adorned with stained glass windows and intricate moldings. In the movie- Philip Seymour Hoffman plays an eloquent priest that serves up some seriously evocative sermons. I liked that too. The idea of going once a week to intellectually process some conflict of the soul with a group of my peers. – I will say here that- not all priests can engage their parish to a truly profound level- but in my religious fantasy every time I leave the church, I leave light, contemplative, and spiritually effervescent. Like a quiet winter’s toast of soul bubbly.
I like everything about Sunday Church sans the reality of Sunday Church. Disclaimer- These judgments are purely based on my limited and singular experience- Church is full of old people, and While I appreciate old people, they move slow and often want not to speak at length about abstract thoughts. I mean most people don't in general. So scratch the old people thing- Most people are incapable of having an in depth, abstract conversation, and Church is full of most people. The preacher or minister is often boring or complacent- hell fires this, good lord is the best, YAY! Jesus Christ love all mighty our savior. Fine. The music can be of mediocre production and the pews are horribly uncomfortable. Oh yea and alot of the dogma is pretty oppressive. Disclaimer- It just isn't for me- I understand and am happy for people who find a sense of community and comfort in the church. I know it's helped many people in times of trouble and guided them to find meaning and create a set of values in spirit and in practice, and I know it can be a really lovely important institution -I have no strong negativity towards Church or Churchgoers (okay some- those crazies who think God created 9-11 to punish America for not burning gay people on crosses- not a fan) - But again- It's just not for me.
So what is for me? This is my idea-
The Church of Art
Every Sunday, a congregation of artists, writers, musicians, dancers, thinkers etc. come together to listen to the sermon of a transient lecturer- whoever they may be- and this lecturer will elocute about something - whether it be an artist, song, piece of work etc,- and this topic in some way or another poses a question, or idea. Kind of like a visiting professor in a college lecture hall. There will also be music to be performed by whoever, local musicians, not-local musicians, dj's, kind of like an open mic- but not terrible- and then everyone creates! Something must be made! And then a small feast will follow. Special programs can be planned such as unveiling of a piece, or a performance- I mean really the format will be open- most likely decided by the lecturer of the day. Everyone will dress up and perhaps bring something to eat potluck style. And we will all feel as though we are a part of something important, beautiful, even Godly when we go home. I'm envisioning Bean Bag Chairs.
Oh, it's a rough idea. But nonetheless one I will pursue further. To Worship Art: Our Art, the Art of the World, And The High Art of the Spirit.
Anyone want to pass out the pamphlet?
It was so riveting that, well, I had an idea. A bit of background:
The movie was set in the Catholic Church setting circa 1969. I’ve never been much of a church goer, but I do like the idea of wearing dresses that require a trench coat and gloves every week to sit and contemplate the fiber of my spiritual essence in a gloriously cavernous church adorned with stained glass windows and intricate moldings. In the movie- Philip Seymour Hoffman plays an eloquent priest that serves up some seriously evocative sermons. I liked that too. The idea of going once a week to intellectually process some conflict of the soul with a group of my peers. – I will say here that- not all priests can engage their parish to a truly profound level- but in my religious fantasy every time I leave the church, I leave light, contemplative, and spiritually effervescent. Like a quiet winter’s toast of soul bubbly.
I like everything about Sunday Church sans the reality of Sunday Church. Disclaimer- These judgments are purely based on my limited and singular experience- Church is full of old people, and While I appreciate old people, they move slow and often want not to speak at length about abstract thoughts. I mean most people don't in general. So scratch the old people thing- Most people are incapable of having an in depth, abstract conversation, and Church is full of most people. The preacher or minister is often boring or complacent- hell fires this, good lord is the best, YAY! Jesus Christ love all mighty our savior. Fine. The music can be of mediocre production and the pews are horribly uncomfortable. Oh yea and alot of the dogma is pretty oppressive. Disclaimer- It just isn't for me- I understand and am happy for people who find a sense of community and comfort in the church. I know it's helped many people in times of trouble and guided them to find meaning and create a set of values in spirit and in practice, and I know it can be a really lovely important institution -I have no strong negativity towards Church or Churchgoers (okay some- those crazies who think God created 9-11 to punish America for not burning gay people on crosses- not a fan) - But again- It's just not for me.
