11.30.2006

Theme Week 13: Vignettes

I never expect him to remember those things, my quirks. Day and night I never thought he paid that much attention. He never shows it.

Maybe my mind is the problem? I have a selective perception framework sometimes. Emotions tend to get in the way a good amount of the time when I'm trying to focus on rational thought.

I looked out of the corner of my eye, still hurt and dissapointed, watching his arms move with the steering wheel as we turned on to Stillwater. Despite my boredom I felt no desire to argue but to just be miserable, as I always do. Confrontation isn't my strong point, but it's also not a weakness. I guess you could say it depends on the situation.

His voice remained shrill and demanding, in a concerned sort of tone. His worry and curiosity for my current state of mind was intermixed with anger, and I felt sorry for him. I felt pity for the things I make him feel; Though sometimes it's a wonderful time.

College has brought me to extreme boredom with my life. The lack of freedom gives me resentment for every minute spent not doing what I want, I think to myself how it will be when it's overwith, and then I'm overwhelmed with the spitting image of an hourglass floating in front of my frontal lobe. The incessant 'tick tick' of my biological clock is saying, "too bad, you wasted your youth and it's gonna be too late tomorrow to play".

11.17.2006

Theme Week 12: Me without me #2

5-minute Thought Process.
Stupid. selfish. shells. shellfish. crabs. Sallon. winter. snow. angels. heaven. God. shit. poop. diapers. babies. parenting. mom. work. Walmart. fat people. facial hair. Dave Grohl. Nirvana. pot. leaves. nature. animals. wild. crazy. let's get stoned!. Lenny. Superbowl Sunday. popcorn. wrinkles. pug. dogs. slobber. Bugaboo. St Bernard. chin kegs. rum. coconuts. hammer. nails. Larry. inferiority. Josh. love. marriage. fear. nightmares. Freddy Kreuger. claws. lion. jungle. snakes. Timmy. jail. anal sex. catholics. Ms DiFrederico. english. essays. research. information. learning. grades. judgement. arrogance. money. things. desire. sex. condom. latex. Grammy. smothering. fat. hugs. lonely. tired. sleep. late. in trouble. nipples and stickers. rage. bottled up emotions. stress. pain. complaint. annoying. whining. children. candy. halloween. masks. hiding. fear. danger. death. coffins. black. white. light. sun. stars. telescope. pirates. boats. water. swimming. summer. sunburn. aloe. lotion. lubricant. sex toys. porn. boys. inhibitions. drugs. Billy. cocaine. Johnny Depp. scissors. paper. trees. bonsai. small. insignificant. thoughts. cycle. washing machine. clean. dirty. stupid.

Theme Week 12: Me without me #1.

Necessary Life Preparation Checklist
Doc Marten Classic shoes (properly roughened, toughened, and frayed)?check.
Several blue jean flares (frayed but not hole-y)? check.
Grateful Dead Tshirts (dancing bears, tour bus, and traditional logo)? check.
Mismatched drumsticks (pro-mark and ziljian signature)? check.
Striped toe socks in various colours and patterns? check.
Fake foam birkenstocks (a little puppy-chewed and mud-splashed)? check.
Misplaced keys? check.
Chewed fingernails? check.
Half-eaten pecan pie? check.
Various sterling silver rings? check.
Unused checkbook? check.
Josh? check.
Sketchbook? check.
Camera? check.
Moeny? ha!
Hooded sweatshirts? check, check, and check.
Fret? check.
Rusty Cavalier? check.
Brain? mmm... nope. Oh wait, yes, check.

Theme Week 11: Distance, Frame, Alienation

You don't know what love is until you come out of it. True love is that moment between life and death where your whole life flashes before your eyes. You learn to love when you learn the desperation of what it is to live, how precious the human life can be. You don't know what true love is until it really is gone.

It was a dream that was real, and a reality that was a dream, and this is what I learned.

So many people say that they believe in love at first sight, in true love and soul mates and romance. So many people are disillusioned to the point where they think love just happens. Love is easy, love is grand, love can make you happy; But love is a feeling, just like happiness is a feeling, that can be changed just as easily as a smile can be wiped off of your face. It's a clay, a mold, play-doh.

It has to be shaped and poked and prodded and tooled, it has to be baked and rolled, twisted into snakes, squashed into patties, squeezed through a spaghetti press.

I remember getting those little play-doh sets as a kid. My favourite part of the set was when I put the multi-coloured twists of dough into the plastic doll head, and put it back on top of the body, squishing spaghetti rainbow hair.

