lundi, 100.

I often find myself with too much time on my hands, trying to make sense of the things I encounter on a daily basis. I'm ground down to the bone from stress and other constraints and triggers, the need to strive for some sort of ideal that I don't believe exists. This time of year tends to bring out the worst in people. We carry along in our lives from day to day trying to construct something perfect, something wonderful... questing after happiness or whatever idea resembles the meaning of that word. We are, however, constantly vulnerable to and at risk of coming into blunt contact with a destroyer. At any instance this world we've drafted in our minds can be torn to shreds, ripped apart -- and there we are, shaking and afraid like children left to pick up the pieces and put it back together again, risking nothing but a reoccurrance... and so we find solace in the orchestration of a perfect song, a beautiful melody riddled deep with touching lyrics that hint at a life that exists only within speakers... a painting, vivid and bright, of a world unlike our very own... in a movie or play whose scenes are really just figments of another fucked up person's imagination. Things like this stand as confessions. We openly admit that our own lives are filled with garbage and so we must create an alternate plane to temporarily exist in. Who are we trying to impress? What are we trying to hide? I don't even want perfection, I'd settle for things being just so.

for patrick thompson, the party dolphin

do i need to see an analrapist?

For those who may be unfamiliar with the term, an analrapist (as named by Dr. Tobias Funke from Arrested Development and pronounced uh-nal-ruh-pist) is an analyst and a therapist. These days I think I'm in need of some assistance. My deep seeded self-loathing has launched me into a downward spiral of destruction --- everything in my path is being obliterated: my sense of calm, logic, comfort, 'relationships', et al. My question really is this, when does voluntary self destruction become a condition and not a choice? There's no other way for me to behave.

I've been watching a lot of the Craft lately, scrutinizing small details, reading the lines between blah and blah and

that's all irrelevant. Last night I picked me up some new wheels. Wheels of my own. New car smell wheels. Wheels that'll gladly take you places. A NEW WHIP... shit...

strange days

I was just reading an article on Current.com that totally blew my mind. The labor ministry in Japan is enforcing laws that encourage more "family time." You got it, mandatory sexy-time on the isle of Japan. After Durex did a study on the sex drive and culture of Japan they found out that the Japanese were exponentially less likely go get down and do the nasty than the global average. Their sinking population is running the country down into risky waters. So, gettin' horizontal will hopefully boost their population levels back up and they can be sustained. It's probably not a bad time for the Japanese to have more sex. In light of their recent economic collapse (or almost collapse), perhaps a little slap and tickle would raise the national morale. Just something to think about...

updating via iPhone... I sold out everyone haha

it's 8:41 am

and I'm sitting alone in the office for what will probably be a very long day. Everything is humming, I hear the refrigerator in Studio 1, the copier, 3 of the 4 hard drive towers... Any minute now the phone will ring and honestly, I don't want to answer.

These days I find myself
sinking slow down into my chair,
hair mussed twirled 'round finger,
thoughtless I blink and breathe.

My cuticles are dry and worn,
knuckles arthritic and sore,
cold weather beaten I'm blank
and lonely, skin peeling away.

Creases by my finger tips
tell stories of every object
I've caressed, frigid hands,
I fold up like an envelope.

My life is a schedule of hats
and missing bobby-pins,
mismatched socks and lukewarm
coffee, stained mug and all.

There are nightly fevers,
and dreams, but mostly cold sweat,
beads forming, nape of the neck
back pain shivers down the spine

These dreams are mine
they'll stop in time
when I cut the line
between you and I.

pree - tee givin'

yr in my kichin eetin mah stuffinz

New York, I love you but you're bringing me down.

For the first time in my life I didn't really enjoy my visit to the city. I don't know if it was the frigid air, lack of available taxis, strange assortment of people I was with, the high prices of everything, and just a (recent) general distaste for that whole scene -- but I had such a wrenching feeling in my gut about it all that I packed up and split to go home this afternoon, not without paying a $15 surcharge to leave today instead of tomorrow like my bus ticket proved I had originally planned. In a very crowded bus that wreaked of hot wings and hair grease, I curled up and patiently awaited my arrival in Atlantic City. The woman from Queens who sat next to me was fidgety as all hell but nice enough, and In Rainbows made the ride a little better. Other than two wonderful meals, one at Bread and the other at Westville, I think I'll stay put for a while.

ms callender --- the ghost of english past

I promise by 2 min 30 sec it's worth it.

epilogue to eucharist

pulse

Swift is the way my hips move
as I gravitate toward your space
on the bed,

and it is magnetic--
how I long to lock your rib cage
with mine, and

I want to see each breath you take,
watch as the massive pockets of air
press their faces up & underneath
your clear skin, hair spotted.

You are living somewhere between
my legs, where truly few
have been,

hot and full of one kind of love
or another,
so much that it hurts.

Both you and your ghost seem to draw the blood
from my limbs and hold it somewhere
in the center, and the parts of me

that crave you most---
they are warm and ready
to take you in.

You are the rush from
my thighs to my eyes that screams
like a fire that blazes.

You are the numbness in my toes
as my head lilts backward
onto your pillow,

leaving an imprint you will sleep in later---

you are the one who comes
and stays there

ch ch ch changesssss

I'm really excited to go away this weekend.

I'm totally stoked on this adorrrrrable boy I know.

