What I want to talk about here is the hard stuff.
In my grandpa's old office there was a painting of the famous Depression era clown Emmett Kelly with a rose in his hand. Emmett Kelly was known as the sad clown. Dressed in homeless garb, in the painting he has a face of the most sincere humility and sadness
I asked Grandpa, "why is the clown sad?"
Clowns were laughing creatures.
Grandpa told me that the clown was in love and he was begging for the one he loved to return to him.
This is my picture of the hard stuff. The most concrete image of sad I have in my memory.
"And many rains turn to rivers
Winter's here
And there ain't nothing gonna change
The winds are blowing telling me all I hear
Oh it's a funny time of year
There'll be no blossom on the trees"
-Beth Gibbons song Funny Time of Year
Winter is a funny time of year when the hard stuff comes up the most strong and the mind finds itself hibernating in the dark caves. Old injuries stiffen like artritic hands inside wool mittens. There is an ache but it's not the kind of hurt you can say "ouch."
I heard it dropped on a World Have Your Say episode asking, "Is Happiness a Natural State?" - Thomas Kempis said, "the proper sorrow the soul."
I read Doris #15 which is called "Antidepression Guide," and Cindy tells us, "There is nothing wrong with a little depression. It is a reasonable response to this fucked up world and you don't need to hide it or deny it.."
Part of being sad is an allowance for the sadness and a recognition of it's force and the struggle with finding a balance.
I call it "the hurt."
Artist Adam Gnade refers to it as the Big Motherfuckin' sad.
When I was a teenager I felt like I wasn't in control of anything. My grades were always shaky and my parents were concerened about the people I hung out with. I spent a lot of time struggling to learn and negotiating to be with the people I liked.
Late at night I would take walks when everyone was asleep. Under street lights at the park I swung on the the swing set and listened to the sprinklers and looked at the stars. In those moments I took happiness into my own hands and tried to breathe joy where there was only fear and anger. On these walks no was around to judge me and in this way I fabricated my own antidote to the great sad.
A strong cup of coffee and two glasses of fresh orange juice are a good antidepressant. I took St. Johns Wort for three months is winter. I don't know if it did much but the mindfulness of taking an herb is saying "this pill will make things ok today," and maybe all I wanted was the reassurance.
Sometimes I feel trapped in my body. To be female is a working love.
During the Portland Zine Symposium at Portland State I fell into a Body Workshop. We did this activity where two people would sit in the middle of our circle and speak together about whatever they wanted. No one from the outer circle could speak and if they had something to add they would tap one of the people in the center and take their place. The conversation came around to mirrors and how everyone in the group felt it was hard to constantly be seeing themselves in mirrors.
There is a relationship between our outside and our inside selves. The hard part is when the inside and the outside disagree or the inside is critical of the outside. Our bodies don't look the way we feel inside.
In the Body Workshop we did an exercise where we closed our eyes and were guided through a meditation where we touched parts of our body and felt them as a part of ourselves. "My feet my feet my feet," we whispered when told to touch our feet. "My knees my knees my knees," we whispered moving up our body. "My face my face my face my nose my nose my nose my eyes my eyes my eyes."
In a certain therapeutic classroom for infants to three-year-olds who are high risk for abuse and neglect they teach the children to feel safe in their own bodies. "I am picking up your body," the teachers say when they pick up the children.
I hurt less because I am not in school and living by myself. This is what is most important of all. And I know myself well enough to possess my own antidote. Knowing myself and understanding my feelings. Letting who I am be more important than the status quo.
Nosce te ipsum. With or without the great sad, the great tear and moan is to know oneself. It's the best rule to live by.
On a walk Max and I talked about the great sad. Max, the rock climber and traveler who hates philosophy but always makes exceptions for me. We wondered what it the was to talk about depression with friends and perhaps confirming in ourselves it was important to talk about.
We agreed it was important to have a way.
Maybe it feels friends are only good for laughing and talking about little trifles throughout the day but I think we agreed, the sad needed to be discussed because it was a part of us just as much as the laughs.
Sometimes all I want is permission to be sad. Friends are always around to make you laugh and dance and drink and make dinners but I want someone to give me permission to weep (sometimes, not all the time - sometimes I want someone else to hand me their list) and ask me what I need. Good friends will understand why if you tell them.
Max and I have both have had a great sad and it was nice to admit it to another. Sad together and sad apart. It's less lonely this way.
Sometimes nothing is good and everything is bad. Every person is miserable and stupid. There is only bad news. There is nothing right with the world. This feeling paralyzes me. I want to stay inside all day and I can't write zines.
Eventally this feeling is replaced and everything is good again and everyone is kind and interesting.
Sometimes just asking myself, "what do you need to be ok?" is all I ever need to open the possbilities to solving my sadness.
Cindy Crabb has a lot of important things to add where Max and I left off. There are a lot of good zines where depression is honestly and clearly stated without a lot of clinical riff-raff. A lot of people talking about their feeling and how they deal with them. People with chronic illness. Readings these helps a lot.
In a zine called "The Worst" zinesters get together to talk about their experiences with dealing with the trauma surrounded with having people you love die and also living with hurt.
She makes a list of "what you think you might need" during a hard time.
for me to come and hold you
for me to stay outside your door but play some music
for me to play music to you inside your room
dancing
for me to ask you questions
for me to just be near and silent
for me to hold your hand as you call your other family
to talk about the rest of the family
to go outside and scream
to go outside and talk and talk about anything but this death
to get away from here
go to a movie
distraction
acknowledgment
some kind of ceremony
to get the rest of the roomates out of the house
to get the rest of the roomates to stop giving you uncomfortable looks
to get people to stop trying to cheer you up
She writes: "circle what you think you might need. or write more. I want to be here for you. I want to be your friend."
I am still learning how to confront the grief in people I love. I disappear and think, "they don't want me to say anything. I should go away until things seem better."
"Looking back on this year I’ve had some rough spots and I’ve felt like dirt (a lot) but the Big Motherfuckin’ Sad has left me alone. I like that. I like being functional and I like having the Fight in me and I like not being incapacitated and deathly and pathetic... If anything, this year has been a year where I’ve fought and, coming into the 9th inning here, I feel good about where I’m at and where I’m headed. So a toast to the Fight. Here’s to knocking the Big Motherfuckin’ Sad out of commission and here’s to re-prioritizing the things you stress out over... We’ve been up against a wall and we deserve the good life."
Looking back on my year, I was fired last March and have walked around with a desperate smile on my face ever since - afraid of being knocked down again. Rejection. "In my 23rd year," I wrote in my journal, "I did not live a day hardly once. My heart was closed and that was damned shame." I am 24 now and ready trying to see with real eyes again.
An anti-sad concoction f
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Let me speak in the parenthesis
There is this Robert Frost poem I posted awhile ago. It's the one with the birch trees bending under the weight of ice and how Frost speculates they bend because of a boy riding them to exhaustion. I like this poem - it has a relevance to my life. It's about loneliness and winter and choosing to believe in the fantasy rather than the reality.
There is this line across my palm which makes me smile. Lines across palms - they mean nothing, really. We are born with the lines on our palms and our way of clasping and gripping is predetermined and some believe the lines themselves can tell us things we always suspected about ourselves but didn't have the words for. ("Nosce te ipsum," - "knw thyself" in latin we often say cradling the prayer beads in our hands when the situtation has made us forget ourselves) Let me take a moment to explain.
The love line of my water hand empties like delta into the gap between my Saturn (middle) and Jupiter (index) fingers. When it comes to emotions, it says, I live in a fantasy world. So be it.
(There was once a girl who wrote a zine in this town, Bend, who drew pictures on her fire hand and xeroxed it for the cover of her publication. I liked this.)
Since declaring myself an atheist at fourteen I have carefully chosen new gods and picked through the mythos to create my own religion. That's what Frost is talking about - making our own stories, not listening to matter of fact Truth. You could say I am religious. I don't really want to get into it.
One day I want to own a brew pub in my house that is both a publishing house and a public house and I just call it, "Pub." There will be a few beers on draft made by my friends and bottles and everyone will drink beer and write zines together. There will be typewriters, desk space and a new drum in my xerox machine so everyone can make copies for a small fee. On Fridays we can host an event similar to The Moth Live Storytelling but not like a poetry slam. And someonehow my landlord and OLCC will not find out.
And then I realized. I have no role models.
I have no one to impress
There is this line across my palm which makes me smile. Lines across palms - they mean nothing, really. We are born with the lines on our palms and our way of clasping and gripping is predetermined and some believe the lines themselves can tell us things we always suspected about ourselves but didn't have the words for. ("Nosce te ipsum," - "knw thyself" in latin we often say cradling the prayer beads in our hands when the situtation has made us forget ourselves) Let me take a moment to explain.
The love line of my water hand empties like delta into the gap between my Saturn (middle) and Jupiter (index) fingers. When it comes to emotions, it says, I live in a fantasy world. So be it.
(There was once a girl who wrote a zine in this town, Bend, who drew pictures on her fire hand and xeroxed it for the cover of her publication. I liked this.)
Since declaring myself an atheist at fourteen I have carefully chosen new gods and picked through the mythos to create my own religion. That's what Frost is talking about - making our own stories, not listening to matter of fact Truth. You could say I am religious. I don't really want to get into it.
One day I want to own a brew pub in my house that is both a publishing house and a public house and I just call it, "Pub." There will be a few beers on draft made by my friends and bottles and everyone will drink beer and write zines together. There will be typewriters, desk space and a new drum in my xerox machine so everyone can make copies for a small fee. On Fridays we can host an event similar to The Moth Live Storytelling but not like a poetry slam. And someonehow my landlord and OLCC will not find out.
And then I realized. I have no role models.
I have no one to impress
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Short icelandic story.
velkominn í hús mitt - welcome to my house
Húsið mitt er við ána. - my house is by the river
það er eitt við hliðina á birki tré. - it is the one next to the birch tree.
When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay. Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-coloured As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground, Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm, I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows-- Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be. It's when I'm weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open. I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. -robert frost
{veðrið orðinn óþolandi frá seint - the weather has become intolerable as of late
{{Afsakið mig, leyfa mér að þrífa þetta sóðaskapur - excuse me, allow me to clean this mess
Ef ég er í burtu, bíddu í hjólastóla - If I am away, wait in the barn
{ Komdu fyrir nóttina og við getum skiptast ferða sögur fyrir svefn - Come before the night and we can exchange travel stories before bedtime
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Imaginary Therapist
IT: Hello there, Rachel. How are you doing today?
R: Doing well.
IT: I really admire how you use the proper term "well" rather than "good" when answering my inquiry.
R: No problem. How are you imaginary therapist?
IT: I am doing well, thank you for asking. (pause) So why are we here today?
