four walls, no walls, you and me.


Back from hiatus….
May 27, 2007, 1:22 am
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Blogging gives me virtual performance anxiety.

I am so tired of the whole Mac thing. I hate using my powerbook and ipod. I walk around and I hate seeing everyone so disengaged from everyone else. Sometimes I’m in a particularly bitchy mood and think to myself “I feel sorry for that ipod, I bet he/she puts really shitty music on it and that poor little device has to croon out maroon 5 into that deaf ear.” A lot of the times, I don’t bring my ipod with me when I know I will be in situations where having an ipod would be really convenient. I like putting myself in awkward situations, seeing how I will respond to filling the dead air. A lot of the times I bring my big ol cans with me even though it’s a pain in the ass so I won’t have those white earbuds to mark me out as a consumer (which I really, REALLY am….I think only Ethan can truely understand me when I say that, and he’s about a million times worse than I am). Will any counterculture ever really be counter culture? I feel like it always gets eaten up. I’m not trying to be a snob here (I do know how to share) but sometimes I just don’t understand the point.

I’m reading this book, and in it this po-mo artist guy says that the concept of new is a modernist notion, this other artist guy says that before he creates art, he’ll watch some trashy double feature so he can rid his mind of all the art learning he’s acquired over the years, so he can create original work without the old masters looming over his shoulder, and in the New Yorker a few weeks ago, they ran a story about Banksy and how his painting sold at Sotheby’s for over $200,000. A few things….

1. I’m not sure what I think of the concept of new but I do know that in trying to create something new, I am constantly fighting against half of the post-modernists.
2. Does anyone else think that dude is wasting his time?
3. Has street art become too mainstream? YES. Has Banksy sold out? NO. He still works on the street, gives his work away for free, and I mean really, would YOU turn down $200,000?

Also, my dad recently bought a turntable. Which is awesome because now we are in the process of converting all of his old records into digital files. He is loving it and so am I. Recent favorites are Cliff Richard, Donna Fargo, The Ventures, Yes, and a few others…all on original vinyl!!! Good times.

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bullshit
May 20, 2007, 11:45 pm
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i am not interested in systems and lines. i am only interested in the grey matter in between. this may be my downfall.



May 20, 2007, 5:01 am
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5 am LAX runs are something i could live without. but it’s worth it if it means a few more precious moments with a friend i will know for life.

i went to rosary bowl 2007 last night. it was a mixed bag, for sure. it was a very distinctly L.A. affair, which made me feel a little sick.

going to a 5 pm single’s bbq at my friends church. i am curious to see what i will be like in 12 hours.

going to make a billion tiny little pb&j sandwiches for my sister’s church group. kind of cute actually.



The Words…the words…..
May 11, 2007, 12:10 am
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It’s so easy to work on autopilot. To let days pass and go through the motions, not knowing how you got from one place to the other……

Sometimes it’s the lifeline that helps us reach tomorrow. The mind’s ability to shut out all else and resort to the basic functions that the body demands and the heart needs to survive is amazing. It comes so seamlessly at times it seems almost natural. Other times it is the cause of total collapse, debilitating to the point where we become mere shadows of our former self.

Is it possible to say all we need to say? Will we ever get the chance to right wrongs or heal completely? If not, then what’s the point? Today I don’t know God. Yesterday I did, but today God was silent. I couldn’t say the words out loud…Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner. I said it to myself, but there was nothing.



a gift in the form of a chair
May 8, 2007, 1:45 am
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Today I was thinking about my post earlier and how sad it was that I abandoned one of the things I loved. I have one precious journal left with me. I have had it for two years (I write on and off and in different journals) and I took it off the shelf recently and laid it next to my bed on the floor in the hopes that one day I would feel inspired and pick it up and a glorious fountain of wisdom and forgiveness and hurt and despair realizations and and and… would all be spilled from my body onto the pages.

It didn’t happen like that. It was more like…I was still too hot after I got out of the shower so I sat down with the fan in from of me and saw my notebook and picked it up. It was so simple and easy. I was writing about the new layout of my room (I rearranged it) and made a diagram and then filled it in with actual things and then filled the whole page with chairs. It was the most lovely half a minute of my day today. I forgot how imaginative the mind can be when you take it out for a walk. It may seem like such a mundane thing but to me it was an answer from God.