My hair's been behaving itself.



YEAH BRA, what could be better?

daughters of the soho riots - the national

I have your good clothes in the car
So cut your hair so no one knows
I have your dreams and your teeth marks
And all my fingernails are painted

I'm here to take you now

You were right about the end
It didn't make a difference
Everything I can remember
I remember wrong

How can anybody know
How they got to be this way
You must have known I'd do this someday
Break my arms around the one I love
And be forgiven by the time my lover comes
Break my arms around my love

Break my arms around the one I love
And be forgiven by the time my lover comes
Break my arms around my love

I don't have any questions
I don't think it's gonna rain
You were right about the end
It didn't make a difference

I'm here to take you now

Out among the missing sons and daughters of the SoHo riots
Out among the missing sons and daughters of the SoHo riots

I'm here to take you now

How can anybody know
how they got to be this way
You must have known I'd do this someday
Break my arms around the one I love
And be forgiven by the time my lover comes
Break my arms around my love

Break my arms around the one I love
And be forgiven by the time my lover comes
Break my arms around my love

Break my arms around the one I love

YES WE CAN

it's all good now =]

hope? nope.

Please help me decide what to do tomorrow because I've got an awful, wrenching feeling in my gut telling me that either way I'm making the wrong decision.

Overheard in NY

makes for some really excellent at work zoning out reading time. I'll share my favorite quote with you for today:

Teen: I'll get us a cab.
Grandma: Let's just walk, it's only a few blocks from here.
Teen: Are you sure? What about your hip?
Grandma: Well, it hurts, dear, but I'm not going to be a pussy about it.

--57th St


My friend Tyler just brought me some of his original artwork. I'm excited to have started my collection haha.

NEW COMPUTER

i finally got one! wooooo sony vaio :)

A MUST HEAR

Sleepyhead by Passion Pit, from the EP Chunk of Change [2008]

Steady ecstasy induced beats and hand claps, soulful high pitched vocals that are birthed from some strange combination of the singer from TV on the Radio and one of the Bee Gees' Gibb brothers, creepy high pitched backing vocal samples like you'd get from a UGK or Kanyeezy song, a little Bollywood shit and some Muscles from the Guns Babes Lemonade era just for fun.... late 90's rave vibes... a complete and total flourish of aural stimulants!!!

The word of the day

is precocious.


[adj] 1: characterized by or characteristic of exceptionally early
development or maturity (especially in mental
aptitude); "a precocious child"; "a precocious
achievement" [ant: retarded]
2: (botany) appearing or developing early; "precocious flowers
appear before the leaves as in some species of magnolias"

"I once had a dream so I packed up and split for the city

...I soon found out that my lonely life wasn't so pretty."

Today's song of the day is:


The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds [1966]

That's Not Me by the Beach Boys from one of the most influential rock/pop albums of all time. If you don't own this, you should. If you haven't pirated a copy, you should. If you've never heard of this album, well:

(most frequented) albums of the week

Pedro the Lion - Achilles Heel [2004]


TV on the Radio - Return to Cookie Mountain [2006]


Shout Out Louds - Howl Howl Gaff Gaff [2005]


Elliott Smith - XO [1998]


Midlake - The Trials of Van Occupanther [2006]


Death Cab for Cutie - Something About Airplanes [1999]


Depreciation Guild - In Her Gentle Jaws [2007]


David Bowie - Hunky Dory [1971]


The Get Up Kids - Something to Write Home About [1998]


Yo La Tengo - I Can Hear the Heart Beating As One [1997]

sunny sundae smile

I have become a list maker. My day planner is filled to the brim with To Do lists, pages upon pages. Until I got a big girl job I had never found myself to be overly productive or the aforementioned planning type. I now look forward not just to seeing what my day will be like, but checking off things I get done. There's a sickening sense of enjoyment that I get from seeing the completed tasks outnumber the ones I've left for another day. In the morning I wake with plans already on my mind. I am not sure where in my brain this all comes from, or how I somehow make the decision to do or not to do at any given moment. After a day of gray skies and rain I woke to what appears to be from my window a beautiful fall day. While my family sits around downstairs watching football all day -- I do not want to do this, I hate it and this time of year makes me hate Sundays, parts of Saturdays (which I'm thankfully not around for anymore), and Monday nights -- I'd like to find myself doing something a little more exciting and less mind numbing. I'll probably start with cleaning my mess of a room. I'm usually great at this and I get it done quickly (wow, efficiency) but I can't seem to maintain it for more than a few days. I'd like to write an essay, but I'm sure I'll just do that while I have downtime at work tomorrow or the next day... I'd like to buy something but I've spent too much money this week and must wait for next. I'd like to go for a run, but the state of the air outside is holding the fate of that feat in its hands. I can't seem to look past the small piles of towels and work clothing and shoes and bobby pins and scarves around my room. First I will shower. Then I will eat. Then I will clean my room. I'll probably find myself at the video store later this afternoon, returning Candyman which was a terrible film, and renting Inland Empire, Wild at Heart, (possibly) Dune, and definitely Eastern Promises. If I can find a good foreign film I'll rent that as well. Maybe I'm on a more intense David Lynch phase these days. Maybe I just don't want to let my mind rest. I'd like to bake something. I'd like to sit around a fire tonight. I'd like to meet someone new. I'd like to do all of these things.