R: Maybe it's that I am working all day today. Maybe it is the impending reality that I am going to have, once again, nearly 23 days of non-working to look forward too - making me a little desperate and a little looked over. I am upset, and suddenly I am shifting gears. I thought everything was going to be okay, but it's not. Once again I have to struggle and this time in the winter. This time near Christmas.
IT: Are you saying you are upset because you won't be having enough money?
R: Yes! It's impossible! I just feel like I can't find the right place for me - I can't be settled and have things just work, I don't want to be an adult! (cries a little)
IT: (passes tissues) You sound like you are becoming regressive.
R: I am becoming regressive! My car broke down yesterday and my friend Erin helped and my Dad had all this advice and everything but what if my car breaks down?! How will I get to work? How will I go grocery shopping for work? How will I do anything? And I don't want to rely on anyone, because adults don't do that! They can take care of themselves.
IT: Okay, Rachel. You are getting a little shrill. Take a deep breath.
R: (takes deep breath)
IT: You know it's going to be alright.
R: I know (still upset). But it won't be alright. I feel like I can't talk to anyone without sounding like all those other people who whine to me about not having enough money. I hate hearing about how "broke" everyone is. We have such a high standard of living in this country, "broke" is such a pathetic nonexistent reality most of the time. I hate when people whine about being broke because they aren't broke! They have a nice car and a warm house. They have a good credit score and people to rely on and blah blah blah.
IT: Not to lecture you, Rachel, but you shouldn't act around what you don't like other people doing.
R: But it's true! There are so many people in my life that claim they have nothing when they have so much more than I do, they have things to rely on.
IT: Perhaps these people are having it hard, like you are. They are struggling with their own levels of financial strain. Regardless of someones current position they very could very well have the fortune of falling down a fiscal notch, and this is hard for most people to bear. Even you could fall down a economic notch.
R: Really? How much worse could it get than living in the least expensive apartment in Bend, driving a car I own that is about to crap out on me, and living pay check to pay check?
IT: It could be worse.
R: ... I feel really ashamed telling you all that. About my finances. It actually is embarrassing to me...
IT: I know. That's why you have me. An imaginary therapist and not a real one.
R: Right...
IT: Do you feel better talking a little about your money situation.
R: Not really. It's just embarrassing and I am ashamed I became specific.
IT: Do you want to talk about that shame?
R: It's only because I don't like sounding off like everyone else and getting so personal. ...
IT: Let's get realistic. You know how to lose weight? It's obvious. Eat less. Exercise more. You know how to save money - Spend less. Work more. Challenge yourself to spend a whole week without spending any money. Think: where can you make cuts? Is dumpster diving a viable option for Christmas gifts this year? Can you assemble things or steal things to pad you Christmas gifts?
R: How did you know Christmas weighed so heavily on my stress?
IT: Sadly, it does for everyone.
R: Why is that? It sucks.
IT: I know it does, but it's because people want the best for each other. The thing we give the most on Christmas is a state of comfort and a peace of mind. We give one another a finanical strain rather than something worthwhile.
R: Yeah... But my family isn't struggling so it's not fair that for the past 2 years I don't get them much. And I don't do enough. Adding to the shame I feel that I am the least successful member of my family and that whenever I need something from them I always feel their judgment. My dad lectures me whenever I talk finances and I feel they look down on me the same way I look at people who constantly talk about being "broke." (begins to become upset) I feel like a child who can't get it together. My mom always wants me to break down my spending and income and I hate doing that because she looks at it and tells me it doesn't make any sense why I live paycheck to paycheck. And my dad thinks he has all the answers. And I remember this time when I was unemployed and my sister went shopping and bought everything she wanted and I couldn't buy anything because I had fifty dollars in my bank account and it wasn't even mine. I feel like they don't understand and it makes me think that I don't even understand myself and why I am the way I am.
IT: You think you are destined to be poor. Like you are stuck in a perma-mind set where you will always live without the ability to generate money. (And I am not going to give you that crap about the state of being poor is "all in your head," and true "wealth" is spiritual and emotional. I know what you mean and it's strictly money. You feel you don't have money you don't have control.)
R: My dad always make these comments about my mom's family in Vegas, like they live this horrible low life. I feel living like that it is in my blood and I can't avoid it. I am a LEE therefore I am frugal forever looking for shoddy goods to fluff up hoping others won't realize I am poor. These comments and the view as my family as not making it have absorbed into my vision of who I am. It makes me feel like I am not in control. Like I am destined to have this life. I want to be rich! I want to have a car where when it breaks down I can call someone and yell at them because it's under warranty! I want to have a big luxurious house which is always warm with studio lighting and big high ceilings that make my heating bill unsustainibly high. No, I don't want any of these things. I don't know what I want.
IT: You just want the kind of inner power a person with money has.
R: Yeah, but what is that?
IT: In my opinion, it's something that doesn't exist. Well, it kind of exists. People will always call to yell at someone when they think they have been taken advantage of but this actually exposes their lack of power.
R: No, it doesn't.
IT: Yes, it does. You see, a person who really feels they have control of the situation, who is really powerful is the person who can logically call a tow truck and a mechanic and get things fixed. They don't need to yell. They yell because they imagine someone out their in the imaginary world has called them less than what they believe they are worth. These people know they are worth nothing, they know they are nothing but hot air and a massive debt. They know the personality empire they built around themselves, for themselves, and probably without deserving on the backs of people who likely will not see a reward - is just a fragile as the brittle pipe dream the very success is based on.
R: You sound bitter.
IT: This isn't about me.
R: ... rich people aren't bad. They suck, they are ruining the earth. But, excuses must be made. It's not all their fault. I just confessed an ardent wish to be wealthy because I want everything in my life to be working/functional, easy, and then I don't have to rely on anyone, can also get my family Christmas presents, and don't have to feel the stress of my fathers imaginary judgement.
IT: Do you want to say something in regards to your father?
R: Yes. My Mom and I were talking the other day. I was lamenting how his harsh and unrelenting judgment of myself and everything around himself affected me and she became upset. She told me that he is a hypocrite. She cleared things up for me. My Dad is a hypocrite. He isn't any better than all the people and things he casts down. That's the truth.
IT: Did that help you better gain perspective on your own self-consciousness with not feeling you make enough money?
R: Yeah, I felt like crying. It was a real catharsis. It was also nice to hear my mom speak up with a lot of emotion - emotion that was clear. It wasn't that speaking ill of Dad, it was constructive to my relationship with him, breaking down his continuing ability to hurt me psyschologically...
IT: I will ask you not to use that kind of language when discussing your feelings. Keep yourself from probing and finding reasons, allow me to be your psychologist, don't be your own psychologist.
What you're saying is talking to your mom about your dad was helpful for you. It made real the feelings of inferiority and your mom was able to keep in control by invalidating his judgments.
R: Yes. Okay, I have to go now. Sorry. I just looked up my old High School social studies eacher Mr. Udesen online and he is doing very well and it made me really happy. I think I am doing much better, thank you.
IT: I will let you go with a smatter of homework: make a plan for the next four weeks. A good spending plan. Now is the time for you to be as organized as ever but do not be stressed out. Keep a mantra of: I am here and I am okay. In any situation apply this. Remember, you are only walking distance from whereever you are. It takes less than an hour to get anywhere in Bend - if your car breaks down be prepared. Wear lots of clothes, pay your electric, gas, an phone bill then brace yourself to not spend anymore. Keep you phone battery recharged. Figure things out on your own. Do not ask your dad, you need to distance yourself from him right now letting these things reprocess. Plus, he's in the mood to control things immediately. That is hurting you right now so don't let it happen. Find a safe place to warm. Drink wine. Let go. Be with Erin. When you are stressed find a safe place in your head to rest awhile. Let than safe place be a hot spring where you will certainly visit in the weeks to come. Weeks of vacation. Find things that are free. Stay warm.
R: Thanks, see you next time.
IT: I really admire how you use the proper term "well" rather than "good" when answering my inquiry.
R: No problem. How are you imaginary therapist?
IT: I am doing well, thank you for asking. (pause) So why are we here today?
R: Maybe it's that I am working all day today. Maybe it is the impending reality that I am going to have, once again, nearly 23 days of non-working to look forward too - making me a little desperate and a little looked over. I am upset, and suddenly I am shifting gears. I thought everything was going to be okay, but it's not. Once again I have to struggle and this time in the winter. This time near Christmas.
IT: Are you saying you are upset because you won't be having enough money?
R: Yes! It's impossible! I just feel like I can't find the right place for me - I can't be settled and have things just work, I don't want to be an adult! (cries a little)
IT: (passes tissues) You sound like you are becoming regressive.
R: I am becoming regressive! My car broke down yesterday and my friend Erin helped and my Dad had all this advice and everything but what if my car breaks down?! How will I get to work? How will I go grocery shopping for work? How will I do anything? And I don't want to rely on anyone, because adults don't do that! They can take care of themselves.
IT: Okay, Rachel. You are getting a little shrill. Take a deep breath.
R: (takes deep breath)
IT: You know it's going to be alright.
R: I know (still upset). But it won't be alright. I feel like I can't talk to anyone without sounding like all those other people who whine to me about not having enough money. I hate hearing about how "broke" everyone is. We have such a high standard of living in this country, "broke" is such a pathetic nonexistent reality most of the time. I hate when people whine about being broke because they aren't broke! They have a nice car and a warm house. They have a good credit score and people to rely on and blah blah blah.
IT: Not to lecture you, Rachel, but you shouldn't act around what you don't like other people doing.
R: But it's true! There are so many people in my life that claim they have nothing when they have so much more than I do, they have things to rely on.
IT: Perhaps these people are having it hard, like you are. They are struggling with their own levels of financial strain. Regardless of someones current position they very could very well have the fortune of falling down a fiscal notch, and this is hard for most people to bear. Even you could fall down a economic notch.
R: Really? How much worse could it get than living in the least expensive apartment in Bend, driving a car I own that is about to crap out on me, and living pay check to pay check?
IT: It could be worse.
R: ... I feel really ashamed telling you all that. About my finances. It actually is embarrassing to me...
IT: I know. That's why you have me. An imaginary therapist and not a real one.
R: Right...
IT: Do you feel better talking a little about your money situation.
R: Not really. It's just embarrassing and I am ashamed I became specific.
IT: Do you want to talk about that shame?
R: It's only because I don't like sounding off like everyone else and getting so personal. ...
IT: Let's get realistic. You know how to lose weight? It's obvious. Eat less. Exercise more. You know how to save money - Spend less. Work more. Challenge yourself to spend a whole week without spending any money. Think: where can you make cuts? Is dumpster diving a viable option for Christmas gifts this year? Can you assemble things or steal things to pad you Christmas gifts?