So what is for me? This is my idea-
The Church of Art
Every Sunday, a congregation of artists, writers, musicians, dancers, thinkers etc. come together to listen to the sermon of a transient lecturer- whoever they may be- and this lecturer will elocute about something - whether it be an artist, song, piece of work etc,- and this topic in some way or another poses a question, or idea. Kind of like a visiting professor in a college lecture hall. There will also be music to be performed by whoever, local musicians, not-local musicians, dj's, kind of like an open mic- but not terrible- and then everyone creates! Something must be made! And then a small feast will follow. Special programs can be planned such as unveiling of a piece, or a performance- I mean really the format will be open- most likely decided by the lecturer of the day. Everyone will dress up and perhaps bring something to eat potluck style. And we will all feel as though we are a part of something important, beautiful, even Godly when we go home. I'm envisioning Bean Bag Chairs.
Oh, it's a rough idea. But nonetheless one I will pursue further. To Worship Art: Our Art, the Art of the World, And The High Art of the Spirit.
Anyone want to pass out the pamphlet?
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Photoshop: The Agony and The Ecstacy
As you can tell, I've been learning how to Photoshop. It is so exhilarating to learn a new skill. And I have to admit I'm a bit obsessed now. My entire commute home today was dedicated to the imagination of my next Photoshop project, mentally moving the magnetic lasso over the outline of Superwoman's sumptuous outline, adding layer upon layer, heightening the contrast of her flowing black locks, then flattening OH YES! flattening! This is where the Ecstasy part comes in. There's something so juicy, so undeniable, so absolutely gorgeous about Photoshop. There's the freedom, and the process, the immediate gratification and the endless options, the playground of google images and the CLONE TOOL, the impermanence of your choices and the possibility of perfection. Yes! More! Much Much More! I couldn't stop if I tried.
This past Sunday, I spent 9 hours straight working on the Mucca Pazza poster in my last post. I didn't eat, I didn't go to the bathroom, I barely drank anything, and when my boyfriend insisted I take a break and enjoy some cuddle-time USA (which I LOVE and ALWAYS go for)- I shoved him out of my way. My body was cold and uncomfortable, my head hurt, and my eyeballs felt like they were about to drop out of their sockets. When given helpful tips from friends I became testy and impatient. Angry. Bitter. I cursed the lord profusely, cracking my neck violently all the while and stared transfixed at the blazing godawful screen. This is the Agony.
It was all together horrible. Yet entirely filled with bliss.
I've been thinking about this for the past few days. This Agony and This Ecstasy go far beyond Photoshop. In my world, I relate this dynamic to the creative process, whether the medium be music, painting, poetry or yes, Photoshop. All the conflict that goes into creation- the pain, and the pleasure- is was causes the creation to take form. Ah, a paradox. Chicken or the Egg. I suffer if I don't make things and I suffer when I do. I am free and happy when I'm lying in my bed (cuddling perhaps), just enjoying my thoughts, and I am delighted when I'm obsessed and focused on a project.
The word Agony also means Passion in reference to the Passion of Christ. Ecstasy, in religious terms, is an altered state of consciousness, one of spiritual awareness, visions and euphoria. Christ must have experienced Ecstasy in order to commit to the Agony. Or maybe the Agony put him into a state of Ecstasy. Scientifically, the relationship is symbiotic. Personally, I am thrilled...oh and miserable...
As an artist I have experienced the dichotomy of Agony and Ecstasy, as if on repeat, in every project I have worked on. In some the agony outweighed Ecstasy and in others it was vice versa. But I will never forget the time I attempted to drill a screw into the base of a tree trunk that was part of the enchanted forest I made in college. The drill slipped and tore right through my forefinger. Blood poured out. In my pain and in sight of all the red, all I could do was laugh. A deep, exalted, guttural kind of laugh.
And as my tears of laughter mixed with my finger blood on the floor I thought, "Man, this is the best."
It was all together horrible. Yet entirely filled with bliss.
I've been thinking about this for the past few days. This Agony and This Ecstasy go far beyond Photoshop. In my world, I relate this dynamic to the creative process, whether the medium be music, painting, poetry or yes, Photoshop. All the conflict that goes into creation- the pain, and the pleasure- is was causes the creation to take form. Ah, a paradox. Chicken or the Egg. I suffer if I don't make things and I suffer when I do. I am free and happy when I'm lying in my bed (cuddling perhaps), just enjoying my thoughts, and I am delighted when I'm obsessed and focused on a project.
The word Agony also means Passion in reference to the Passion of Christ. Ecstasy, in religious terms, is an altered state of consciousness, one of spiritual awareness, visions and euphoria. Christ must have experienced Ecstasy in order to commit to the Agony. Or maybe the Agony put him into a state of Ecstasy. Scientifically, the relationship is symbiotic. Personally, I am thrilled...oh and miserable...