The worst part was when it was mixed too much, and it turned a lovely fecal brown color.

Things happen to me that way. I mix them up too much and then they turn ugly.

I never think about the possibility of mixing the brown with tons of white, and then red, to maybe make it a pretty coral or pink again.

I guess you could say there will always be a little element of that brown in there, but the rest of the white and red might make that insignificant. Just a figment, a memory.

11.10.2006

Theme Week 10: Irony

Mother says to her Daughter: You are so creative and talented. You should really keep going with your artwork.

Grandmother says to her Granddaughter: Honey, That's wonderful! You're so good! Will you draw me something?

Daughter says to Mother: I don't want to pursue this as a career.

Granddaughter says to Grandmother: No, I'm not good at all. I don't want to draw another picture of your dog.

Mother says to Daughter: If this is because of your boyfriend, you better let him go, because I've seen what you can do, and if he doesn't surpport you you better damn well let him go.

Granddaughter says to Daughter: Oh honey, You love to draw , why don't you want to do it for life?

Daughter says to Mother: I know Mom, I can make my own decisions.

Granddaughter says to Grandmother: I just don't.

Daughter heads up to her room and tapes a piece of paper to her computer screen. On the screen there is an image herself. She traces the contour outlines, rips the paper off, and begins to pencil in the shades of grey.

11.02.2006

Theme Week 9: More Than Words

My senses are clouded, shrouded by this burning, brilliantine shine coming, and the gold glitters. It pulls me under, down, around, yet I can't describe the taste, the touch, what I see. It feels sweet and yet, like a torture knwon to everyone. No matter how much pain and fear it may bring it is wanted, craved, and only someopne can give it to you. It brings life and death and turns you upside down and pushes you into the mud when you thought you were already beneath the soil, crawling where the worms crawl. You see it but not at all, I feel it but sometimes not at all, I can see it, but sometimes not at all. It lingers yet I don't hear its presence all of the time, and you, you hold it, and cradle it in you.

Theme Week 8: From Small to Big, From Big to Small

Lifting my eyes to the blank canvas, I can see the weaving of the threads that construct the solid surface. I can smell the clean white stretches over the pine of my eisel. I can smell the tangy bitter smell that comes with acrylic paint, and my eyes tear at the mere sight of the brilliant hues. They sit in their own little mountains, their own little worlds, these dancing globules of color and light and liquid and brightness. The seem to reflect the light of the sun and everything that is alive.

I close my eyes and let an image form in the still blackness of my closed view, and lift my arm to dip the bleached horsehair bristles into the thick, wet oblivion. I open my eyes and see a deep violet dripping from the fibers, and slowly draw my mind into life, in dimension, in feeling.

Various colours make their way and blend their cool and hot temperature throught the image, bringing out a fire that has rested for far too long.

A friend of mine once told me to take every little ounce of hatred I held for my life, the people in in, and the people out of it, and dip it in paint, and smear it all over the place. They told me to let myself loose on a wide stretch of canvas, in the deepest, darkest, and most brilliant way that I could. I haven't quite gone that far yet.

My mom bought me a Lucas Proffessional painting set, with a full set of acrylic paints in the most beuatiful shades I'd ever painted with. It came with a french eisel, a wonderful set of horsehair brushes, and many other amazing things, that I never thought I would own.

I painted my walls with those colours and I painted wood and I painted lovers and animals and superheroes, but what I had never painted bits of me. I think I was always afraid to see what would come out.

Painting is now something that can be therapeudic to me, I mostly paint when I am angry. Anger is my weakness, there is so much of it lying under my skin, in a way for everyone and everything, but mostly for the fact that I cannot be in control.

Therapy is overrated in a way, I think. Psychologists sit you in a chair, probe you with questions, and than declare you crazy when you so much as express an emotion, and administer medications with side effects that wouldn't get Evil Kineval on the boat.

Doctors in general are like that now, the whole medical industry isn't about helping people anymore, it's about money. Physicians give out pills left and right, hell, they even give you free ones, because they're paid good money to do it. "This might make you sterile, but hey! You're heartburn won't bother you too much, except it might give you a silent uncurable form of stomach cancer! But I can assure you, that only happened to 200 of the 3500 lab rats we tested it on".

Everyuthing is about money. You can't live with it, you can't live without it, it won't buy happiness, and it won't make you feel better. It'll buy you a good strip-tease, or a dirty night with a french prostitute, but it won't pay for the long-term STD damage.