R: How did you know Christmas weighed so heavily on my stress?
IT: Sadly, it does for everyone.
R: Why is that? It sucks.
IT: I know it does, but it's because people want the best for each other. The thing we give the most on Christmas is a state of comfort and a peace of mind. We give one another a finanical strain rather than something worthwhile.
R: Yeah... But my family isn't struggling so it's not fair that for the past 2 years I don't get them much. And I don't do enough. Adding to the shame I feel that I am the least successful member of my family and that whenever I need something from them I always feel their judgment. My dad lectures me whenever I talk finances and I feel they look down on me the same way I look at people who constantly talk about being "broke." (begins to become upset) I feel like a child who can't get it together. My mom always wants me to break down my spending and income and I hate doing that because she looks at it and tells me it doesn't make any sense why I live paycheck to paycheck. And my dad thinks he has all the answers. And I remember this time when I was unemployed and my sister went shopping and bought everything she wanted and I couldn't buy anything because I had fifty dollars in my bank account and it wasn't even mine. I feel like they don't understand and it makes me think that I don't even understand myself and why I am the way I am.
IT: You think you are destined to be poor. Like you are stuck in a perma-mind set where you will always live without the ability to generate money. (And I am not going to give you that crap about the state of being poor is "all in your head," and true "wealth" is spiritual and emotional. I know what you mean and it's strictly money. You feel you don't have money you don't have control.)
R: My dad always make these comments about my mom's family in Vegas, like they live this horrible low life. I feel living like that it is in my blood and I can't avoid it. I am a LEE therefore I am frugal forever looking for shoddy goods to fluff up hoping others won't realize I am poor. These comments and the view as my family as not making it have absorbed into my vision of who I am. It makes me feel like I am not in control. Like I am destined to have this life. I want to be rich! I want to have a car where when it breaks down I can call someone and yell at them because it's under warranty! I want to have a big luxurious house which is always warm with studio lighting and big high ceilings that make my heating bill unsustainibly high. No, I don't want any of these things. I don't know what I want.
IT: You just want the kind of inner power a person with money has.
R: Yeah, but what is that?
IT: In my opinion, it's something that doesn't exist. Well, it kind of exists. People will always call to yell at someone when they think they have been taken advantage of but this actually exposes their lack of power.
R: No, it doesn't.
IT: Yes, it does. You see, a person who really feels they have control of the situation, who is really powerful is the person who can logically call a tow truck and a mechanic and get things fixed. They don't need to yell. They yell because they imagine someone out their in the imaginary world has called them less than what they believe they are worth. These people know they are worth nothing, they know they are nothing but hot air and a massive debt. They know the personality empire they built around themselves, for themselves, and probably without deserving on the backs of people who likely will not see a reward - is just a fragile as the brittle pipe dream the very success is based on.
R: You sound bitter.
IT: This isn't about me.
R: ... rich people aren't bad. They suck, they are ruining the earth. But, excuses must be made. It's not all their fault. I just confessed an ardent wish to be wealthy because I want everything in my life to be working/functional, easy, and then I don't have to rely on anyone, can also get my family Christmas presents, and don't have to feel the stress of my fathers imaginary judgement.
IT: Do you want to say something in regards to your father?
R: Yes. My Mom and I were talking the other day. I was lamenting how his harsh and unrelenting judgment of myself and everything around himself affected me and she became upset. She told me that he is a hypocrite. She cleared things up for me. My Dad is a hypocrite. He isn't any better than all the people and things he casts down. That's the truth.
IT: Did that help you better gain perspective on your own self-consciousness with not feeling you make enough money?
R: Yeah, I felt like crying. It was a real catharsis. It was also nice to hear my mom speak up with a lot of emotion - emotion that was clear. It wasn't that speaking ill of Dad, it was constructive to my relationship with him, breaking down his continuing ability to hurt me psyschologically...
IT: I will ask you not to use that kind of language when discussing your feelings. Keep yourself from probing and finding reasons, allow me to be your psychologist, don't be your own psychologist.
What you're saying is talking to your mom about your dad was helpful for you. It made real the feelings of inferiority and your mom was able to keep in control by invalidating his judgments.
R: Yes. Okay, I have to go now. Sorry. I just looked up my old High School social studies eacher Mr. Udesen online and he is doing very well and it made me really happy. I think I am doing much better, thank you.
R: Thanks, see you next time.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
My first Saturday off in two weeks.
Took a nap today. Just like an old man I stretched out in the recliner with a blanket next to the window in the middle of the day. The only element missing was the television reeling a Judge Judy rerun.
When I woke up it was dark and I had nothing to show for myself for the day. Still don't.
Earlier today, Kevin & walked along the side of the Christmas parade that snaked it's way down Newport and Harmon. I forgot parades. A band was playing - frozen fingers on brass instruments but the colors of the uniforms were so sharp and clean. People waves as Kevin and I looked on smiling.
"We should get in a line," a camo clad woman suggested to an ROTC gaggle; teenagers, kids and such.
"Not the authority of a drill sergeant," Kevin comments as we pass.
Santa rides by. His speakers are turned up really loud. They crackle, making him sound somewhat possessed. My eyes glaze over, a hige grin on my face.
I LOVE SANTA."Maybe their going for a techno, Santa this year," says Kevin as we pass.
After we broke fast at Westside Bakery I clutched him in my arms. Something he said made me laugh.
I remember actually.
A bike shop display read, "Come in a check out our kids bikes," and Kevin imagined us going inside to see them and having the store owner bring out his childrens bike.
"This one is Michael's. Micheal, tell the nice people about your bike," and Michael would groan and tell us about the gears and axles.
"It's a Huffy," I imagined imaginary kid Michael saying.
It was on Columbia. I love Kevin. He's just my favorite fucking person.
I need to be nicer to him.
Right now I have the post nap gripes. I need to shower, or something.
Instead I am going to a gathering.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
100 Things.
Learn how to sing well (or at least decent)- Play the guitar on the street corner.
- Drink wine with Adam Gnade on an old couch on the rooftop of a squatter house during a new moon and light bottle rockets.
- Go to Burning Man.
- Get a tattoo of "So it's Goes" on the birthday of Kurt Vonnegut with Heather and "This too shall pass.
- Go on tour with Larry and His Flask in Canada and write a travel log/comic book during the experience.
- Make my own dress (and have it be nice enough to wear all the time).
- Grow a vegetable and herb garden.
- Feel like I am truly at home
- Live in a tree fort in the Redwood Forest.
- Dance in a street performing dance team or be part of a mob dance.
- Go on a road trip with my little brother.
- Have a limousine pick up my grandma and whole family and take us to the Old Spaghetti Factory.
- Own my own little craft shop.
- Have my art hung in a gallery and have an artist reception with wine and cheese.
- Work in my own studio.
- Host an amazing themed party like Amy Sedaris does where no one brings a 12 pack.
- Sing and play on the guitar, "Hall Filled Up Like a Lake" by Liz Pappademas to baby Dahlia.
- Experience true peace of mind.
- Go camping with my Dad.
- Kick my addiction to salt.
- Take yoga regularly.
- Discover Northern Oregon on foot.
- Speak French decently.
- Go to Art School.
- Visit Sarajevo, Bosnia.
- Create something I am unquestionably proud of.
- Do a project of some kind with Nicole Georges.
- Finish the installation piece with Mike Chastain (if he would only contact me...)
- Through a psychic, speak with Jay Rowan about how he is doing and what he needs all of us in the world to do to make the world as if he never left.
- Interview JD Salinger.
- Produce a radio documentary like they have on This American Life or Destination DIY.
- Create a "peace center."
- Be cool enough to be interviewed by Terry Gross.
- Have my artwork hung at Townshend's Tea.
- Hang out with Randi Hobbs.
- Visit the South and stay for an extended time with a family.
- Use Couchsurfers.net for travels.
- Work on an organic farm for the World Wide Opportunities for Organic Farms.
- Be ok with crying at Disney films and showing my sensitivity.
- Cure myself of peeing while running.
- Always be flexible.
- Go a year without gossiping.
- Have a wedding.
- Do something illegal and get arrested for something that benefit of animals or the enviroment.
- Ride my bike across the country.
- Roundhouse kick someone in the face.
- Work at a record store.
- Makeout with someone from Ireland.
- Go to a strip club.
- Be totally comfortable with sex.
- Go to therapy.
- Winter camping with Kevin.
- Have coffee with Rider Strong.
- Give away everything I own.
- Tell someone off for a good reason.
- Paint a mural.
- Meet a stranger and for some reason or another end up at their house and fall asleep in their bed and be able to experience their life and fully indulge in it without shame or embarrassment.
- Let someone take care of me for once and feel totally ok with that.
- Grow old gracefully.
- Have my place of living be exactly the way I want it (architecturally, colors, furniture, everything, perfect).
- Know for sure if this world will be around in twenty years and based on that knowledge consider whether or not to have kids.
- (groan) Go to school and get a degree in an art field.
- Live in Portland.
- Be in the instigator of an international zine exchange/swap regarding the daily activities of one certain week. Have everyone write theirs and send them abroad!
- Have a mass shrine making for Dio De Los Muertos where a mob gets together donating a bunch of knick knack craft scraps and everyone makes a small shrine to honor someone who died. Then display the shrines in a public place with candles burning for every one.
- Create a real homepage on Dreamweaver (learn Dreamweaver).
- Learn how to operate Illustrator.
- Own a really nice camera and take millions of pictures with it.
- Grow & make my own tea.
- Do something with my sister.
- Host an underground dinner (Episode 12).
- Host a Sunday morning This American Life listening Breakfast party.
- Live in a commune.
- Make money doing what I like.
- Work in a (real) café.
- Grow long hair.
- Be a part of a performance art piece.
- Visit Nevenka in Chile.
- Go on a train ride across the United States during Autumn.
- Brew my own beer.
- Be a part of a child's life from beginning until (my) end.
- Lay in a field by myself and watch a solar eclipse.
- Contribute my skills to benefit the Fat Revolution and the Queer Movement.
- Never skydive or bungie jump.
- Be a core volunteer at the Portland Zine Smposium and host a workshop.
- Legally hyphenate my mothers maiden into my last name.
- Write a children's book.
- Do a tarot card or palm reading for someone famous.
- Go to an opera again with my grandfather.
- Embellish furniture & clothing.
- Join a knitting group.
- Stay at a Bed & Breakfast in wine country.
- Get a back rub by Gerard Butler.
- Acquire breast implants (not really - I'm just running out of things to write).
- Make my own FOUND magazine.
- Write a cook book.
- Arrange it so the Imperial March is played at my funeral.
