i lost a lot growing up.
i lost a lot using fuel, using my legs, abusing my hands. touching things i shouldn't have and lingering too long against a surface. a texture. rubbing it every which way. i don't linger there to tease anyone, i promise. i just want to understand it more, i want to feel it and show it i am one of it. sometimes it reads differently. i am not a public person, i am not an opinionated person. i am soft spoken and lonely. angry, jealous, needy, spoiled and have not learned my lesson. because i haven't really been hurt.
i don't let my cuts heal. i don't tend to them one at a time. i'll cut myself in a different place to distract myself from the pain of the first.
i'm too young. i'm far too young. and don't allow myself to feel the sum of my age. i'm trapped at the fist of puberty. i don't know who i should become now. i have not recessed, i just haven't allowed my character to age. i've grown, i've learnt. but i've learnt as a youth. and the youth that is me will criticize and learn, but never fully experience the indulgences and sophistication of an idea as an adult. i'll never be wise to my own thought or speak with whim. repeat matter-o-factly or conquer an idea. hand over advice because i do not feel the seniority too.
i'm trapped inside a world much smaller than the one chartered.
i will always be a boy. and have fun.
i will always stay young and continue to flee.
be ignorant of men, money, and guns
stubborn to impress, love as freely as a bleed.
walk between worlds, weightless from its tons.
naked and unscathed, not knowing i am free.
pouring sweat into a glass, as i've titled my death cup
i want to grow up
i want to grow up
Take Away for Today: When I Grow Up - Fever Ray
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4F-CpE73o2M
it scares me. there's something really familiar about it. i just don't know what.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Final Fantasy
Rollerskate home, cook a big pot of pepper soup and bake a strawberry rhubarb pie. Then I’m going to put on Felt’s “The Splendour Of Fear” and watch the sun go down from the roof of my house. Then I’ll play my violin until my baby comes home.
says Owen Pallet.
I told my friend I wish people always spoke like that. She replies, "if everyone did, then we wouldn't have people like Owen, and the fantasy wouldn't exist."
wise woman.
There is a modesty and eloquence in a person who chooses to live a frank and mild life. The amateur and muse who flirts with culture, but who is on better accord with themselves. Occasions are not essential, and they are alien to schedule. Nothing requires anniversary, why repeat the past.
I get lost in my head much too often. Forgive me, I'm a Pisces. It hurts me as much as it entertains me. My placebo reality.
So my friends are beginning to get their acceptance letters for university. They're growing up fast, becoming actual adults and holding firm to the steady relationship with their ripened selves. I'm in a state of retrogress. I keep saying goodbye to patterns I find in my personality and starting binge romantic relationships with new characteristics.
Today I dressed up and biked to the market. Bought some coffee and flowers for mama.
I was in France.
I went to the apothecary and bought essence of lavender/vanilla/honey/rosewood.
I'm going to being to create my own perfume.
I'm beginning to realize that my imagination is only as vague as how aggressively choose to embrace it. I'm gung ho. I accept that I wish and fantasize more than I act. I have a trunk of persona's to pick from, a well of out-fits, and a pocket size portion of patience. I used to fear change, but as I've grown I see that my old pants don't fit as well as these new ones do. So I choose to live in my disillusioned world and choose to actually act on my impulses rather than cope with the idea of doing it. I'm not too fond or good at coping. With every new activity I take up I achieve a new piece of wisdom for my arsenal.
Individuation is giving up. There's too much to discover about yourself to be fully self aware. I think its impossible. And that's OK.
When there's an end in sight then the work you do is to achieve that one goal.
When you have no end, no goal, your work becomes your life. it is not a necessity but a series of choices. and your live life to fulfill every moment, to find consistent happiness. Live simply. You don't push or try, because you simply realize that you must exist. one shouldn't be consumed with writing a story.
Fuck you Jung.
I make my own archetypes. I live them.
take away for today:
http://www.howietsui.com/
an amazing illustrator/animator/artists
i have the privilege of seeing some of his new work this fall during the International Animation Festival.
says Owen Pallet.