For the longest time I thought that the meds had dulled me out so much that I would never be able to feel or think or care for a long time. I’ve been off them for over a year now (that’s such a weird thing to say!) and it’s been rough. The wave of numbness has been taking it toll on me but today it was taken over by a different wave. This wave said that it wasn’t the end yet, that however painful, there is something left in me. Such a double-edged sword though! I cried about 4 times this week, REALLY cried. I sobbed about the same number. I had single or double tears roll down my face about a dozen. When it rains it pours. It hurt so much I thought about calling my therapist and telling her I need meds again. But then I felt so sinful so I didn’t. I know that this is neither the end of my sorrow and tears, nor the beginning of peaceful sunny days. I am just thankful for the reminder that things are still possible and that God does answer prayers, even if we don’t know we are praying them.



like everything else, my life can be found in a box
May 8, 2007, 1:40 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

I love my journals. I hardly use my nice or expensive ones. They are far too pristine for the crap I fill its pages with. My favorite journals are in a box, in a basement, in Lawndale. In particular, there is one hardbound black journal with red trim at the corners. The pages are amazing. It is the kind of paper you would find in Asia, not in the stationary stores with animated dogs and pigs spouting heartwarming greetings in bad grammar, but the kind of paper you would find in notebooks made for ordinary people for ordinary use. It was lined with one red line on top, the rest blue, and had the most delicious transparency to them when I wrote with my black felt pen. That was my favorite pen for a long time. Lately it’s bee my fine line Rotring pen, which sadly dried out even when I put new ink in. I guess its time had come.

The thing about journals is, we all do them differently. I always loved seeing and reading other people’s journals, I guess I’m a secret voyeur. I don’t actually think that. I think that the well trained artist/writer/director/any person who is creative and hungry will always have that desire, to eat up everything, everyone, every experience they have ever known, to know their lives. Anyway, I compulsively read my journals over and over again. Whatever it is I’m reading, no matter how long ago or soon it was, I always get caught up in that feeling again and it doesn’t leave for days and days.

The good thing about not having my journals here is that there is a much smaller reference point for me to gauge the failures of my life. My time at home has been spent trying to become less psychotic, avoiding the sun, drinking, dancing (often both) my pain away or smoking cigarettes by my window concentrating on breath or the path of smoke as it leaves my body.

But there are Doubts. and Thoughts. and Rage. and deep Hurt. and Hopelessness. That for some reason or another is too much to ask of a quill. It is mere feathers, how could it bear such a heavy burden under its small weight?

Confessions mean more in pen and paper. As a policy, I seldom use pencil. I don’t like the idea of being able to erase the past. It was there. You took your part of it. Don’t hide behind it and Don’t Forget. It is what made you who you are today. Do not ignore it. Give it its space, but don’t let it take you over.

I have not been able to write for over a year. I have written vapid emails and birthday card greetings. But I have yet to write something that can bear the tiny bits of my soul that is left, the glimpses into my hurt, the things that make me human, however fucked up it may be. I can’t be honest with myself so how can I be honest with you? You may think I’m lying but that is a terrible mistake. Few people know my secrets and but even those few people were lied to. There is no one who knows the whole truth except for God and most days I hate him for letting one of his tiny little children, so pure of heart and so willing to love and did love everyone, suffer so. That girls is Gone and now I am left with her body, trying to restore it’s broken frame into something God can accept back to Him.



Punkrocker
May 5, 2007, 10:07 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

It amazes me how sometimes I can be so blind to the beauty of the people around me. It makes me even more desperate to realize their beauty only once they have left me, or I them.

I have a friend. Some of you may know her. Some of you may have opinions about her. All I know is that her voice is the only one that consistanly rings true in my ear. Her words are full of confidence and are real. She writes for herself and for God and for the chance to know the world, both the world God created and the world we have fucked up with our sins. She gives of her soul in a way that most people are afraid to even dare try. She will never understand how truely amazing she is, even if she does know she’s amazing. She will never know how much her life has touched others, even if they tell her. She dares to be who she is and dares to say what all others are too afraid to admit to. She is fearless like no person I’ve ever known. I covet her courage and brilliance. I wish I could be 1/100th the Artist she is. I thank her for indulging me when I need it most and for loving me in spite of all my shit.

I am notoriously bad at keeping in touch. I am even more so with the people that I truely care about. But to this person, I want you to know that you are seen and loved. That I see you, and love you.