- Own a nice cat that I find at Humane Society or simply find and have it live a very long time just like Snowball.
- Celebrate St. Patricks Day in Boston.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Dear Scott #18
Dear Scott,Sorry I haven't written in awhile.
I was looking at colleges online the other day - looking at finanical aid options, comparing graphic art programs for different schools in Oregon, assessing costs of tuition, assessing professor skills and the seriousness of the programs.
I looked at Reed, Pacfic NW College of Art, Portland Community, COCC, Lewis & Clark.
I want to go to school because I want to know how to work Illustrator and have the ability to take my medium of illustration to a marketable level.
But I just can't, Scott and you know why?
I just can't imagine sitting on my ass for eight to ten fucking hours a day listening to someone talk, or in front of a computer or at a desk just reading. Sitting on my ass all day destroying my dream of doing something amazing and doing something so boring and being instituinalized and all that goddamn phony bullshit.
Of course I looked at the awesome Reed package concept where learning is something almost Montessorian but Christ Almighty, Scott! You have to read all day and write long papers and you have to be a goddamn genius to go to that school!
People like us - the man is always putting down. I mean, you! How can you sit on your ass for eight years learning how to be a doctor. It's bullshit!
I already ruin the creative process by forcing myself to give birth to my zine four times a year. All the editting and detail oriented this and that when I just want to experience my own life instead of write about it!
This zine takes so long and it is so hard to put together... I have to try and draw so well... nobody even cares.
Sorry - I don't like pitying myself. Pity Party.
Shabop Shalom --- Devendra Banhart
Monday, November 2, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
My imaginary therapist
I just asked my imaginary therapist if she could write me a prescription for an anti-anxiety.
She lowered her clip-board of all the notes she taken about me for the past 23-years.
"Are you sure that's what you want?" she asked.
I don't know.
All I know is that I'm tired of feeling like I want to scream obscenities at everyone for the most minor of blunders. I am exhausted to the point of fury at the feeling that I want to punch holes in the walls and the faces and the unimportant trifles which crop up.
"Since when did I lose my ability to brush things off?" I ask.
My imaginary therapist consults at her notes.
"It's been ... a couple years now ..." she says, analyzing the data.
She has my anxiety attacks in different degrees lined graphed in her notes - an awesome Excel feature she discovered years ago which has helped her practice.
"Before the bursts of anger you always dealt with your problems with downright and simple depression. It seems as though you've been fighting extra hard these past few years ... fighting instead of standing down, but then you've also been holding a lot of that back ..."
"Is it God? Am I fighting God?"
"You haven't been fighting God until recently. You feel like you've gained so much control over your life in the past year that you've been trying to thwart God ..."
"But I know God doesn't exist."
"Yes, I know, but the concept of God still remains - you are trying to kick holes in the sky - you want control of nature and fate and the steering wheel of your entire destiny in your own hands and any exstentialist must admit, that's just not completely possible."
I sulk for a bit.
"I just feel like I really need those anti-anxieties. My heart wouldn't hurt as much. I could come home and relax instead of worry."
"Have you tried smoking weed? I could get you a medical marijuana card."
"No, thanks..."
There is a pause.
"You do know, in your heart, really, what you have to do, right? I don't have to tell you, do I?"
Pause.
"No, you don't have to tell me."
"For Christsakes then Rachel, FUCKING DO IT. Why do you keep putting it off?! You don't even have to wait until your next project is finished, JUST DO IT. No one cares about your deadlines but you, it's all made up! The whole universe and all the rules! You made it up in your head and can just as easily change it! You don't have to change the universe, it's already yours - you just SNAP and you're there. You are fighting God but you ARE GOD! ABDICATE AND BE YOUR OWN KING!"
The time is up and she stands.
"See you next time?"
"Yeah."
She lowered her clip-board of all the notes she taken about me for the past 23-years.
"Are you sure that's what you want?" she asked.
I don't know.
All I know is that I'm tired of feeling like I want to scream obscenities at everyone for the most minor of blunders. I am exhausted to the point of fury at the feeling that I want to punch holes in the walls and the faces and the unimportant trifles which crop up.
"Since when did I lose my ability to brush things off?" I ask.
My imaginary therapist consults at her notes.
"It's been ... a couple years now ..." she says, analyzing the data.
She has my anxiety attacks in different degrees lined graphed in her notes - an awesome Excel feature she discovered years ago which has helped her practice.
"Before the bursts of anger you always dealt with your problems with downright and simple depression. It seems as though you've been fighting extra hard these past few years ... fighting instead of standing down, but then you've also been holding a lot of that back ..."
"Is it God? Am I fighting God?"
"You haven't been fighting God until recently. You feel like you've gained so much control over your life in the past year that you've been trying to thwart God ..."
"But I know God doesn't exist."
"Yes, I know, but the concept of God still remains - you are trying to kick holes in the sky - you want control of nature and fate and the steering wheel of your entire destiny in your own hands and any exstentialist must admit, that's just not completely possible."
I sulk for a bit.
"I just feel like I really need those anti-anxieties. My heart wouldn't hurt as much. I could come home and relax instead of worry."
"Have you tried smoking weed? I could get you a medical marijuana card."
"No, thanks..."
There is a pause.
"You do know, in your heart, really, what you have to do, right? I don't have to tell you, do I?"
Pause.
"No, you don't have to tell me."
"For Christsakes then Rachel, FUCKING DO IT. Why do you keep putting it off?! You don't even have to wait until your next project is finished, JUST DO IT. No one cares about your deadlines but you, it's all made up! The whole universe and all the rules! You made it up in your head and can just as easily change it! You don't have to change the universe, it's already yours - you just SNAP and you're there. You are fighting God but you ARE GOD! ABDICATE AND BE YOUR OWN KING!"
The time is up and she stands.
"See you next time?"
"Yeah."
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Introduction
Welcome, Autumn.
Two in the morning I walk outside and there has to an Eskimo word for what the snow is doing right now. It's sparkling but in the most subtle way. A glint here and there caught out of the corner of my eye - nothing deliberate. Penstla I have learned is the word for the idea of snow, astrila is the word for snow sparkling with starlight - what is happening is a combination of those two.
Already snow. I feel late in bringing this zine out.
Things happen.
The Portland Zine Symposium was in July, shortly after the publishing of my last zine. I went to John Issacs screen printing workshop, participated in a hugging exercise, hosted an honesty booth where people just took what they wanted and left cash, met some true badasses of the industry (including Theo Ellsworth: see mini zine: D-List Celebrity Magazine), ate a lot of free of bagels with hummus and was practically steamed alive in the humidity.
Snowball died in the middle of September. There is a story in here about that. A little cedar chest with her ashes sits high above the motley of the house between two Jesus hands. My family got together for a memorial and I was able to loosen the tight thread wrapped around my heart.
Bendfilm happened in the beginning of October: two weeks of putting together awards for indie film winners - spray painting porcelain figurines, staring at a computer, sketching out pictures, being practically unknowable to Kevin.
So.
I've been taking baths, pulling Sark in with me - a glass of wine and I force myself to sit there for an hour. I burn candles now and wear boots to keep my feet warm - prepared for sudden fall time gusts. The purple in my hair is gone, and I am on a tea drinking rhythm which involves green tea in the morning, mate in the afternoon, and chamomile at night. I will survive.
Stories in this zine include: a comic section regarding my weekly trips to Costco, a quip about a Craiglists ad, a mix for my friend Jessica's baby Dahlia, the story of how I met Stephen Baldwin, and a comic about Kevin though I will try to fit more an before this goes to print ...
Now friend, grab a blanket and get in your reading chair for 15 minutes plus of a concentrated batch of solid Rachel Lee-Carman material.
(if you want to see something that makes you smile go to jonsiandalex.com and go to recipes...)
http://www.mendosa.com/snow.html
Two in the morning I walk outside and there has to an Eskimo word for what the snow is doing right now. It's sparkling but in the most subtle way. A glint here and there caught out of the corner of my eye - nothing deliberate. Penstla I have learned is the word for the idea of snow, astrila is the word for snow sparkling with starlight - what is happening is a combination of those two.
Already snow. I feel late in bringing this zine out.
Things happen.
The Portland Zine Symposium was in July, shortly after the publishing of my last zine. I went to John Issacs screen printing workshop, participated in a hugging exercise, hosted an honesty booth where people just took what they wanted and left cash, met some true badasses of the industry (including Theo Ellsworth: see mini zine: D-List Celebrity Magazine), ate a lot of free of bagels with hummus and was practically steamed alive in the humidity.
Snowball died in the middle of September. There is a story in here about that. A little cedar chest with her ashes sits high above the motley of the house between two Jesus hands. My family got together for a memorial and I was able to loosen the tight thread wrapped around my heart.
Bendfilm happened in the beginning of October: two weeks of putting together awards for indie film winners - spray painting porcelain figurines, staring at a computer, sketching out pictures, being practically unknowable to Kevin.
So.
I've been taking baths, pulling Sark in with me - a glass of wine and I force myself to sit there for an hour. I burn candles now and wear boots to keep my feet warm - prepared for sudden fall time gusts. The purple in my hair is gone, and I am on a tea drinking rhythm which involves green tea in the morning, mate in the afternoon, and chamomile at night. I will survive.
Stories in this zine include: a comic section regarding my weekly trips to Costco, a quip about a Craiglists ad, a mix for my friend Jessica's baby Dahlia, the story of how I met Stephen Baldwin, and a comic about Kevin though I will try to fit more an before this goes to print ...
Now friend, grab a blanket and get in your reading chair for 15 minutes plus of a concentrated batch of solid Rachel Lee-Carman material.
(if you want to see something that makes you smile go to jonsiandalex.com and go to recipes...)
http://www.mendosa.com/snow.html
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
An article that sucks.
"No," is Jaman's response to my lengthy story-telling question:
"While on tour do you ever feel void of home ... ( I trail off unable to find the words). Example: ever since I moved out of my parents house I've never quite felt at home whereever I am, it's like I am always restless - moving things around, turning circles all the time. I have never since felt there was a place for me. Do you feel that way when you are living in the bus, on the road, not settling?"
The difference between Jamin and I is that he has found home.
Home is this band, Larry and His Flask - his family - and everything he needs is there.
There was this time I read Jamin's palm, he has a fate line which shoots right through the head line and the heart line right between the Jupiter and the Saturn mounds.
This is a rare thing.
The line indicated to me at the time years and years ago that Jamin would find his "place," surpassing doubts in love and head issues.
In the present, with his simple answer, Jamin tells me this was a destiny fufilled. He had found his home, place, heart, the philosophers stone, the alchemists ultimate goal. I don't know what the word is exactly but while I am still looking Jamin, eating homemade chili at my house next to Dall, perusing the Source, has found it.