I told my friend I wish people always spoke like that. She replies, "if everyone did, then we wouldn't have people like Owen, and the fantasy wouldn't exist."
wise woman.
There is a modesty and eloquence in a person who chooses to live a frank and mild life. The amateur and muse who flirts with culture, but who is on better accord with themselves. Occasions are not essential, and they are alien to schedule. Nothing requires anniversary, why repeat the past.
I get lost in my head much too often. Forgive me, I'm a Pisces. It hurts me as much as it entertains me. My placebo reality.
So my friends are beginning to get their acceptance letters for university. They're growing up fast, becoming actual adults and holding firm to the steady relationship with their ripened selves. I'm in a state of retrogress. I keep saying goodbye to patterns I find in my personality and starting binge romantic relationships with new characteristics.
Today I dressed up and biked to the market. Bought some coffee and flowers for mama.
I was in France.
I went to the apothecary and bought essence of lavender/vanilla/honey/rosewood.
I'm going to being to create my own perfume.
I'm beginning to realize that my imagination is only as vague as how aggressively choose to embrace it. I'm gung ho. I accept that I wish and fantasize more than I act. I have a trunk of persona's to pick from, a well of out-fits, and a pocket size portion of patience. I used to fear change, but as I've grown I see that my old pants don't fit as well as these new ones do. So I choose to live in my disillusioned world and choose to actually act on my impulses rather than cope with the idea of doing it. I'm not too fond or good at coping. With every new activity I take up I achieve a new piece of wisdom for my arsenal.
Individuation is giving up. There's too much to discover about yourself to be fully self aware. I think its impossible. And that's OK.
When there's an end in sight then the work you do is to achieve that one goal.
When you have no end, no goal, your work becomes your life. it is not a necessity but a series of choices. and your live life to fulfill every moment, to find consistent happiness. Live simply. You don't push or try, because you simply realize that you must exist. one shouldn't be consumed with writing a story.
Fuck you Jung.
I make my own archetypes. I live them.
take away for today:
http://www.howietsui.com/
an amazing illustrator/animator/artists
i have the privilege of seeing some of his new work this fall during the International Animation Festival.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Kitchens, Pool Rooms, Bathrooms, and Home.
I sit in the round with my friends.
Each glazed with a dewed morning gloss. A shell of dampened white glue. A translucent peelable haze that will flake as the day moves. They are transcendent, they are invincible, they are in love. They are shirtless, pantless, hairy, unshowered, sober, hungover, pale as the season. They are guiltless and impulsive. Patient and eagar to evolve into the next day with the history of the last. There's no shame in hook-ups, fucks, passing out, or reclusing. The next morning is limbo and vacant.
A shitless portapoty of opportunity.
Regardless of what the world wants to believe, we believe that we can only believe in each other. What others believe about us is never fully true, or perhaps we're never truly honest with ourselves. Perhaps we're ever changing. What others want is to believe we are real and we are right.
We are right because we've found our house. Our roof is our arms, our laughter, our screams. It is happenstances hiccup that led us to this community, but it is a community more unabashed, ever forgiving and wondrous than the one that held me in and out of the womb.
We're every fake, faux-pas, and quintessence.
We acknowledge that.
We've all absolutely fucked up to be in this position right now, but for what its worth, at this moment, all the wrong choices we've made are alright.
The door is open, a new folk walks in to an energy that is bitter as licorice, electric as pop rocks and wise as black coffee with cream.
We do not seek to change but to learn from each new person that comes into our lives. They help us second guess ourselves. A pair of new eyes to a habitat that may have routined itself.
So we sit in the round, and she unfolds a wad of post-it notes.
'Holy shit someone wrote a novel.' says a friend.
The lovers are chain smoking in the far right corner, a few are fiddling with laces and zippers, all are enjoying caffeine's detoxificating alchemy.
She crinkles the paper. Their ears are smart to the mornings sharp sounds. They cross their legs, stretch their legs, and listen.
She speaks what she's written.
They listen.
She finishes.
They smile, and politely nod and enjoy what they've heard. Without a moment they continue their previous occupations.
She smiles and folds her paper up.