As an artist I have experienced the dichotomy of Agony and Ecstasy, as if on repeat, in every project I have worked on. In some the agony outweighed Ecstasy and in others it was vice versa. But I will never forget the time I attempted to drill a screw into the base of a tree trunk that was part of the enchanted forest I made in college. The drill slipped and tore right through my forefinger. Blood poured out. In my pain and in sight of all the red, all I could do was laugh. A deep, exalted, guttural kind of laugh.
And as my tears of laughter mixed with my finger blood on the floor I thought, "Man, this is the best."
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Should
Driving today amidst the insanity of a snowy slopfest the car in front me spun out and slid past the stop sign it was fruitlessly braking for. I thought. He should have pumped his brakes. Really should have. He would not have slipped then. If he was doing what he should have done in such dreary conditions. Yes. I speaketh the truth. SHOULD. SHOULD. SHOULD.
But really it wouldn't have mattered. There still would have been no cars around to maim, no pedestrians to kill, the driver would have had one less stop sign of note in his life, and I would not be writing about the word Should right here and now.
SHOULD. It's a psychologically complex word that gets thrown around like the word fuck at a football game. I'm not actually sure if fuck is indeed used profusely at football games. I've never been to one. Maybe Shit, is the word of choice Oh Lord! CockSucker! Son of a Gun with Two Daddies and a Limpin' Pony! I would not be the one to ask. I guess I should know what I'm talking about before I start making such bold statements. I really should.
The first time I received wrath from dispensing this auxiliary verb was when I was in a long distance relationship in college. I casually mentioned "Hey you should buy the next phone card."
Bf: OH YEAH?! I SHOULD DO ALOT OF THINGS(snap!)!!!
me: oh, um. sorry?
Yes, I could have asked: "Hey will you by the next phone card?" I should have seen the disaster signs ahead...
I was so shocked and frightened by the intensity of his response it took me years to recover. I've even tried using this intense kind of reaction on other boyfriends who have dropped the should bomb on me. It never helped. Getting all uh uh uh about shit never helps. Nevertheless, I was still shaken. This seemingly harmless word, almost second nature in saying, can really put the ugly twist on an otherwise simple situation.
I was once told that the word Should is not our own voice, but the voice of someone or something outside of ourself. Meaning, Should embodies things outside of our real values, desires, routine, goals, priorities and even maturity. For me, there are two kinds of should- Self-Should and Some-Other-Asshole-Should.
Self-Should
"I should really clean the dishes."
Translation:
I don't give a shit about the dishes, but my roommate is a Nazi, and she'll be all up in my g-string if I don't do them asap.
I hate doing the dishes but my mom always told me to clean them promptly lest rats take over and eat me in my sleep.
I have to watch CSI, Prison Break, catch the finale of the Amazing race and start on the last season of 24, but my boss always told me- if you have time to lean you have time to clean, and he's the man so...
Some-Other-Asshole-Should
"You should really do the dishes."
Translation
You are a stupid sloppy bitch and I hate you. I am awesome.
If you don't do the dishes rats will start infesting your house and nesting in your in rotting half-eaten carcass. I am awesome.
You lazy boob stop masturbating to Keifer Sutherland and be a productive member of this great American dream. I am awesome.
Should comes is all shapes and sizes. In fun conversations- "Yea, you should totally buy a talking toucan and name it Sam!" , and not so fun ones- "You should stop doing heroine. You're disappearing."
But no matter the situation- Should implies that whatever is happening presently is not satisfactory in some way. It implies that someone else knows better, is more morally, ethically authoritative, and that their way is best. It implies discomfort with the self, the feeling of powerlessness beneath expectations and demands from external sources, and perhaps, more significantly the pressure to change. Should is a real doozy.
Word.
So on this precipice I do Declare! I should no more be less than what I should!
OOOkay...yea... OR I don't have any real answers but I am going to try and be more aware of this shape shifting should. Should I fail, God Help us all.
But really it wouldn't have mattered. There still would have been no cars around to maim, no pedestrians to kill, the driver would have had one less stop sign of note in his life, and I would not be writing about the word Should right here and now.
SHOULD. It's a psychologically complex word that gets thrown around like the word fuck at a football game. I'm not actually sure if fuck is indeed used profusely at football games. I've never been to one. Maybe Shit, is the word of choice Oh Lord! CockSucker! Son of a Gun with Two Daddies and a Limpin' Pony! I would not be the one to ask. I guess I should know what I'm talking about before I start making such bold statements. I really should.