"While on tour do you ever feel void of home ... ( I trail off unable to find the words). Example: ever since I moved out of my parents house I've never quite felt at home whereever I am, it's like I am always restless - moving things around, turning circles all the time. I have never since felt there was a place for me. Do you feel that way when you are living in the bus, on the road, not settling?"
The difference between Jamin and I is that he has found home.
Home is this band, Larry and His Flask - his family - and everything he needs is there.
There was this time I read Jamin's palm, he has a fate line which shoots right through the head line and the heart line right between the Jupiter and the Saturn mounds.
This is a rare thing.
The line indicated to me at the time years and years ago that Jamin would find his "place," surpassing doubts in love and head issues.
In the present, with his simple answer, Jamin tells me this was a destiny fufilled. He had found his home, place, heart, the philosophers stone, the alchemists ultimate goal. I don't know what the word is exactly but while I am still looking Jamin, eating homemade chili at my house next to Dall, perusing the Source, has found it.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
More Scott Hanson
Possible Central Oregon colloquilism up for submission in mainstream speech:
Scott Hanson: verb or noun
I don't need to go to get a degree in graphic design, I'll just Scott Hanson it until I make it!
A polluted version of the American dream whereas in the American Dream you go to school, work hard and then get the job of your dreams you just work hard and try to get the job of your dreams.
At first I wanted to go to med-school but then I dedided why not be a Scott Hanson and go right into my own private practice?
Some people go to culinary school, I just Scott Hansoned and now I'm executive chef at a resort!
In a act of Scott Hanson some level of deceipt is required, e.g. not discussing education but focusing on work experience or the opinion of quality references.
A royal Scott Hanson: getting a really sweet job with the lowest possible credentials (and perhaps under the lowest but evading the issue during the interview)
I pulled off a royal Scott Hanson to get this job! When they asked about my education I let a chicken out of my briefcase!
Scott Hanson: verb or noun
I don't need to go to get a degree in graphic design, I'll just Scott Hanson it until I make it!
A polluted version of the American dream whereas in the American Dream you go to school, work hard and then get the job of your dreams you just work hard and try to get the job of your dreams.
At first I wanted to go to med-school but then I dedided why not be a Scott Hanson and go right into my own private practice?
Some people go to culinary school, I just Scott Hansoned and now I'm executive chef at a resort!
In a act of Scott Hanson some level of deceipt is required, e.g. not discussing education but focusing on work experience or the opinion of quality references.
A royal Scott Hanson: getting a really sweet job with the lowest possible credentials (and perhaps under the lowest but evading the issue during the interview)
I pulled off a royal Scott Hanson to get this job! When they asked about my education I let a chicken out of my briefcase!
Monday, October 26, 2009
D-List
Celebrity I would like to meet:
Viggo Mortenson: Just want to sit across from him at cafe, reading.
Jake Gyllenhaal: make-out for a couple hours followed by deep conversation.
Douglas Coupland: spend the afternoon painting my house white and then drinking sake on the porch.
Patrick Wilson: giggle uncontrollably and run away
Gerard Butler: have him give me a back rub.
Drew Barrymore: do a guerilla art project, terrorize the town at night, wear converse and have beers and dance at the Silver Moon during a Larry and His Flask show.
Bill Cosby: bring him to a dinner with my entire family and talk really loud over the table peppered by his continious flow of awesome jokes.
Joaquin Pheonix: lay in the park and sleep. Upon waking draw comics in a spiral notebook then go back to sleep.
Javier Bardem: una noche.
Paz Vega: cook her dinner and talk in backyard full of Christmas lights at night in summertime.
Celebrities I would not like to meet:
Wanda Sykes
Ernest
Steve Carrell
Winona Ryder
Tori Spelling
Anyone from the film Twilight
Hilary Swank
Janice Dickinson
David Duchouvny
Kanye West
Any of the Osbournes
Celebrity I thought I met
Matt Groening: got a call at one of my receptionist job about possible donation of comic books from a comic book collector who claimed to receive, "many free copies" with his orders. Learned he went to free comic book day and was interested in my zine after casual banter. Name was Matt. Coworker confirmed possibility. Next day found from another coworker it was not him.
Celebrities I have seen or heard) but not met:
Rider Strong: juror at the Bendfilm awards where I was volunteering. Saw him at the Awards Ceremony. Made eye contact.
William Hurt: sat at table 23 at Johnny Carino's on Father's Day and had calamari with son and wife. Friend Bryce was server. Left memo for the Hulk 2.
David Blaine: flying on the same plane to Texas (or was it Cancun?). Wearing fedora and glasses. Not 100% positive of identity.
Rainn Wilson: did a talk at the Spiritual Awareness Center. Heard him, did not see him. Everyone said he was a dick.
Celebrities I have met:
Stephen Baldwin: served him at a restautant in Redmond while he was in town for a church thing.
Daniel Martin: "Jarrod," kid on Gummo: met him at Timber's in Redmond while he was grounded in town (he's a pilot). Drank a lot of beer and ended up at the Larry and His Flask house.
Theo Ellsworth: incredible illustrator. riding same elevator during the Portland Zine Symposium.
Dialoque
R: That's a cool box
T: Thanks
R: It's a Theo Ellingsworth.
T: Yep.
R: ... Are you Theo Ellingsworth?
T: ... yes. (puts box over head)
R: (freak out)
Henry Rollins: came in to town and I joined a circle of people surrounding him after his spoken word show. Denied everyone who offered to smoke him our or buy him a drink. Enjoyed short dialogue with him about abdicating your comfort zone and how travel makes you feel like you live a longer life.
David Sedaris: came in to town for reading. Had him sign my typewriter, stole his water bottle off the podium.
Viggo Mortenson: Just want to sit across from him at cafe, reading.
Jake Gyllenhaal: make-out for a couple hours followed by deep conversation.
Douglas Coupland: spend the afternoon painting my house white and then drinking sake on the porch.
Patrick Wilson: giggle uncontrollably and run away
Gerard Butler: have him give me a back rub.
Drew Barrymore: do a guerilla art project, terrorize the town at night, wear converse and have beers and dance at the Silver Moon during a Larry and His Flask show.
Bill Cosby: bring him to a dinner with my entire family and talk really loud over the table peppered by his continious flow of awesome jokes.
Joaquin Pheonix: lay in the park and sleep. Upon waking draw comics in a spiral notebook then go back to sleep.
Javier Bardem: una noche.
Paz Vega: cook her dinner and talk in backyard full of Christmas lights at night in summertime.
Celebrities I would not like to meet:
Wanda Sykes
Ernest
Steve Carrell
Winona Ryder
Tori Spelling
Anyone from the film Twilight
Hilary Swank
Janice Dickinson
David Duchouvny
Kanye West
Any of the Osbournes
Celebrity I thought I met
Matt Groening: got a call at one of my receptionist job about possible donation of comic books from a comic book collector who claimed to receive, "many free copies" with his orders. Learned he went to free comic book day and was interested in my zine after casual banter. Name was Matt. Coworker confirmed possibility. Next day found from another coworker it was not him.
Celebrities I have seen or heard) but not met:
Rider Strong: juror at the Bendfilm awards where I was volunteering. Saw him at the Awards Ceremony. Made eye contact.
William Hurt: sat at table 23 at Johnny Carino's on Father's Day and had calamari with son and wife. Friend Bryce was server. Left memo for the Hulk 2.
David Blaine: flying on the same plane to Texas (or was it Cancun?). Wearing fedora and glasses. Not 100% positive of identity.
Rainn Wilson: did a talk at the Spiritual Awareness Center. Heard him, did not see him. Everyone said he was a dick.
Celebrities I have met:
Stephen Baldwin: served him at a restautant in Redmond while he was in town for a church thing.
Daniel Martin: "Jarrod," kid on Gummo: met him at Timber's in Redmond while he was grounded in town (he's a pilot). Drank a lot of beer and ended up at the Larry and His Flask house.
Theo Ellsworth: incredible illustrator. riding same elevator during the Portland Zine Symposium.
Dialoque
R: That's a cool box
T: Thanks
R: It's a Theo Ellingsworth.
T: Yep.
R: ... Are you Theo Ellingsworth?
T: ... yes. (puts box over head)
R: (freak out)
Henry Rollins: came in to town and I joined a circle of people surrounding him after his spoken word show. Denied everyone who offered to smoke him our or buy him a drink. Enjoyed short dialogue with him about abdicating your comfort zone and how travel makes you feel like you live a longer life.
David Sedaris: came in to town for reading. Had him sign my typewriter, stole his water bottle off the podium.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Today I feel like me.
Today I feel like me.
Me is a dancing thing. It is a thing with hands and legs and a loudness and a mudra, a way of making sense of my feelings through hand contortions. It drinks and it slides on the smooth surfaces and doesn't check in with reality -- the sleepy future or the past crystallizing impossibly like expired honey.
I bought a new dress, a black dress reminding me of those Iranian woman I saw in the newspaper protesting the election - all black and kohl and unquestionably sexy. This dress reminded me of me - the dancing and the music is loud in a way that is absolutely distrating from the unnecessary things.
Why hasn't Bollywood caught on full-fire yet in the United States? Why aren't we in the streets yet with our rainbow saris in some magic sychronized bitty?
But today I feel like me and don't want to share the world myself - don't feel like teaching the world how to live succulently, I will live succulently myself and keep it all in this big house with Sushi the cat and my mug of orange juice tequilla and keep it all to myself tonight.
We can't all be a Devendra Banhart - there simply isn't enough money for drugs and we can't all be Thoreau (my English teacher Mr. Jones says if we were all Thoreau we would no longer have a functioning society).
And I will let you in on a secret I have kept from myself for such a long time: I want you to see me in the windows. I want you to look in and see me and how I live. How I make my tea, how I dance and how I take off all my clothes and do the dishes and draw my pictures and throw my typewriters across the room. You will see through transparent drapes dyed orange put up so I can not see you and you can watch me kiss my boyfriend and light candles and watch the way I worship the gods and build my shrines up from cardboard and paint and crayon chards and maybe you will allow me to watch you.
Maybe you will think my idea is grand and realize you have no secrets strangers cannot see and you will let me sit in the cold with my hands wrapped around my nighttime cauldron with greyblue mittens and I will see you (please?).
You will read your books and look through your LPs and not think of me once. I will watch you through your blue stained transparent curtains without embarrassment as you turn up that Liz Pappademas song swinging your arms
and we will be changed in an instant, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet and something in each of us will come alive and we realize we are one like that crazy Dr. Bonners used to say and still says on every one of his little bottles of peppermint liquid soap, lavendar liquid soap, almond liquid soap and every little bar of soap (WE'RE ALL ONE OR NONE!)