And because I haven't posted enough today:

I've become somewhat interested in the "Oral History of the World" -- as taken from the movie Joe Gould's Secret starring Stanley Tucci -- relaying the conversations "overheard" (like Overheard in NY only via my blog) ... I didn't hear this but in my work enduced boredom today I discovered a laughable and laudable conversation per Instant Messenger:

vicemag style

coming soon:

more about art, i.e. an entry on photorealism and some notable artists to peep.

do's and don't's -- (not so much like Vice but) just some things out there that I think are stupid and what is noteworthy.

WHAT I WANT, for the (vain and) materialistic.

album or song of the week.



Some would say Jade has too much time on her hands.

dedecim

If you're into photography (in general) or really enjoy black and white photos caught on film, my friend Devin Yalkin's photos are incredible. Click the link after the second picture!

These are some of my favorites:


Little Oscar


rOsa

orgasme


Where I Came From

I think I love this last picture the most because I've met his parents and they are as adorable in person as they appear in this photograph.

The word of the day

is synergistic.


[adj] 1: used especially of drugs or muscles that work together so
the total effect is greater than the sum of the two
(or more) [syn: interactive] [ant: antagonistic]
2: of or relating to the theological doctrine of synergism
3: working together; used especially of groups, as subsidiaries
of a corporation, cooperating for an enhanced effect; "a
synergistic effect" [syn: synergetic]

no such thing as let down

The Tim and Eric awesome show rarely disappoints, if ever. So how could anything that is one half that amazing product be anything short of fantastic on its own? The answer is that it couldn't. I was sent a single link via e-mail this morning from my friend and this is what I started my day to:



Cosby sweaters, cellulite, Tina Turner inspired garb, awful dancing, gross displays of sexual affection, psychedelic flashing lights, and borderline animation... I couldn't think of a better way to complement this song (Parisian Goldfish from Flying Lotus'Los Angeles LP).


For those who enjoy a resurrection every now and then just for fun,


hahahah JK, though Raphael is delicious.... check out this old throwback (sort of)



I Need Love .... not the LL Cool J version


and def not Necro ... but I like it.

The word of the day

is proverbial.



[adj] 1: of or relating to or resembling or expressed in a proverb;
"he kicked the proverbial bucket"; "the proverbial
grasshopper"
2: widely known and spoken of; "her proverbial lateness"; "the
proverbial absentiminded professor"; "your proverbial
dizzy blonde"

COM LAG 2 EP

Gagging Order by Radiohead

Move along, there's nothing left to see

The bones of this house are
cold. They are most frigid
at the center where the marrow
has grown weak and dry, while
the air outside has become
crisp -- smelling of burning leaves
as they crackle and curl
in a flash of golden embers.
I sit somewhere inside as
an empty home breathes in
and out, craving the scent
of electric heat, I click
my heels hoping to
spark the thermostat.
The old metal vents
fashioned into a sinking
ceiling begin to sing,
their rusty shafts blow
an uncomfortably warm
breeze onto my scalp.
I think of better days,
inhale the foreign smoke
of dry tobacco, and
wait for first frost.
The trees undress
along with me as the
sun tucks itself away
at an earlier hour and
we remain -- stark, naked,
and insatiably hungry
for something hotter
than this.

your 69th entry will be here in 69 minutes!

post otherwise known as "down in the dirty"


Things like this reassure my faith in humanity....
I mean, question it....


and check out this too! priceless!

sex drive

So funny I laughed until I got a headache... Plus Rumspringa? OMG!

everybody wants to be italian?

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be on the arm of a my-new-haircut club going douchebag with hair spiked up into a perfect vertical line... with wax of course... going to the gym together, taking supplements... drinking wheatgrass shakes sometimes... driving around in a car, always shiny... going tanning, showing our midriffs... blasting Tiesto no matter what streets we're on... doing everything together and walking around with our hands in our respective back pockets... falling asleep to MTV's NeXT, knowing all the words "Shake It" by Metro Station... knowing when the new Ed Hardy line is gonna drop... doing Jager bombs or walking into a bar and the dude behind the counter already knows that I want a Red Bull and Vodka... our idea of culture being a night out at Caesar's casino... knowing all the bro bars in Philly, calling Philly the 'delph... going to Deptford... or Cherry Hill... wearing white after Labor Day... fitted hats... stilettos... Coach brand sneakers... Juicy Velour Jumpsuits... my man wearing Juicy for Men... I'd carry my dog in my purse, douse him in Juicy dog perfume... all of us will smell so fragrant that we'll leave a trail behind us... always having my nails done, pretty much unable to do anything with my hands... both graduating from community college... having my Grandfather call my boy Paisan... getting mistaken for Eurotrash...








then I come to my senses and wonder what the fuck I was thinking

Magnetic Fields

True I'd give my right arm
To keep you safe from harm
And, true, for you I'd move to Ecuador

And I'd keep a little farm
Chop wood to keep you warm
But I don't really love you anymore

I don't have to love you now
If I don't wish to
I won't see you anyhow
If that's an issue...