No she doesn't need a critic, or glory, or respect. She needs a group of people who will just listen. She doesn't need decency, or someone to learn something to discover something about themselves.
A couple pair of ears, or one, to lend themselves once in a while is a gift in itself.
What great friends I have.
take away for today: http://www.myspace.com/acorntrail
a very talented young man I had the pleasure of collaborating with the other weekend.
Each glazed with a dewed morning gloss. A shell of dampened white glue. A translucent peelable haze that will flake as the day moves. They are transcendent, they are invincible, they are in love. They are shirtless, pantless, hairy, unshowered, sober, hungover, pale as the season. They are guiltless and impulsive. Patient and eagar to evolve into the next day with the history of the last. There's no shame in hook-ups, fucks, passing out, or reclusing. The next morning is limbo and vacant.
A shitless portapoty of opportunity.
Regardless of what the world wants to believe, we believe that we can only believe in each other. What others believe about us is never fully true, or perhaps we're never truly honest with ourselves. Perhaps we're ever changing. What others want is to believe we are real and we are right.
We are right because we've found our house. Our roof is our arms, our laughter, our screams. It is happenstances hiccup that led us to this community, but it is a community more unabashed, ever forgiving and wondrous than the one that held me in and out of the womb.
We're every fake, faux-pas, and quintessence.
We acknowledge that.
We've all absolutely fucked up to be in this position right now, but for what its worth, at this moment, all the wrong choices we've made are alright.
The door is open, a new folk walks in to an energy that is bitter as licorice, electric as pop rocks and wise as black coffee with cream.
We do not seek to change but to learn from each new person that comes into our lives. They help us second guess ourselves. A pair of new eyes to a habitat that may have routined itself.
So we sit in the round, and she unfolds a wad of post-it notes.
'Holy shit someone wrote a novel.' says a friend.
The lovers are chain smoking in the far right corner, a few are fiddling with laces and zippers, all are enjoying caffeine's detoxificating alchemy.
She crinkles the paper. Their ears are smart to the mornings sharp sounds. They cross their legs, stretch their legs, and listen.
She speaks what she's written.
They listen.
She finishes.
They smile, and politely nod and enjoy what they've heard. Without a moment they continue their previous occupations.
She smiles and folds her paper up.
No she doesn't need a critic, or glory, or respect. She needs a group of people who will just listen. She doesn't need decency, or someone to learn something to discover something about themselves.
A couple pair of ears, or one, to lend themselves once in a while is a gift in itself.
What great friends I have.
take away for today: http://www.myspace.com/acorntrail
a very talented young man I had the pleasure of collaborating with the other weekend.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Vegabond shoes
Some news.
I went to NYC this past weekend and auditioned for Juilliard.
Didn't get a call back.
Not bothered.
What an incredible experience. I have never met a more colourful, humble, and generous collection of students and faculty members. Going to the audition has given me much more respect for the school and their alumni. And for New York
My good friend offered me something to think about. She goes "If Juilliard wasn't in New York, would you still go?"
Quite frankly. I wouldn't.
The prestige and schooling that Juilliard would offer excites me, absolutely. But its that city that is the neon wig to the artists brain. It lurches with opportunity and equally so with the ability to burn you. But its the risk, and the luck that someone in that city might trust me with their script. Then by god, why not chase it. There's a point where you can be safe and smart, and then there's the necessity too need to be ruthless and courageous. Knowledge is important and so is skill, but if your not in a position and a place where luck can actually approach you, then your lost. Good training is the foundation, and then a profound understanding of the business is what lures chance. You need to know how to get there, you need to be at the lip of exposing yourself to a city that could be very dangerous but also grant you invaluable exposure and experience.
I have many more auditions to come. We'll see what happens.
Now I could bore you with what I ate, but i'm sure any sensible person has had cupcakes at magnolias. Instead, here's a new collection of fashion from complexgeometries. I was reaquainted with the designer when I stumbled into a small store in some god knows where location when my good friend (and Juilliard student) decided to take me on a tour of the city.
Take away for Today: http://www.complexgeometries.com/ And he's Canadian!
i wish i had money.