Today I feel like me though and I want to share that more than anything because I am an angry thing most of the time. The frowning face in the grocery line who doesn't want to make conversation, who thinks everyone around me is slow and dumb and forgetful and irresponsible (but this isn't true because you are so lovely dark and deep!). And I am depressed most of the time but forget that, please!
It's so hard to be a child everyday as well as an adult (J'essaie! Vraimont je fais!).
Me is a dancing thing. It is a thing with hands and legs and a loudness and a mudra, a way of making sense of my feelings through hand contortions. It drinks and it slides on the smooth surfaces and doesn't check in with reality -- the sleepy future or the past crystallizing impossibly like expired honey.
I bought a new dress, a black dress reminding me of those Iranian woman I saw in the newspaper protesting the election - all black and kohl and unquestionably sexy. This dress reminded me of me - the dancing and the music is loud in a way that is absolutely distrating from the unnecessary things.
Why hasn't Bollywood caught on full-fire yet in the United States? Why aren't we in the streets yet with our rainbow saris in some magic sychronized bitty?
But today I feel like me and don't want to share the world myself - don't feel like teaching the world how to live succulently, I will live succulently myself and keep it all in this big house with Sushi the cat and my mug of orange juice tequilla and keep it all to myself tonight.
We can't all be a Devendra Banhart - there simply isn't enough money for drugs and we can't all be Thoreau (my English teacher Mr. Jones says if we were all Thoreau we would no longer have a functioning society).
And I will let you in on a secret I have kept from myself for such a long time: I want you to see me in the windows. I want you to look in and see me and how I live. How I make my tea, how I dance and how I take off all my clothes and do the dishes and draw my pictures and throw my typewriters across the room. You will see through transparent drapes dyed orange put up so I can not see you and you can watch me kiss my boyfriend and light candles and watch the way I worship the gods and build my shrines up from cardboard and paint and crayon chards and maybe you will allow me to watch you.
Maybe you will think my idea is grand and realize you have no secrets strangers cannot see and you will let me sit in the cold with my hands wrapped around my nighttime cauldron with greyblue mittens and I will see you (please?).
You will read your books and look through your LPs and not think of me once. I will watch you through your blue stained transparent curtains without embarrassment as you turn up that Liz Pappademas song swinging your arms
and we will be changed in an instant, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet and something in each of us will come alive and we realize we are one like that crazy Dr. Bonners used to say and still says on every one of his little bottles of peppermint liquid soap, lavendar liquid soap, almond liquid soap and every little bar of soap (WE'RE ALL ONE OR NONE!)
Today I feel like me though and I want to share that more than anything because I am an angry thing most of the time. The frowning face in the grocery line who doesn't want to make conversation, who thinks everyone around me is slow and dumb and forgetful and irresponsible (but this isn't true because you are so lovely dark and deep!). And I am depressed most of the time but forget that, please!
It's so hard to be a child everyday as well as an adult (J'essaie! Vraimont je fais!).
Saturday, October 24, 2009
F-List
Celebrities I would feel disappointed meeting.
Wanda Sykes
Ernest
Steve Carrell
Winona Ryder
Tori Spelling
Anyone from the film Twilight
Margaret Wo
Hilary Swank
Janice Dickinson
Wanda Sykes
Ernest
Steve Carrell
Winona Ryder
Tori Spelling
Anyone from the film Twilight
Margaret Wo
Hilary Swank
Janice Dickinson
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Sunday 18th (day 15)
This American Life was on this morning but it didn't make any sense as I missed last weeks audio documentary on the healthcare scrum. The past episode was online so I listened to it there.
Fascinating.
And scary.
When Kevin finds himself awake we play Scrabble and talk to the five-year-old Nina staying with her family. She is showing off - getting stickers and making me count them in English and Spanish.
The rest of the work day feels like stirring chili and doing house chores, making the house perfect for my 5:30 pm relief. The cornbread mix I use requires only water which is all I have.
I heard once from somewhere, probably This American Life, that when instant-made producrs came to be after World War II housewives shunned them. When manufacteurs decided to tweak the powder mixes so you had to add oil, eggs, milk, whatever the products became much more popular. Any instant-product where you have to add more that water is a tactic to make you feel like you are doing something, which you are, but barely.
When relief finally comes two big pots of chili simmer on the stove and the corn bread is pulled out. Kevin & I leave.
At home there is some expectation of a Birthday party for a one-year-old of a friend but Kevin doesn't seem driven and I am not motivated to motivate him so we take off our clothes and lay in bed.
A knock at the door and the quick throwing on of clothes Kevin says, "that is a Lia knock, I bet it's Lia," but it's Mom.
"Give me 2 entire minutes to prepare myself."
She knows. I am not embarrassed.
2 full minutes later they come with cake, frosting and the ashes of my cat Snowball.
"You said you were going to be busy this evening," Dad says.
He ices the cake, I put the urn on the dining table and light candles around it displaying pictures of Snowball during various parts of her life. I pull out the scrapbook, "Snow in Springtime" -- pictures of Snowball when I first brought her to my own apartment 2 years ago - pictures of her discovering the house for the first time, climbing on the counters, full of awareness and hush. I pull out the book Cat Heaven.
"That cat meant a lot to me - even if she was a little shit," Dad says as Mom and I put snowflake sprinkles on the white cake.
"I hate sprinkles," Kevin mentions.
Mom puts one candle on the cake.
Dad says we need 17 candles for every year Snowball was alive (we estimate).
"Don't you have 17?"
After a pause my Mom says,
" ... she's dead hon."
My Dad, turns to Kevin,
"KEV?! HOW MANY DO WE HAVE?!"
We settle with the one and I blow it out after we talk to Snowball a little, a seance around a deathday cake. Do we sing? No.
Mom reads Cat Heaven which is absolutely fucking fabulous.
"If you have ever been lucky enough to have a special cat in your life, then you know there is a place called Cat Heaven."
Mom and Dad leave with tentative plans for going to the Pumpkin Patch next week.
Kevin and I go for a walk, I get the Little Mermaid at the video rental store, lose my cell phone and find it, Lia comes over, then Peter, then Billy - my ex-boyfriend who I haven't seen in about a year.
I don't think I was drinking but I felt drunk and we sit around and make jokes and then I go to bed.
Fascinating.
And scary.
When Kevin finds himself awake we play Scrabble and talk to the five-year-old Nina staying with her family. She is showing off - getting stickers and making me count them in English and Spanish.
The rest of the work day feels like stirring chili and doing house chores, making the house perfect for my 5:30 pm relief. The cornbread mix I use requires only water which is all I have.
I heard once from somewhere, probably This American Life, that when instant-made producrs came to be after World War II housewives shunned them. When manufacteurs decided to tweak the powder mixes so you had to add oil, eggs, milk, whatever the products became much more popular. Any instant-product where you have to add more that water is a tactic to make you feel like you are doing something, which you are, but barely.
When relief finally comes two big pots of chili simmer on the stove and the corn bread is pulled out. Kevin & I leave.
At home there is some expectation of a Birthday party for a one-year-old of a friend but Kevin doesn't seem driven and I am not motivated to motivate him so we take off our clothes and lay in bed.
A knock at the door and the quick throwing on of clothes Kevin says, "that is a Lia knock, I bet it's Lia," but it's Mom.
"Give me 2 entire minutes to prepare myself."
She knows. I am not embarrassed.
2 full minutes later they come with cake, frosting and the ashes of my cat Snowball.
"You said you were going to be busy this evening," Dad says.
He ices the cake, I put the urn on the dining table and light candles around it displaying pictures of Snowball during various parts of her life. I pull out the scrapbook, "Snow in Springtime" -- pictures of Snowball when I first brought her to my own apartment 2 years ago - pictures of her discovering the house for the first time, climbing on the counters, full of awareness and hush. I pull out the book Cat Heaven.
"That cat meant a lot to me - even if she was a little shit," Dad says as Mom and I put snowflake sprinkles on the white cake.
"I hate sprinkles," Kevin mentions.
Mom puts one candle on the cake.
Dad says we need 17 candles for every year Snowball was alive (we estimate).
"Don't you have 17?"
After a pause my Mom says,
" ... she's dead hon."
My Dad, turns to Kevin,
"KEV?! HOW MANY DO WE HAVE?!"
We settle with the one and I blow it out after we talk to Snowball a little, a seance around a deathday cake. Do we sing? No.
Mom reads Cat Heaven which is absolutely fucking fabulous.
"If you have ever been lucky enough to have a special cat in your life, then you know there is a place called Cat Heaven."
Mom and Dad leave with tentative plans for going to the Pumpkin Patch next week.
Kevin and I go for a walk, I get the Little Mermaid at the video rental store, lose my cell phone and find it, Lia comes over, then Peter, then Billy - my ex-boyfriend who I haven't seen in about a year.
I don't think I was drinking but I felt drunk and we sit around and make jokes and then I go to bed.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Saturday 17th (Day 14)
The days are perfect when I must spend most of the day indoors.
Saturday is all day at my spend-the-night weekend relief house manager/receptionist job. So.
What I ate:
Breakfast: cup of jasmine green tea
Lunch: Pesto pasta
Dinner: same.
This job I work at, it has microwaves and at home there are no microwaves. I microwave a lot of food here, just for the novelty of it. Sometimes it feels like we live in the future with microwaves - they are so freaking weird. Microwaves creates the foundation and assauges th fears that man landed on the moon. It just seems to freaking unlikely but.
Today, is on the computer, on my butt cracking my back every two hours and resisting eye strain. I could work in a cubicle and stare at a computer screen all day long. I very much could.
Saturday Playlist
Song:
Magnetic Fields: Absolutely Cuckoo
Adam Gnade: Palaces
Providence
Liz Pappademas: Hall Filled Like a Lake
Jolie Holland: Littlest Birds
Read the newspaper.
Saturday is all day at my spend-the-night weekend relief house manager/receptionist job. So.
What I ate:
Breakfast: cup of jasmine green tea
Lunch: Pesto pasta
Dinner: same.
This job I work at, it has microwaves and at home there are no microwaves. I microwave a lot of food here, just for the novelty of it. Sometimes it feels like we live in the future with microwaves - they are so freaking weird. Microwaves creates the foundation and assauges th fears that man landed on the moon. It just seems to freaking unlikely but.
Today, is on the computer, on my butt cracking my back every two hours and resisting eye strain. I could work in a cubicle and stare at a computer screen all day long. I very much could.
Saturday Playlist
Song:
Magnetic Fields: Absolutely Cuckoo
Adam Gnade: Palaces
Providence
Liz Pappademas: Hall Filled Like a Lake
Jolie Holland: Littlest Birds
Read the newspaper.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Tattoo.