There'll be some day when your eyes
Do not enthrall me
I'll be numb, I realize you'll never call me

'Cause I've read your horoscope
And now I've given up all hope
So I don't really love you anymore

'Cause I've read your horoscope
And now I've given up all hope
So I don't really love you anymore

I would love

nothing more than to cut things out of my life if I was completely able to, and never look back.

an "american idiot"

McCain and Palin have no business in the White House, not once not neva, NO WAY.

WTF?! Tonight's debate is going to be awesme. Check out this NYT article regarding the offensive "offense" happening along the McCain-Palin campaign trail. It's total B.S.

Does anyone remember Ms. South Carolina? I mean come on, she's just as qualified to be the VP!


That answer is just like last weeks debate! "I'm not going to answer your questions, I'm just going to do what I please!" OMGZ PLZ!

big big big

I have always loved large scale installations. A professor I had my freshman year of college inspired me to always go bigger. Big, big, big, he'd say. Unless it's overpowering you can't feel it. Now I don't always believe that things must overpower you to make you truly feel its presence, it's idea can be bigger than it's size. The size of your concept must almost always, undoubtedly, outshine everything else. Now there are some people who work with size and it's incredible: Richard Serra, David Smith, Jeff Koons, Vik Muniz (who is AMAZING if you're into re-purposed art, that link goes to a pic from his junkyard series, a replication of Caravaggio's Narcissus), and my new favorite -- photographer Wim Tellier who works out of Belgium and the Netherlands (We all know Netherlandish art has made its presence known for centuries). Here's a link to his new project proposal: http://www.artinfo.com/news/story/28867/photographer-wim-tellier-plans-south-pole-installation/. This is going to be the largest installation in the South Pole ever to be done. Here's a peek at one of his older installations, a blown up image of a baby superimposed onto a bed a rubber ducks.

Boo

What I would love is to have someone to share my good news with, share a bed with, share a moment with. Someone who won't let me down. Someone who is okay with holding pinkies instead of hands. Someone who pulls me closer by my front pocket. Someone who understands why Belle and Sebastian is perfect in the fall, and who doesn't mind that sometimes Ben Gibbard makes me cry. One who knows how I find some sort of emotional significance to every lyric that passes through my lips. One who does the same.


Use Somebody by Kings of Leon
from their album Only By the Night

drinking champagne from a paper cup is never quite the same

The Death Cab show last night was even better than the last two times I saw them. Ben Gibbard lost his teddy bear like chub though, which makes me sad. I didn't recognize him. They played a really varied set, and though I can't remember the order this is pretty much what I recall being played:

*THEY opened with: Employment Pages... then all these showed up somewhere, I'm working on arranging the list:
Movie Script Ending, We Laugh Indoors, Bixby Canyon Bridge, I Will Possess Your Heart, Cath..., Grapevine Fires, Long Division, The Ice is Getting Thinner, Soul Meets Body, I Will Follow You Into the Dark, Crooked Teeth, The New Year, Title and Registration, Sound of Settling, We Looked Like Giants, Company Calls, Company Calls Epilogue and encored with: Champagne From a Paper Cup, No Sunlight, Tiny Vessels, and Transatlanticism.


OMG MY MIND WAS BLOWN !

PAPERMONSTER update

My friend Victor Garcia is doing amazing things with his art work! Please check it out!

www.papermonster.org

He's also released a skateboard deck!

You can check out more details and download pictures of pieces in the show by visiting:::
http://papermonster.wordpress.com

There, you will find upcoming shows and projects including a laser cut skateboard which you can view pictures of here:
http://flickr.com/photos/5280lasers/2808499681/

at the museum

1
Statues of archaic figures with
almond eyes hover above a diffusing crowd,
much like storm clouds do in springtime.
I have rewritten their language to be my own.
Clinging my belongings as they spill
over my weak half nelson, I appear to some
as a bag lady, some as an Olympian.
The clicking of my too-tight-shoes
grows loftier as I make my way down the corridor,
and the stare of some Doryphorus burns itself
some place between my shoulder blades.
Athens rests upon my lips here, it is
sweet and the scent of Cyprus, of clay,
of dry air -- it is all the heaviness
of the Gigantomachy on the Temple of Zeus
in Berlin, and it stings my sinuses.

2
These many words have not been translated,
not to me and everybody knows it, even the guards
in all of their hand me down shirts.
In some other hall or gallery a thousand
Madonnas line the walls, the pietas
sag and melt like molten steel -- she
sinks low and slow like blackstrap molasses,
or like some Herb who's reluctant to speak up.
This is my thirteenth time visiting this wing,
which is why the Mother's behaving this way.
It's tricking and I got it.

3
In the darkness of the third floor
I'm noticed by a woman of about ninety,
the thick lines of pragmatism hide in her face.
She picks my scarf up off the floor, looks up,
her bright eyes the like the hole in the Pantheon.
I imagine scooping them out like soft pearls
and fashioning a necklace to see forever with.
Shade thanks the woman for her keffiyeh,
then continues down the hallway in silence.
She will go on knowing the woman is
only steps behind her and will think
about the years between them, all of
the miles and countries that make
her a girl in her twenties and
the woman unknowable.