I went to NYC this past weekend and auditioned for Juilliard.
Didn't get a call back.
Not bothered.
What an incredible experience. I have never met a more colourful, humble, and generous collection of students and faculty members. Going to the audition has given me much more respect for the school and their alumni. And for New York
My good friend offered me something to think about. She goes "If Juilliard wasn't in New York, would you still go?"
Quite frankly. I wouldn't.
The prestige and schooling that Juilliard would offer excites me, absolutely. But its that city that is the neon wig to the artists brain. It lurches with opportunity and equally so with the ability to burn you. But its the risk, and the luck that someone in that city might trust me with their script. Then by god, why not chase it. There's a point where you can be safe and smart, and then there's the necessity too need to be ruthless and courageous. Knowledge is important and so is skill, but if your not in a position and a place where luck can actually approach you, then your lost. Good training is the foundation, and then a profound understanding of the business is what lures chance. You need to know how to get there, you need to be at the lip of exposing yourself to a city that could be very dangerous but also grant you invaluable exposure and experience.
I have many more auditions to come. We'll see what happens.
Now I could bore you with what I ate, but i'm sure any sensible person has had cupcakes at magnolias. Instead, here's a new collection of fashion from complexgeometries. I was reaquainted with the designer when I stumbled into a small store in some god knows where location when my good friend (and Juilliard student) decided to take me on a tour of the city.
Take away for Today: http://www.complexgeometries.com/ And he's Canadian!
i wish i had money.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Merlot and Dr. Pepper
So I didn't get a synthesizer.
Bummer, but I went to Steve's today to check out the sales for this generous day that is boxing, day and wasn't surprised. They cost more then Elizabeth's ass.
Maybe I'll just get a keyboard.
But, I got an ipod from the family. I've already lost a few. A pattern is occurring.
Went down to the market, all the best stores were locked. Got into a few, gave up and bought a burrito. The ultimate give-up.
That's been christmas. Mixed with a bit of redundant parties, some 20-some great aunts, and the best sweet potatoes freedom can afford and Christmas is just as glamorous as New York City's'.
Bummer, but I went to Steve's today to check out the sales for this generous day that is boxing, day and wasn't surprised. They cost more then Elizabeth's ass.
Maybe I'll just get a keyboard.
But, I got an ipod from the family. I've already lost a few. A pattern is occurring.
Went down to the market, all the best stores were locked. Got into a few, gave up and bought a burrito. The ultimate give-up.
That's been christmas. Mixed with a bit of redundant parties, some 20-some great aunts, and the best sweet potatoes freedom can afford and Christmas is just as glamorous as New York City's'.
Side note, Merlot and Dr. Pepper. Aces.
I was scared, for so long because I felt like that immaculate, uncensored, honest feeling of this season had outgrown me. When you're family doesn't laugh at everything you say because what you say isn't innocent, because they know you aren't oblivious, because they treat you like an adult because you are one. It really is the worst, when the people you thought loved you the most were so gentle and courteous because you were young, you were fragile. You're a young adult now you've basically been to Vietnam, Germany, and Iraq- your treated as a veteran. You know life sucks, they know it too, you mutually fall upon a silent agreement that talking for the sake of talking won't propel any of your conversations. So they ask,
"How's your acting going?"
"Good, really good. Doing the best I can."
"Oh of course, don't forget us when you're famous."
Clever.
And every single one of them means it differently when they say it. So it never dries.
And in the midst of those redundant parties with the great aunts and uncles, and my Merlot and Dr. pepper my little cousin grabs my arm and pulls me into the other room, and tells me to play with her.
"Play what?"
"Play!"
And I knew what she meant. And I told her we were in the jungle and we were hunting for treasure. And we had ballgowns on, and we had puppies, and the treasure would take us to Disney Land. And that lasted a good 30 seconds. Not surprisingly.
So now we're playing house. She's my dog, I'm her lovable owner.
And I'm watching her crawling on the ground and I'm looking out into the other room at the great aunts and uncles and I'm thinking.