Usually I don't entertain tattoo fantasies.
But Cassie has awesome tattoos.
Green Hindu god, sharp and clean with details.
And I thought about the things I love to stare at.
Water meters. I love drawing water meters. I want a water meter on my heart with all of the pipes on my arms and legs and pee pee and up to my head; lots of strong little pipes up my neck.
It's only a fantasy.
The problem with me is I want to forget. I want that which is beautiful today to not follow me too long else I get bored by it, perhaps it would turn ugly to me and try and shrink away from my skin no longer wanting the ugliness attached.
For now the thought is satisfying.
Pipes. Complicated networks where my heart is the center.
But Cassie has awesome tattoos.
Green Hindu god, sharp and clean with details.
And I thought about the things I love to stare at.
Water meters. I love drawing water meters. I want a water meter on my heart with all of the pipes on my arms and legs and pee pee and up to my head; lots of strong little pipes up my neck.
It's only a fantasy.
The problem with me is I want to forget. I want that which is beautiful today to not follow me too long else I get bored by it, perhaps it would turn ugly to me and try and shrink away from my skin no longer wanting the ugliness attached.
For now the thought is satisfying.
Pipes. Complicated networks where my heart is the center.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Thursday 15th (day 12)
The perfect day blessed by an early day donation to OPB and all I ask for is two grocery bags and a tree planted. I love OPB.
The screen doors are gone for the season and the dead flowers have all been put away. The ground is bare and simple, the fantasy of Sylvia Plath's poem Spinster and maybe I too can find peace in a winter which usually makes me blind by staring at things close up and ignoring the outside.
The rest of the day goes easy on me. The weather is fair. The lead colored cat comes inside as I make the bed and we play the old game Snowball liked where I made the bed with her under it. This cat, my neighbors cat, Jasper, likes the game to and it's nice to have a cat to talk to once in awhile.
Lucas comes over as I sit outside, Kevin asleep inside. We discuss the lead cat and what it does and I try to explain it's ways a bit. Rich comes over and watchs as we chase it into a tree and then try to coax it down with the stem of a dead plant. Then we play Frisbee for a bit.
Suddenly it's dark and I'm at Townshend's where a lovely girl brings me mate and asks me about a comic have resting on the scrum, traveller work space. The Jolie Holland song I've had stuck in my head for weeks is playing as she tells me I should have a showing at the tea place. I believe her but I don't believe in myself.
Hours later I am at Camalli drinking a Widmer next to Sarah Viles and Tonia where three writers from Throwback Books including dear friend Jonathan are at the front holding their contributions to the literary world.
They read and it is satisfying. On the second beer I reach the feeling that has been eluding me and I feel real. What is my relationship with the present moment? I am content. Crosslegged with two braids.
I buy Chris' book and read Jonathan Treadway's hand (water or fire hand with a strong fate line and straight head and heart lines).
Driving to Nicci's house to watch the Office and then find myself home with Kevin wanting to smoke cloves.
So I do. Take the long way through downtown and into the park to Galveston where I get a La Cerveza de Pacifico Clara, Djarum blacks, and a blue lighter.
"My favorite color," cashier says.
Walk home writing poetry the whole way until I am home without even still working on my first clove. Lighting candles on the front porch I write in my journal until Kevin comes to discuss his prospects of going back to school and reading in next months Poetry Slam with Lia.
The air suddenly goes from cool to cold and we head inside.
The screen doors are gone for the season and the dead flowers have all been put away. The ground is bare and simple, the fantasy of Sylvia Plath's poem Spinster and maybe I too can find peace in a winter which usually makes me blind by staring at things close up and ignoring the outside.
The rest of the day goes easy on me. The weather is fair. The lead colored cat comes inside as I make the bed and we play the old game Snowball liked where I made the bed with her under it. This cat, my neighbors cat, Jasper, likes the game to and it's nice to have a cat to talk to once in awhile.
Lucas comes over as I sit outside, Kevin asleep inside. We discuss the lead cat and what it does and I try to explain it's ways a bit. Rich comes over and watchs as we chase it into a tree and then try to coax it down with the stem of a dead plant. Then we play Frisbee for a bit.
Suddenly it's dark and I'm at Townshend's where a lovely girl brings me mate and asks me about a comic have resting on the scrum, traveller work space. The Jolie Holland song I've had stuck in my head for weeks is playing as she tells me I should have a showing at the tea place. I believe her but I don't believe in myself.
Hours later I am at Camalli drinking a Widmer next to Sarah Viles and Tonia where three writers from Throwback Books including dear friend Jonathan are at the front holding their contributions to the literary world.
They read and it is satisfying. On the second beer I reach the feeling that has been eluding me and I feel real. What is my relationship with the present moment? I am content. Crosslegged with two braids.
I buy Chris' book and read Jonathan Treadway's hand (water or fire hand with a strong fate line and straight head and heart lines).
Driving to Nicci's house to watch the Office and then find myself home with Kevin wanting to smoke cloves.
So I do. Take the long way through downtown and into the park to Galveston where I get a La Cerveza de Pacifico Clara, Djarum blacks, and a blue lighter.
"My favorite color," cashier says.
Walk home writing poetry the whole way until I am home without even still working on my first clove. Lighting candles on the front porch I write in my journal until Kevin comes to discuss his prospects of going back to school and reading in next months Poetry Slam with Lia.
The air suddenly goes from cool to cold and we head inside.
Wednesday 14th (day 11)
In a dream Larry and His Flask was addicted to meth and I was the samrui protector of the executive director at my work who people were trying to assassninate.
Cherie, one of the people I work with, has the swine flu. She is the closest person I know with swine flu.
Swine flu makes a peace sign, points to its eyes then turns its hoof and points at me, "I'm coming for you."
A quilt conference had found itself into the building I work at, "I'm going to crash it," Fran told me.
On the radio,"Think Outloud" was talking about people who decide to not have kids. Held a baby for longer than I've ever held a baby and thought about my decisions.
4:00pm Dylan working at RMH.
Sent off some more pen-pal letters through swap bot. 5 personalized homemade envelopes a mini zine in each. In the next week I will get 5 less than incredible mini-zines but it will be something to look forward to.
Picked up day-olds at Nancy P's for work then went to my other job for an hour where I work part-time as a receptionist.
Text conversation with Dall.
5:37pm Had a dream you and your bandmates were addicted to meth. What have you been up to?
5:40pm I had a dream last night my mom cu my beard off with scissors. What have YOU been up to?
6:21pm nothing for the past few days. Work ... trying to uncover the universal real.
7:10pm I've been trying to figure out my personal real. Sometimes its tough to figure.
When I got home I told Kevin,
"I need to be alone right now. I need you to pretend you are not here."
But he was. Stirring julienned onions for a marinara sauce, "mind if I use you wine?"
I lit my Virgin to Guadalupe candle, burned incense, took a bath, read Sark, drank wine, made tea, and kept refilling the tub with hot water as it cooled off praying with every splash the way I was taught in Ilse Content a perzine from Olympia I got on trade.
Something is wrong. My homelife feels broken. I feel broken.
Out of the bath I finally felt pure. A spider I had whipped off the shower curtain broke it's leg so I took it outside to live in the laundry room to heal. Jonathen was outside walking by and I explained the situation.
"Have you been crying?" heasked.
I'm just drunk. But I found humility.
Kevin left and I tried to watch a Peter Shaffer film adapted Amadeus before the tracking fucked up and then I just let sleep take me away.
Cherie, one of the people I work with, has the swine flu. She is the closest person I know with swine flu.
Swine flu makes a peace sign, points to its eyes then turns its hoof and points at me, "I'm coming for you."
A quilt conference had found itself into the building I work at, "I'm going to crash it," Fran told me.
On the radio,"Think Outloud" was talking about people who decide to not have kids. Held a baby for longer than I've ever held a baby and thought about my decisions.
4:00pm Dylan working at RMH.
Sent off some more pen-pal letters through swap bot. 5 personalized homemade envelopes a mini zine in each. In the next week I will get 5 less than incredible mini-zines but it will be something to look forward to.
Picked up day-olds at Nancy P's for work then went to my other job for an hour where I work part-time as a receptionist.
Text conversation with Dall.
5:37pm Had a dream you and your bandmates were addicted to meth. What have you been up to?
5:40pm I had a dream last night my mom cu my beard off with scissors. What have YOU been up to?
6:21pm nothing for the past few days. Work ... trying to uncover the universal real.
7:10pm I've been trying to figure out my personal real. Sometimes its tough to figure.
When I got home I told Kevin,
"I need to be alone right now. I need you to pretend you are not here."
But he was. Stirring julienned onions for a marinara sauce, "mind if I use you wine?"
I lit my Virgin to Guadalupe candle, burned incense, took a bath, read Sark, drank wine, made tea, and kept refilling the tub with hot water as it cooled off praying with every splash the way I was taught in Ilse Content a perzine from Olympia I got on trade.
Something is wrong. My homelife feels broken. I feel broken.
Out of the bath I finally felt pure. A spider I had whipped off the shower curtain broke it's leg so I took it outside to live in the laundry room to heal. Jonathen was outside walking by and I explained the situation.
"Have you been crying?" heasked.
I'm just drunk. But I found humility.
Kevin left and I tried to watch a Peter Shaffer film adapted Amadeus before the tracking fucked up and then I just let sleep take me away.
Tuesday 13th (day 10)
Joey Kotsosovas, a peer who I shared the 3rd, 4th, & 5th grade with told me him and his old best friend Roccy were no longer friends because one time at a football game Joey bought Roccy a hot dog and a beer and when a football player fell into the crowd and onto Roccy, Roccy dumped the hot dog and beer everywhere. I woke up from that dream wondering how the recesses of subcoincios could dig so deep into my long-term memory.
Today I tried to relearn grace. It is my goal this week. Too much stomping around, forcing the square peg into the round hole, putting my hands on the gears and moving the world. Relearning what it is to sit down and listen to the radio.
Jaycee Dugard is on the cover of People magazine, she's beautiful.
Erin's birthday was tonight and she wanted to go bowling. "big lebowski style," she said in a text.
It was Big Lebowski with a lactose intolerant spin as we drank white russians with rice milk.
Bowled the worse of everyone even though my peronal team name was Sparta.
Walking out silly on rice milk white russians Diana was mentioning a something she had learned or was learning or was studying or was the purpose of her existance about a nature deficeiency disorder where people who don't get out in nature tend to have similar symptoms in their social and personal and health lives.
Shared enthusiasm with Kecia who was excited to hear I wrote zines.
"Let's write zines," in the shiny parking lot where we all looked like we were smoking cigarettes but only two really were.