The first time I received wrath from dispensing this auxiliary verb was when I was in a long distance relationship in college. I casually mentioned "Hey you should buy the next phone card."
Bf: OH YEAH?! I SHOULD DO ALOT OF THINGS(snap!)!!!
me: oh, um. sorry?
Yes, I could have asked: "Hey will you by the next phone card?" I should have seen the disaster signs ahead...
I was so shocked and frightened by the intensity of his response it took me years to recover. I've even tried using this intense kind of reaction on other boyfriends who have dropped the should bomb on me. It never helped. Getting all uh uh uh about shit never helps. Nevertheless, I was still shaken. This seemingly harmless word, almost second nature in saying, can really put the ugly twist on an otherwise simple situation.
I was once told that the word Should is not our own voice, but the voice of someone or something outside of ourself. Meaning, Should embodies things outside of our real values, desires, routine, goals, priorities and even maturity. For me, there are two kinds of should- Self-Should and Some-Other-Asshole-Should.
Self-Should
"I should really clean the dishes."
Translation:
I don't give a shit about the dishes, but my roommate is a Nazi, and she'll be all up in my g-string if I don't do them asap.
I hate doing the dishes but my mom always told me to clean them promptly lest rats take over and eat me in my sleep.
I have to watch CSI, Prison Break, catch the finale of the Amazing race and start on the last season of 24, but my boss always told me- if you have time to lean you have time to clean, and he's the man so...
Some-Other-Asshole-Should
"You should really do the dishes."
Translation
You are a stupid sloppy bitch and I hate you. I am awesome.
If you don't do the dishes rats will start infesting your house and nesting in your in rotting half-eaten carcass. I am awesome.
You lazy boob stop masturbating to Keifer Sutherland and be a productive member of this great American dream. I am awesome.
Should comes is all shapes and sizes. In fun conversations- "Yea, you should totally buy a talking toucan and name it Sam!" , and not so fun ones- "You should stop doing heroine. You're disappearing."
But no matter the situation- Should implies that whatever is happening presently is not satisfactory in some way. It implies that someone else knows better, is more morally, ethically authoritative, and that their way is best. It implies discomfort with the self, the feeling of powerlessness beneath expectations and demands from external sources, and perhaps, more significantly the pressure to change. Should is a real doozy.
Word.
So on this precipice I do Declare! I should no more be less than what I should!
OOOkay...yea... OR I don't have any real answers but I am going to try and be more aware of this shape shifting should. Should I fail, God Help us all.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Out of Towners
I know now where my character will go when I say Jupiter. I took some ayahuasca last night. I felt the gravity of the earth as my body is a water mass. tear dripping down chin, butterflies, dew sliding off a blade of grass. white plastic catching sun by wind. my eyes seem to have retained their browness. my head aches still. And And. treatise of the spirit. controlless in the night. controlling throughout. arghy mc arghy.
sleep chain drink elixir. montage of dream. montage of life. baby, wet baby, first boots, snowhill ice treat, cold kisses on small beds, first nipple tug, school, smoke room, grey vans heading south, rain storm depart, depart, depart.
I thought, last night was special. Something. I make a character struggle. I die as a snake skin shedding. A dead woman loves life. Has three sons, and is determined to be as sick as she is herself. Dads fall on wedding days. with no less goodbye, than that.
I'd like to shake hands with all the children.
Mercredi, believe it. Hands touching in the crown of interlaced fingers. This is it guys. I'll snap my head off one day, and someone or maybe no one will see it.
sleep chain drink elixir. montage of dream. montage of life. baby, wet baby, first boots, snowhill ice treat, cold kisses on small beds, first nipple tug, school, smoke room, grey vans heading south, rain storm depart, depart, depart.
I thought, last night was special. Something. I make a character struggle. I die as a snake skin shedding. A dead woman loves life. Has three sons, and is determined to be as sick as she is herself. Dads fall on wedding days. with no less goodbye, than that.
I'd like to shake hands with all the children.
Mercredi, believe it. Hands touching in the crown of interlaced fingers. This is it guys. I'll snap my head off one day, and someone or maybe no one will see it.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Sweetness in The Palm of Your Hand
Went to the dentist
the other day
he told me I have a cavity
I got sweet tooth
sweet tooth
for you baby
Uh huh!
I got a sweet tooth
sweet tooth
for you baby
Jolly rancher lover
watermelon crush
bubble yum
bubble yum
for your touch
I got sweet tooth
sweet tooth
for you baby
Uh huh!