They treat her like a princess. I know where she is right now, fuck it's the best feeling in the world when people fuss over you and give you just what you asked for. You get your synthesizer. She's only 6 but she will remember every single Christmas. Because everyone is here, because this is the only time she will get what she wants. She's forever away from having to make choices, having to suck it up and grow up.
And I want to leave her because I'm bored but I can't, because I have to give this to her, I have to let her play. No one else will, and I guarantee she will remember this Christmas for the rest of her life, because I gave her what she wanted. When you're young it's never the gifts you remember or when you're older, miss, but it's just when you're given more love then you will ever feel for the rest of your life. People can't help but love you when they know you don't know better.
And I want to leave her because I'm bored but I can't, because I have to give this to her, I have to let her play. No one else will, and I guarantee she will remember this Christmas for the rest of her life, because I gave her what she wanted. When you're young it's never the gifts you remember or when you're older, miss, but it's just when you're given more love then you will ever feel for the rest of your life. People can't help but love you when they know you don't know better.
That feeling will never leave her.
So I saw her, and I saw that point in my life in Aunt Dorothy's basement, and I surrounded by relatives I didn't know and didn't really care for but who loved me effortlessly. And I felt it all again. I think there's a lot you can let go of. Memories that will always leave you. These ones don't. Don't hunt them down and ring them dry. Just feel the wave when it hits you, for however many seconds that is.
Take away for Today:
Leah Hennessey and Max Lakner
http://babymanque.com/index.html
Leah Hennessey and Max Lakner
http://babymanque.com/index.html
Friday, December 18, 2009
Man oh man.
sitting in the office.
i am. an intern.
freaks and keaners in and out. one guy has a necklace with winston churchill on it.
i need it.
xmas shopping done. bought a few unnecessary presents for people i wanted to cozy up to. and a few gifts for old reliable friends and confidants. even if our archieve of secrets is outdated.
i bought the office folk a new coffee pot. the old one smells like ass. it was needed. less of a gift and more of a I'm-worried-about-you-not-seeing-your-kids-graduate shpeel.
ben's coming in a bit. we're busing home. maybe get some caffeine.
(SMILE)
havn't had coffee all day and i feel like i'm going to start perspiring anger. it looks like tabasco sauce in my mind. if you needed a visual. smells like Lone Star restaurant.
but. i like being addicted to it. it's a mutual courtesy we both have. my body needs it to survive and it needs me to boast about it.
but black. black coffee. too much glam in a coffee is awful. my coffee is unshaven.
christmas break is here. i'm ready for the celebration. i'm ready to see family. and i'm ready to relax. something I haven't done in a while.
but have earned a new respect for.
take care everyone.
love.
SJ
i am. an intern.
freaks and keaners in and out. one guy has a necklace with winston churchill on it.
i need it.
xmas shopping done. bought a few unnecessary presents for people i wanted to cozy up to. and a few gifts for old reliable friends and confidants. even if our archieve of secrets is outdated.
i bought the office folk a new coffee pot. the old one smells like ass. it was needed. less of a gift and more of a I'm-worried-about-you-not-seeing-your-kids-graduate shpeel.
ben's coming in a bit. we're busing home. maybe get some caffeine.
(SMILE)
havn't had coffee all day and i feel like i'm going to start perspiring anger. it looks like tabasco sauce in my mind. if you needed a visual. smells like Lone Star restaurant.
but. i like being addicted to it. it's a mutual courtesy we both have. my body needs it to survive and it needs me to boast about it.
but black. black coffee. too much glam in a coffee is awful. my coffee is unshaven.
christmas break is here. i'm ready for the celebration. i'm ready to see family. and i'm ready to relax. something I haven't done in a while.
but have earned a new respect for.
take care everyone.
love.