4
I lean against the salty marble wall,
wrapped in shivering coldness chattering
teeth that could provoke an earthquake.
In nomini Patri... In the name of the father,
I mumble this while all the saints and sinners mock me.
The legends here have their place on the wall,
I am their outsider getting drenched
in their laughter and finding my
way back into the crowd.

reckless, depraved, and bitter

Tonight is the season 2 premier of Californication, one of my most favorite shows ever. Nevermind the articulate (yet pithy at times) dialogue, picturesque setting, or the bittersweet Hollywood hopefulness, oh and the youngest daughter from The Nanny's boobs popping up every once in a while -- I'm entranced by David Duchovny's transformation from almost character actor (can we remember Evolution? that was him, wasn't it?) into -- BRACE YOURSELF -- David Duchovny basically acting like himself. An intelligent, super awesome, slightly pessimistic, ridiculously sex driven "power" male... oh throw in the fact that he is the type of writer in the show I'd love to be and we basically have a match made in heaven. Never watched X-Files, don't know which is Mulder or Scully, but I can say this... since Twin Peaks, you've come a long way baby!

honesty. honest tea.

While working at an organic food store I became reacquainted with my love for Honest Tea of all flavors. Moroccan Mint Green, Assam Black, First Nation Peppermint, Just Black, Just Green, Pearfe"ct White, and Community Green Tea (with Maltese Orange essence!) -- just to name a few. Anyhow, much like the famed Snapple caps, the makers of Honest Tea have included what I find quite interesting quotes underneath the lid of each delicious bottle. I began to compile a collection of the quotes, and I see no better time than now to share them:

"In all things of nature, there is something of the marvelous." -Aristotle

"The person who knows how to laugh at himself will never cease to be amused." -Shirley MacLaine

"Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it." -Confucius

"The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others." -Ghandi

"The first human being who hurled an insult instead of a stone was the founder of civilization." -Sigmund Freud

"The true meaning of life is to plant trees under whose shade you do not expect to sit." -Nelson Henderson

"I would rather regret the things I have done than the things I have not." -Lucille Ball

"Never hope more than you work." -Rita Mae Brown

"To bend a bamboo, start when it is a shoot." -Malaysian Proverb
Abraham Maslow

"He who throws mud only loses ground." -Fat Albert (umm, ok)

"The bad news: there is no key to the universe. The good news: it was never locked." -Swami Beyondananda

right now

Little Bit by Lykke Li from the album Youth Novel

my brother's morning playlist

I had a Zooey Deschanel in Almost Famous moment during my family's Jeopardy and countertop dinner last night. As most of my friends know, we have this really great nook off of our kitchen which provides a nice place to eat dinner but for some reason my family is more apt to sit around the island in our kitchen and eat dinner there amongst the yammering of Sam Waterston on Law and Order, or the obnoxious voice of Alex Trebek. Anyways, this moment made me proud to be a sister. My brother decided to share with me the music he listened to on his way to school (he's a high school junior)... nonetheless this completed me. On a rainy morning on a bus filled with really lame wannabe fitted hat wearing "gangstas" he tuned them out first listening to Blinded by the Lights by the Streets. He was "super into the hook" and Mike Skinner's stream of consciousness writing... little did he know about the ecstasy driven storyline, but awesome still. What was even more fascinating was that he said he didn't even know he had this on his iPod, and so he listened to the first five tracks of the album. We dished about this for a bit. He moved himself into some Black Moth Super Rainbow and (the to be expected) Broken Social Scene... starts droppin' bombs on me about Nas and how he's lyrically misunderstood, talking about subtle nuances and shit. I'm like, when I was 16 I moped, wore lots of black, and listened to the Cure. I would have talked about how Robert Smith was a misunderstood lyricist and how the album Disintegration changed my life. I wasn't nearly as insightful... didn't know who Mike Skinner was.

guten morgen!

Somehow yesterday I was transformed into this half-a-pack-a-day smoke coming out of my ears no sleep till Brooklyn type of narcissist. After that wine induced night I woke in my bed after a series of bizarre dreams -- like, I was tripping on mushrooms on my old campus, a ridiculously heavy backpack strapped to myself, and all of my middle school nemeses were there -- pissed at myself for leaving the window open again because my throat hurts and the fan was already on. I'm a sucker for listening to storms as I try to fall asleep but I'm forgetting we're punching into fall and summer is long gone. My sufficient enough weekend was bumped up to a 4-day weekend yesterday when office manager Betty called me to say they were closing the Arts Center because of (potential) power outages. I'm feeling lazy and thin this morning, sleep gunk half gluing my eyelids shut, hands shaking like a wino's would. My room needs to be cleaned, it's vomiting itself up again. I'm trapped inside a toddler who can't hold his animal crackers... so I guess I have something to do today.

no. 52

The ground feels the same
underneath our feet, I'm sure,
though there seems to be more of
it between us these days.
My skin is pink on the nape
of my neck where the sun
hits me on my way to work,
and I'm sure that on some
afternoons you feel it too,
puckered, soft, and flushed.
Sleep must be the same,
perhaps, with constant
tossing, turning, churning...
For my mind can't rest when
it thinks of you or the way
your glasses rest upon your ears.
The lines connecting you and I
are long and thin and taut,
and I know you're there
pulling me back and forth
like some childhood game
I've forgotten about.