I got a sweet tooth
sweet tooth
for you baby
Sugar High,
Candy low
Sweet too much
you gotta go go go
before I crash
(Oh No!)
Before I crash!
(Oh no!)
Before I crash!
(Oh No!)
Don't wanna break
break
break
your sweet honeycomb
I got a sweet tooth
sweet tooth
I can't stay away
I got sweet tooth
sweet tooth
for you baby!!!
Come on baby,
Give me a cavity!
the other day
he told me I have a cavity
I got sweet tooth
sweet tooth
for you baby
Uh huh!
I got a sweet tooth
sweet tooth
for you baby
Jolly rancher lover
watermelon crush
bubble yum
bubble yum
for your touch
I got sweet tooth
sweet tooth
for you baby
Uh huh!
I got a sweet tooth
sweet tooth
for you baby
Sugar High,
Candy low
Sweet too much
you gotta go go go
before I crash
(Oh No!)
Before I crash!
(Oh no!)
Before I crash!
(Oh No!)
Don't wanna break
break
break
your sweet honeycomb
I got a sweet tooth
sweet tooth
I can't stay away
I got sweet tooth
sweet tooth
for you baby!!!
Come on baby,
Give me a cavity!
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Big Waves Small Bikinis
hey there you. beach comber. sea fare drifter. I look up into the magnificence of water- globular, translucent, gravitational. tongue out wagging. I'm thirsty, I'm thirsty as a cup goes, down drain, drifting in the succulent pond of a Caribbean bay. remember that vacation we took in your living room? when we turned on all the lights, and laid on pillows, pretending to float on those rubber inflatable rafts I'm always dying to buy in sky mall magazines on trips i take to new york or other places not so warm? That was nice. I liked that. We liked each other so much then. Liking is such a thing as goes. and goes. the sun was out like a drag queen today. blaring. It was comforting to look at it through my front windows. all steamed up from the inside. and the birds switching back and forth across the white space above the houses. called sky, grey clouds. blue. my stomach rumbles. my skin crawls. I crack my neck irresistibly. The home I'm looking for comes in 16 months advance introspection and the owners are asleep in the loft space, unbeknown st to buyers perusing the open house. right by the edge of the lake. right up there to the very touch of the water. quite a show. i check my bank account, as a part of feeling productive. it's always a bit suspenseful. but there's no time to worry about money. I've got existentialism to consider. or, i wish i mean. oy oy oy oy oy. mother, oy mother. God I miss shopping. the aching arm shoving swishing the fabric out and away, squinting to see that glowing hint of a perfect dress. Imagining all wearing contexts. taking off my clothes in public. the competition. mmm. it fills me with creative prowess. eve a couture. mmm. just like a piece of sushi with sake. roll em out. yea yea, dearest the day was a dump without you. it was fine. it was....splendiddditty. it was song about bad dentistry and swear words (their excessive use by toddlers in the hood) and a time when women were just lampshades. just bufferers for the light of men who stand on two legs. those torch bearing Olympiads. ouch. ayyee. someone give me a bag of marbles. I lost mine. pphhhheh.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Better Night
Stopping by the park on a snowy evening. the lamplight is glorious amidst the sugary snow falling around. as if in circle. this globe. Is one with out the other? the boots squeal by this walk. I am startled by my own sound. Thoughts come and wonder and terribly dwell, yet passing, not for a bit too long to be noticed by these cold downward stars. I am glad I walked to see this. I am satisfied by my choice. An elegant dog passes. The park is empty besides he and I and his young owner wearing sweatpants. Here we are. Together at last.
Okay Day
As if a coil were drawn in the sand representing something much like a fish scale, singular, and shiny and profound. I asked you here to make sense with. Yet somehow I am lost in the blank spaces of words. between the / time .Leave me. A casserole. There, hug flakes drifting down to the burning touch of a cheek. Why won’t you wake me without this dream? I am intolerable above ground. Says the worm. I am slighter than your two hands can manage. In the lily pad surface of the earth, eyes bulge in their dying wish. And wonder. I slept tewleve hours last night in mind of buildings and appointments and impending vacations. Hearing all the fuzzy breaks of wave on tormented beach. There are ships at distances with every mans wishes on board. I wish I was a mind reader somedays. Heatbreak is a fading suggestion from indifference. Speaks the ocelot. Speaks the reader. Joyless, Esctatic, it’s all the same return to nothingness. Sizzling through our fingers as they dig tirelessly of the soil.
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