SJ
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
"...and what her mind melts."
woke up at a party.
friend walks in the room and goes "shit someone wrote a novel"
he's holding a pile of post it notes.
here's what was written that night. in the raw. unedited. bear with the spelling.
i bet you feel special:
So she sat in the kitchen, Drinking black coffee, unsatisfied with the high. Caffine could stimulate her text, but not her libido. She was brilliant when she was drunk. Mindless in her reverse. Numb with diaologue. No one cares when your drunk. It's assumed your thoughts are manicured. Blanched with liquor - that ignites inhibition, honesty, and jealousy. So she relies on her pen to relieve herself in the midst of angst. Coffee and cigarettes a companion before the caloused hand of sober personel. People can only give you so much of what you already have. Problems you already had and have no time for. It's not nice to unsurface that old black and white childrens novel. You have wisdom thats too arrogent to enlighten and friends to stubborn to accept the voice of reason. Reasonably speaking - reason depends on the person. Coffee and cigarettes. Two of the greatest kicks you will ever be introduced to. You can feel sex in your thighs, man you can feel cigarettes in your calves. What 3:52 in the morning. Fuck steve. I'm smoking in the house. Everyone's asleep and she's drinking coffee and having the best damn cigarette she's ever had. Jessies neck is out, chen's being a friend, Liza ad Dodson are fucking and she's content. Lonliness is as asset. It teaches you to be realistic with yourself. Forces you to embrace shit and your own bullshit. Bordum can lead to great things for an artist. Take me. Had friends who worshipped the bible and played truth or dare at birthday parties. Now she's fucking every week, addicted to caffine, and drinks brandy to relieve emotional instability.
But thats the cost of beauty.
Fuck.
Dropped the cigarette in the noodles. What the fuck. Can't even flick a fucking ash and its in the noodle sauce. Fuck it it taste fine.
The sound of hot ash hitting a wet surface.
Ace.
5:59
4:00
Perfect.
Even. Even numbers fuck me up. What wants to be even. Being fair is bullshit. Why not fondle rucass. Being even has never taught anyone anything. The joy of winning, the mediocrity of falling just short. Never created war, never introduced democracy, or flaws in communism. Games, gambling, drinking, anorexia, divorce. Being even is the end all be all of history.
Being even to others will never introduce humour. We all fight to be more interesting that others, to impress. If we're all even then we're stationary. Everyone might as well be friends. Again, bullshit.
Smoke in the eye.
Balls.
Blinking it out. Gone. Thank Christ.
Stabs the cig in a wet plate.
Hisses.
Cat ticks behind her against the tiles.
And she wishes she had someone to come out and watch her. Someone who cared about her. Who understood and got her art. dillusional art. Who she could play demure to but really by super fucking flattered they showed up and started a conversation dispite sleep sickness at 4:07AM. She wishes that person was reckless and impulsive. A night and morning person. Had a taste for everything. Respected their parents but found away around guidelines.
And she's at a loss.
She doesn't wish she was prettier, she just wishes she had less pimples. She doesn't wish she was skinnier, she just wishes she had a better metabolism. She just wishes, fuck, a guy or girl could read her mind and share her electricity for life. Pessimism is old and 90s and Nirvana. She just wants to live the best life she can and won't let a bad moment or money or disbelief inhibit her from running as fast as she can. High. Down a street. Covered with trees. Alone. Dodging. Hitting branches. Getting scarred. Acknowledging the blood. Making her self better. Learning. Moving on. Craddling every moment as a chance experience. Pure oxygen.
No. No one will ever understand that.
Ever.
It's too real.
And we're 17 and we live in disney. And we're trying to find ourselves and we live in a fog of opportunity and personalities and no one knows what belongs to whom. But She does.
She's found hers. And she's lonely. Because the ones she loves will only find it in another few years. And she'll have to live alone that much longer. Perhaps a change of scene will spark a new title of bodies. Who may know her, and what her mind melts. But who knows.
No one knows how to chase what they love.
She will chase it until she is blue in the face. Until she is crucified.
Know what you love, love what you do and do it for the rest of your life. That's real. That's adolesence. Not trying to escape your house and find yourself. You've already found yourself, the next step is embracing it.