sleep tight, tiger

First I would like to say that I have loved this album since I first got it back in 2005. It reminds me of the many summer nights spent with special people driving up and back Absecon Island with nothing but the sweet taste of innocence fleeting from our lips. I realized while driving the other night my affinity for Swedish music. Lykke Li, PB&J, Husky Rescue, Jose Gonzalez, Belle and Sebastian, (and I believe) Camera Obscura among others and others and others. But these have been on my list for frequent listening as of late. While musically (at least) have managed to cling to the past -- Otis Redding make me want to locate a time machine and pick out my 'fro -- I have started to cling to other things... like my love of what is basically a 9 to 5 schedule, the sound of my heels clicking against the tile floor while I walk up to my office in the morning--coffee in hand, wearing pencil skirts, and research assignments though I've always sort of enjoyed those. I wake and retire to my bed both in early hours. I like things this way. My life is becoming ever so simple. I don't seek to change it any time soon.

public transportation

I'm perpetually amazed and bewildered by the New York City subway system. I love feeling somewhat in the company of others but completely alone. I forgot to mention this.

take offs and landings?

I have been pondering what difference there really is between an arrival and a return. We look at the two each as very separate things, and there is significant emotional weight to each. After a great effort to keep myself sane while in transit for some hours over the weekend, I am here -- barely alive and well (at least yesterday) -- to tell the tale. Friday night was my big return to the Drew campus and New York City as well. It had been months (since graduation) since I had been back and I must say it was delightful having some handfuls of people happily waiting to greet me in each place. I think of the aforementioned terms as arrival meaning what it traditionally means, and returns as a departure I suppose. Arrivals and returns to places one doesn't call home come with much anticipation, the return home is oftentimes dreaded or a sad experience. I'm actually not sure what to make of any of this now. You can always go home, but wherever you visit won't always be the same.

things

Eucharist

My knees are chapped and bruised
from kneeling before you, an unnamed
god that I sacrifice my insides for.

To keep you close I must take you in,
holding you tight to my chest like an idol,
quaking and rocking as though entranced in prayer.

My forehead and lips burn with devotion
where you have anointed me.
It is here you have delivered me from the others.

You come, my sweet, motionless and sacred.
You go, restless and afraid.
Oh my darling full of grace, redeem me.


The Mighty Oak

There are roots,
thick and heavy roots
that clench themselves
to the driest soil.
They twist and turn
into complex shapes,
rigid and unforgiving.
No one can climb here
for the branches are brittle.
The bark is tough and remains
untouched for fear of tearing
skin, its been split in patches
by the curious, the few who've
tasted the tenderness within.
It may be because this tree
is filled with ancient secrets,
ghostly whispers fill its arms,
as they reach toward the skies.
It is silly to think
one should even try to reach
the top, it'd be easier
just to slip inside,
sleep a while.

darling,

if all of the

stress
pangs
heartbreak
years
years
years
disgust
confusion
desperation
vulnerability
anxiety
and desire

were for this one single moment in time,



so fucking be it.

Youth Novel

It has been brought to my attention (needless to say I've been aware of it for a while) that I have stopped updating here. I've stopped writing in general. If not for a general lack of interesting things to say or "blogworthy" topics, then just out of sheer laziness and the unwillingness to explore my own head. Since my hiatus I've started a new job, a real one in fact that my $200,000 education "prepared" me for. It's at the Ocean City Arts Center and it's so good that I'm quitting my other job. Remember? The nonsensical one that I have recently discovered to be littered with roaches, rats, and termites among crotchety old, impatient, stank-breathed customers. I'm turning my back on organic fruits and veggies as well as strange and bizarre meatless meats for something worlds better... for now.



I have found myself to be transforming into a small town girl with a big city heart and attitude of sorts, talking about my past life and future goals as what drag queens from the 1950s would refer to as a career girl (and I hope my hidden reference to the movie To Wong Foo...Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar was apparent, and if not it is now). Anyways, I notice that I have begun to say things like "I'm due in at the office" more frequently and something about having a job where my brain remains in my head for 6+ hours certainly tickles me... where it tickles me I'm not sure but just know I'm laughing about it.

Someone out there somewhere is reading this, so do me the favor of giving me something I should write about. I feel myself lapsing back into the LiveJournal style of recapping my days. And even I don't care much about that.

anonymous commenting

is ridiculous. if you're going to criticize me don't hide yourself.

I WANT THIS NOW

http://www.anthropologie.com/anthro/catalog/productdetail.jsp?_dyncharset=ISO-8859-1&_dynSessConf=8053303066977135625&id=830094&parentid=APP_DRESS_GRAPHIC&pushId=APP_DRESS_GRAPHIC&popId=APPAREL&sortProperties=&navCount=2&navAction=jump&fromCategoryPage=true&selectedProductSize=&selectedProductSize1=&color=grm

so uhhh.. can I have?

days of yore

When I think about my current post-grad situation I am filled with bitterness, but then there are moments when I suck it the fuck up and realize that there are people from high school that are worse off than I am. Well, maybe they're not necessarily worse, just far more fucking stupid. And not booksmart-stupid, just absolutely superficial and incredibly lame. As I managed to roll myself onto my side this morning after a night of God only knows what I found myself on this person's facebook profile:



and although the profile is quite fascinating, I'm only going to share with you this person's favorite books:

Men's Health, Fitness Rx, Money, Playboy, and the Guinness book of world records.
Actually, while trying to copy these down I found the personal interests blogworthy as well:


"Philly, Sports, Lifting, UFC, Music, Eating, Sleeping, Friends, traveling, PHILADELPHIA EAGLES, 76ers, makin money, eating extremely healthy, amino acids, SKANKS, beef jerky (yum yum!), eating steak with massive amounts of ketchup, blazin and being philosophical, watching movies, breakfast, fantasy football, nl poker, tan brunettes, protein!!!!, the beach, going for runs, ballin out, WAWA, lunch, Eating, dinner, baller ass cars, studying on aderol... its so much fun, observing people, Benjamins, tattoos, food, the montauk monster."