-**********
4:19
Dec/2009
take away for today:
www.brettisagirl.com
awesome artist. my favourite is togetherness. i bought a few prints for my friends this xmas.
friend walks in the room and goes "shit someone wrote a novel"
he's holding a pile of post it notes.
here's what was written that night. in the raw. unedited. bear with the spelling.
i bet you feel special:
So she sat in the kitchen, Drinking black coffee, unsatisfied with the high. Caffine could stimulate her text, but not her libido. She was brilliant when she was drunk. Mindless in her reverse. Numb with diaologue. No one cares when your drunk. It's assumed your thoughts are manicured. Blanched with liquor - that ignites inhibition, honesty, and jealousy. So she relies on her pen to relieve herself in the midst of angst. Coffee and cigarettes a companion before the caloused hand of sober personel. People can only give you so much of what you already have. Problems you already had and have no time for. It's not nice to unsurface that old black and white childrens novel. You have wisdom thats too arrogent to enlighten and friends to stubborn to accept the voice of reason. Reasonably speaking - reason depends on the person. Coffee and cigarettes. Two of the greatest kicks you will ever be introduced to. You can feel sex in your thighs, man you can feel cigarettes in your calves. What 3:52 in the morning. Fuck steve. I'm smoking in the house. Everyone's asleep and she's drinking coffee and having the best damn cigarette she's ever had. Jessies neck is out, chen's being a friend, Liza ad Dodson are fucking and she's content. Lonliness is as asset. It teaches you to be realistic with yourself. Forces you to embrace shit and your own bullshit. Bordum can lead to great things for an artist. Take me. Had friends who worshipped the bible and played truth or dare at birthday parties. Now she's fucking every week, addicted to caffine, and drinks brandy to relieve emotional instability.
But thats the cost of beauty.
Fuck.
Dropped the cigarette in the noodles. What the fuck. Can't even flick a fucking ash and its in the noodle sauce. Fuck it it taste fine.
The sound of hot ash hitting a wet surface.
Ace.
5:59
4:00
Perfect.
Even. Even numbers fuck me up. What wants to be even. Being fair is bullshit. Why not fondle rucass. Being even has never taught anyone anything. The joy of winning, the mediocrity of falling just short. Never created war, never introduced democracy, or flaws in communism. Games, gambling, drinking, anorexia, divorce. Being even is the end all be all of history.
Being even to others will never introduce humour. We all fight to be more interesting that others, to impress. If we're all even then we're stationary. Everyone might as well be friends. Again, bullshit.
Smoke in the eye.
Balls.
Blinking it out. Gone. Thank Christ.
Stabs the cig in a wet plate.
Hisses.
Cat ticks behind her against the tiles.
And she wishes she had someone to come out and watch her. Someone who cared about her. Who understood and got her art. dillusional art. Who she could play demure to but really by super fucking flattered they showed up and started a conversation dispite sleep sickness at 4:07AM. She wishes that person was reckless and impulsive. A night and morning person. Had a taste for everything. Respected their parents but found away around guidelines.
And she's at a loss.
She doesn't wish she was prettier, she just wishes she had less pimples. She doesn't wish she was skinnier, she just wishes she had a better metabolism. She just wishes, fuck, a guy or girl could read her mind and share her electricity for life. Pessimism is old and 90s and Nirvana. She just wants to live the best life she can and won't let a bad moment or money or disbelief inhibit her from running as fast as she can. High. Down a street. Covered with trees. Alone. Dodging. Hitting branches. Getting scarred. Acknowledging the blood. Making her self better. Learning. Moving on. Craddling every moment as a chance experience. Pure oxygen.
No. No one will ever understand that.
Ever.
It's too real.
And we're 17 and we live in disney. And we're trying to find ourselves and we live in a fog of opportunity and personalities and no one knows what belongs to whom. But She does.
She's found hers. And she's lonely. Because the ones she loves will only find it in another few years. And she'll have to live alone that much longer. Perhaps a change of scene will spark a new title of bodies. Who may know her, and what her mind melts. But who knows.
No one knows how to chase what they love.
She will chase it until she is blue in the face. Until she is crucified.
Know what you love, love what you do and do it for the rest of your life. That's real. That's adolesence. Not trying to escape your house and find yourself. You've already found yourself, the next step is embracing it.
-**********
4:19
Dec/2009
take away for today:
www.brettisagirl.com
awesome artist. my favourite is togetherness. i bought a few prints for my friends this xmas.
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