So disgustingly college and disgustingly Rutgers I suppose I'm glad I never went there.

F#A#

my teeth chatter, crooked and unforgiving
as my bones fold themselves into the most twisted of shapes
and like the oldest tree i stand, weakly,
bending and snapping in the air of the pending autumn.

my body is a maze i remain in, my skin
puckering as it bleeds into falsely white sheets.
i greet myself in the mirror that hangs on a wall
by the buzzing light of the television, unknowingly.

in this life i crave absolution and solace,
my raspy voice prays for it at night and somewhere
in a drawer lay books that remain unread
and a God whose name stains my lips.

here i sit in an unnamed room
surrounded by found objects of little meaning.
i search for a way to get back to my vivid dreams,
to when time and space collided and i understood how.

it's nobody's fault but my own

As quickly as summer brushed itself onto the thirstiest of lips, it has receded like the most bitter tide to ever wash against the shore. I had at one time or another in the past few months found myself on the cusp of major life changes like perpetually turning pages in a book that is longer than Tolstoy's War and Peace. Now I just feel as though I'm stagnant, an stone unturned, collecting my thoughts and feelings like moss atop my cracking skin. Looking in the mirror I can see myself aging. I crave sleep more than anything, and no matter what conversation begins I find myself lapsing back to some pointless thought, my mind meandering about like a stray cat. Months ago I felt as though the world rested upon the tips of my curled toes, now I feel like it's barely within reach. The summer of this or that was not really summer at all. I watch the world around me, the innocence around me, and I have forgotten about the true essence of this time. The spirit of summers past has escaped me and I no longer anticipate it's coming or dread its leaving us. It's just another three months and it will return. A blur encapsulates me. What is with the human preoccupation of getting things accomplished? Tonight while driving home, it is the early evening, the sun is setting much sooner than it would have not too long ago, a flock of birds lifted themselves from the ground and into the tops of trees that line up behind the houses on my street... they are fleeting silhouettes in a melon colored sky. I wonder what I am doing but they're just finding a place to sleep.

on hiatus

until my mind can make sense of things.

as it is writ so it shall be done

I'm stuck in some awful sort of paradox. My lack of thoughts and inability to write is bizarre being that since my last post I've been totally and completely overwhelmed by an overload of emotion and events. My patience and emotional and mental stamina have been tried. It is here that I now stand, still without anything of much substance to say. Where do I go from here?

time to send someone away

After a very long few days I realized it was Sunday, however, I'm postponing my 'Piece of the Week' segment until Tuesday. With work, etc. I haven't had a second to let my mind rest. If anyone has suggestions about a piece or topic they'd like me to talk about send it my way! I think things may work better that way.

what goes around

Rejection is an awful feeling. What's worse is when you're convinced you've got something nailed down and then it goes in the complete opposite direction. I didn't get the Philly job. What's a girl to do?

worth sharing

iMEEM exclusive... makes me hear the song differently...

second piece of the week

Interior (The Rape) by Edgar Degas, 1868-9

In the fall semester of my junior year I took an art history course entitled Theory and Criticism. On the first day of class our professor told us that this was in fact the hardest course within the major and essentially we would be teaching ourselves the material (via torturous hour long weekly presentations by every student in the class for the next 3 and a half months). Hundreds and hundreds of pages of scholarly articles later on topics I didn't even know could be applied to art history brought the class to the painting you see above. It has almost been three years since I discussed this piece in depth, and it is still fresh in my mind. The startled feeling I get right where both sides of my ribcage meet each other remains and I am stunned.

Degas is obviously a well known painter, but most importantly among the laymen his named strikes a particular key. Thick and colorful images of ballerinas in formation with one another come to mind and the delicacy with which the paint was applied to such supple canvases reminds us of Impressionism -- one of the most revered and respected movements in art. The part of our brain that stores pictures is triggered and releases Monet's waterlilies, Manet's seascapes, and the faces of the many Renoir children. The goal of this "glamorous" high painting was light, to capture it and maintain it in the most realistic of ways throughout the entire piece. An even balance of luminous color is cast upon the canvas using apparent brush strokes, clearly not as striking as the Expressionistic application seen in such Van Goghs but still powerful. Artists working within this spectrum wanted to give the impression of the ideal. They were working their way out of Realism, and Impressionism was the best way to give a realistic depiction of a world that was only perfect on the outside, which brings us to Degas' The Rape. Here we are reminded that no matter how many idyllic flower scenes and bourgeois French citizens an artist focuses on there is a dark, frightening mind within that realizes not all is as it seems.

Remember that Impressionism shows that everything seems fine on the outside, well, this is the antithesis of that. This concept is not proven by examining the darkness of the scene, nor is the woman's torn dress or the positioning of the man against the wall a true hint to the obscurity of private lives. It's in the tilted and warped perspective, the focal point, and the sheer uncertainty of the presentation that makes us question our own realities. Every formal aspect of this painting leads the viewer to believe that the situation we are first presented with may not be as it seems. It is said that this scene is based on a Zola story, one of a woman who wants her lover to kill her husband so they can elope and live together. If this is known ahead of time, one could speculate that the man (who we initially perceive as the rapist) has arrived to his lover's bedroom after killing her husband. She waits anxiously for his return, the torn dress symbolically representing her torn conscience. Light as the central focus could have been used in this instance to set the figures apart from the viewer, placing them in a lower moral caliber than us. But perhaps the picture is telling us exactly what we are told, and the Degas has manipulated the light to place the woman in a vulnerable position, she is in fact crouched and set below the male figure who is in "power". Whether we are witnessing a raw love born from infidelity or an innocence that has been ripped from one person by another, this unsettling image is what I believe to be the epitome of Impressionism (at its highest).

It is ideas such as these that I believe inspired Neo-Impressionists like Georges Seurat to fragment reality and give the viewer an image that is admired and confusing -- showing us familiarity and ripping it away by manipulating a site so that it is looked upon in a way that at one point was inconceivable. The Gravelines done by Seurat at the fin-de-siecle are a perfect example of this. Such dizzying pieces remind us of the Night Cafe by Vincent Van Gogh and how the prettiness of painting done un plein air is in fact underrated.

seahorses 4 eva

Apparently a guy was tripping on acid and his friends recorded what he said. I don't know what Dan Deacon has to do with this, but it's entertaining. NO WAY.

i haz job, i haz it!

OKAY FRIENDS here's the deal: I'm no longer unemployed, babysitting, or working odd (but fun) jobs for people. I'm also not working a career job, nevertheless, I am an employed individual who is now contributing somehow to society. This morning I was hired to work at a local organic food market.



The better news: I'll stop asking you to pick me up because I'll finally have money for gas.

transparent things

Since last summer I've been really into Fujiya and Miyagi, as well as most music like this (Cut Copy, Hot Chip, Datarock, etc.). It's just come to my attention, however, that F+M says "Sock it to me" in way too many of their songs. Is that really necessary?







You don't see David Byrne doing this shit.

thank you for being a friend

As most of you know I'm a huge Golden Girls fan, have been since about age eleven. It might seem strange for a girl my age to not only be an avid watcher (three times a day), but to quote lines from the show in casual conversation is very much a part of my daily routine. So for a person like me, today is a sad day. Estelle Getty, the actress who played Sophia Petrillo on the series passed away today. On the show she was known as a sassy, witty, brash little woman filled with old world charm. She reminded me very much of my own grandmother. That being said I haven't much else to say.







R.I.P. Estelle, we loved you!

first piece of the week

If you think you've noticed some changes on my blog you're correct! To the right I've added a section entitled Piece of the Week. It not only includes a picture of whatever I have chosen for this week but if you click the image it will lead you somewhere that will educate you further about the artist. Every Sunday I will introduce a new piece of artwork and briefly discuss it in hopes of starting some sort of discussion or at least a place for those interested to pose questions. The Andres Serrano post is still up for grabs, though.


Yellow, White, Blue over Yellow on Gray by Mark Rothko, 1954

While watching a program on the artist this afternoon on Ovation TV I became inspired to have this as my first piece. Rothko has always been an artist that inspires me in some fantastical way. I believe it has something to do about the interplay between his color fields and the radiative qualities each section possesses as it plays with the others and the viewer. Mark Rothko once said that the ideal painting has three qualities: romanticism, tragedy, and the clear preoccupation with death. Many art historians say that there is a romantic element to Rothko's body of work (especially in regards to the vibrant, lovely paintings), but much to the surprise of many it is his stark, dark, solid works that are the triumphant and joyous ones. Pieces like the one I have chosen, according to Rothko, are the sad ones filled with tragic players.

It is important to keep in mind that while Mark Rothko was working within the New York School of Abstract Expressionists, also known as the Irascibles (which included Pollock, de Kooning, etc.), the maxims to which he worked were very different for an abstract painter. Like all artists whose work seemed to transform over time into something more obscure and oftentimes confusing, they all started out using "traditional" techniques with identifiable "forms". In his early work from the 1930s there was an obvious preoccupation with color which stemmed from his admiration of Henri Matisse and the painting The Red Studio. Using color as the primary expressive tool was Rothko's game. Each block can be likened to a paragraph and how that paragraph speaks for the whole is what makes it "work".

What most people don't realize when looking at a piece is that they don't have to search for meaning, and the reason for that is because there isn't one. I heard an artist speak once about a person he witnessed at the Tate Modern who was looking at a Rothko. It was a large, red schemed, heavy yet staggering work. The viewer looked at it from every allowable angle as if "he dropped his coat somewhere into the space and was desperately trying to retrieve it but didn't know how to approach searching for it." It isn't meaning that you should walk away with, it is an experience. Paintings such as these are meant to leave the viewer with an experiential enlightenment. What Mark Rothko truly strived to do was create a cohesive space, one where architectural form and visual form could come together to embody a spirit of some sort. These works are meditative and majestic. We should contemplate them, let them become a part of us. I've never been so physically affected by another artist's work and it baffles me.