No one had the ashes of a dearly departed blown in their face by sweeping coastal wind but Erin did turn 27 at some point and Kevin and I watched the rest of The Shadowless Sword before falling asleep.
Today I tried to relearn grace. It is my goal this week. Too much stomping around, forcing the square peg into the round hole, putting my hands on the gears and moving the world. Relearning what it is to sit down and listen to the radio.
Jaycee Dugard is on the cover of People magazine, she's beautiful.
Erin's birthday was tonight and she wanted to go bowling. "big lebowski style," she said in a text.
It was Big Lebowski with a lactose intolerant spin as we drank white russians with rice milk.
Bowled the worse of everyone even though my peronal team name was Sparta.
Walking out silly on rice milk white russians Diana was mentioning a something she had learned or was learning or was studying or was the purpose of her existance about a nature deficeiency disorder where people who don't get out in nature tend to have similar symptoms in their social and personal and health lives.
Shared enthusiasm with Kecia who was excited to hear I wrote zines.
"Let's write zines," in the shiny parking lot where we all looked like we were smoking cigarettes but only two really were.
No one had the ashes of a dearly departed blown in their face by sweeping coastal wind but Erin did turn 27 at some point and Kevin and I watched the rest of The Shadowless Sword before falling asleep.
Monday 12th (day 9)
The invoice for Bendfilm looks like a grownup might have done it which is what I was going for but feel strange for accomplishing it. Receipts stapled to the back - an entire weeks worth of work totals $130, an award certificate I made for myself which indicates a return to normal life. Normal work. Sleeping normal times. Maybe sit in a quiet place for a few hours and catch up on the leaves turning. There has been too much all-at-once going on. A joke bill I make up for Bendfilm with the food, drink and electricity we consumed during our late-night photo editing comes to a couple hundred. I send one to Jonathan.
At the hub there is a wind-down feeling was taking place between Stephanie and Jim the director. Like everyone finished their smoke break and it's time to put up the chairs for the night cleaning crew.
"I did you all a huge favor by not humiliating myself in front of Rider Strong," I tell them. "I love him."
They ask me why the hell I didn't and tell me they would have introduced us.
The real reason I didn't meet him: I was embarassed the way a middle school girl is when she drops her trapper keeper in front of the most popular boy in school and the cover is carved with his name. There are regrets of course.
I propose a plan to have mini film events in peoples homes and unique venues with a floating projector and screen for fundraising. We'll see though I am so fucking tired of thinking right now.
In a staff meeting at my job the receptionists cell phone blows up in another room, a wailing Christian song "O PRINCE OF PEEEEEACE," it harkens, but she doesn't move for several seconds. I think she's trying to secretly convert some of us.
Tonight was nothing. Watched the second half of Andromeda Strain after a plot synopsis by Kevin. We got in a tiff afterward because I didn't get it. Time travel eludes me and makes me a little upset. I like my linear dimensions. Kevin hates explaining movies to people as he finds them obvious.
Pulled an fresh notebook out of the storage unit. Gave up ever finding the old one.
At the hub there is a wind-down feeling was taking place between Stephanie and Jim the director. Like everyone finished their smoke break and it's time to put up the chairs for the night cleaning crew.
"I did you all a huge favor by not humiliating myself in front of Rider Strong," I tell them. "I love him."
They ask me why the hell I didn't and tell me they would have introduced us.
The real reason I didn't meet him: I was embarassed the way a middle school girl is when she drops her trapper keeper in front of the most popular boy in school and the cover is carved with his name. There are regrets of course.
I propose a plan to have mini film events in peoples homes and unique venues with a floating projector and screen for fundraising. We'll see though I am so fucking tired of thinking right now.
In a staff meeting at my job the receptionists cell phone blows up in another room, a wailing Christian song "O PRINCE OF PEEEEEACE," it harkens, but she doesn't move for several seconds. I think she's trying to secretly convert some of us.
Tonight was nothing. Watched the second half of Andromeda Strain after a plot synopsis by Kevin. We got in a tiff afterward because I didn't get it. Time travel eludes me and makes me a little upset. I like my linear dimensions. Kevin hates explaining movies to people as he finds them obvious.
Pulled an fresh notebook out of the storage unit. Gave up ever finding the old one.
Sunday 11th (day 8)
Sunday is truly sleeping in and making breakfast or lunch with Kevin at 12:00. Bought garlic at Newport (expensive) while Kevin got milk and a newspaper. Lunch was egg sandwich for me and something else for him over sharing section of the newspaper and fading in and out of immemorable conversation.
A sudden snap out of a the perfectly lazy Sunday afternoon I realized I had to go grocery shopping and the decided I had to watch at least one film for the film festival (and redeem my rights as a volunteer).
After a sprint through Costco and Safeway with grocery list in hand without a glitch I drove a bleary eyed stretch to the Sisters theater to watch the Attic Door, the film winning three awards at the festival. Parents met me in Sisters and I did a very uncharactertic thing and bought a latte in an attempt to be present, to not feel like I was in waking dream, to WAKE UP. No luck.
Driving home to make it to the Overbrook Brother's I break down. No way. Cancel all plans. I need to schuck basil and made enough pesto to last me the winter. I need to be with my boyfriend and do nothing. Which is what I did.
A sudden snap out of a the perfectly lazy Sunday afternoon I realized I had to go grocery shopping and the decided I had to watch at least one film for the film festival (and redeem my rights as a volunteer).
After a sprint through Costco and Safeway with grocery list in hand without a glitch I drove a bleary eyed stretch to the Sisters theater to watch the Attic Door, the film winning three awards at the festival. Parents met me in Sisters and I did a very uncharactertic thing and bought a latte in an attempt to be present, to not feel like I was in waking dream, to WAKE UP. No luck.
Driving home to make it to the Overbrook Brother's I break down. No way. Cancel all plans. I need to schuck basil and made enough pesto to last me the winter. I need to be with my boyfriend and do nothing. Which is what I did.
Saturday 10th (day 7)
Hours of sleep. Excessive lovely sleep but Kevin is shuffling around, getting ready to get coffee and I am guilty for being a jerk last night. I apologize but we still drift away - he is leaving and I head off showerless to Kinko's to make copies for tonights Bendfilm Awards.
Framing the images in black Dollar Tree frames I go from discouraged and disappointed to jubiliant in two glasses of wine. Shamelessly I turn up the 94.1 on the radio and connect with Lady Gaga, clean the house, dress for the occassion, (BLACK LONG SLEEVE WITH TWEED SKIRT) and dance ugly in my room of a project finally finished.
When my parents get there I am cross eyed with anxiety or excitment.
At the Tower where the Awards are hosted I meet up with Erin and Brad bring the framed certificates through the back.
(buffet comic)
(Rider comic)
Read the tarot (tator) cards for Brad and Jonathan. I get more drunk.
Awards assembly was lovely, Terri extends a special honor to our team for the awards where we stand. (did Rider see? Did he think I was interesting, fascinating, brilliant, beautiful?)
Woman and man two rows in front during the ceremony were making everyone behind them uncomfortable with excessive PDA; man rubbing womans back intimately. Dreaming of the bedroom. She: ginger with short dress He: the much older man.
Spilling into the street borrowing cigarettes from Rider's brother in exchange for a snubbed pam reading. During the length of our smoke on the corner in front of 900 Wall we sang Happy Birthday three times and I got to see Daniel and Jon Ball, Christian brothers.
"I don't smoke," I told them.
The Afterparty at 900 'n Wall was Erin, Brad & I telling horrible animal stories.
(comic of Erin's story: dead dog put him back. Funny thing happened.)
The late night we found ourselves at the M&J and I found the Kev finally hovering over a pool table. Talked to Cassie and Sarah, two of my favorite people to see in general and played game of pool (I hate pool) with Brad & Erin while staring off into space at the Ms. Pacman tournament that was taking place (I love watching people play video games).
Framing the images in black Dollar Tree frames I go from discouraged and disappointed to jubiliant in two glasses of wine. Shamelessly I turn up the 94.1 on the radio and connect with Lady Gaga, clean the house, dress for the occassion, (BLACK LONG SLEEVE WITH TWEED SKIRT) and dance ugly in my room of a project finally finished.
When my parents get there I am cross eyed with anxiety or excitment.
At the Tower where the Awards are hosted I meet up with Erin and Brad bring the framed certificates through the back.
(buffet comic)
(Rider comic)
Read the tarot (tator) cards for Brad and Jonathan. I get more drunk.
Awards assembly was lovely, Terri extends a special honor to our team for the awards where we stand. (did Rider see? Did he think I was interesting, fascinating, brilliant, beautiful?)
Woman and man two rows in front during the ceremony were making everyone behind them uncomfortable with excessive PDA; man rubbing womans back intimately. Dreaming of the bedroom. She: ginger with short dress He: the much older man.
Spilling into the street borrowing cigarettes from Rider's brother in exchange for a snubbed pam reading. During the length of our smoke on the corner in front of 900 Wall we sang Happy Birthday three times and I got to see Daniel and Jon Ball, Christian brothers.
"I don't smoke," I told them.
The Afterparty at 900 'n Wall was Erin, Brad & I telling horrible animal stories.
(comic of Erin's story: dead dog put him back. Funny thing happened.)
The late night we found ourselves at the M&J and I found the Kev finally hovering over a pool table. Talked to Cassie and Sarah, two of my favorite people to see in general and played game of pool (I hate pool) with Brad & Erin while staring off into space at the Ms. Pacman tournament that was taking place (I love watching people play video games).
Friday 9th (day 6)
A snap shot. Sitting with Jonathan in a full of great afternoon sun with a award the weight of a four year set on the table. If I were to get coffee I would likely have a panic attack. If I do get coffee I will likely fall asleep while driving killing many. Staring off into a blue sky, there are no words.
"I ... " beginning to say but break off.
"What?" Jonathan says.
"I ... am so tired."
and overwhelmed. and happy. and anxious. about to burst into tears ... or maybe I'll just pass out and wake up someone else. Life is but a dream.
This morning I came to work in glasses (pic) because my eyes were bloodshot from then night before, staring without blinking at a computer, staring at white pieces of paper. Drinking wine.
Jonathan, "Wal Mart."
Hanging up I said, "dammit, I hated making that call."
Jonathen: "At least you got to use the word assuage in a sentence."
"Can you talk to this?"
Technology isn't working today, I need Jonathan to talk to everything.
"It feels like the first time trying a new drug," as we take sips of nasty energy shots with warning labels saying the Niacin will make our skin feel like it's peeling off and promises of never sleeping again.
"I bet Rider is with Terri right now at his hotel."
Pick Erica up at a party she isn't feeling at 1:00am.
By 4:00am we are done. The project saved on the computer and our personal thumb drives.
At home Kevin is asleep with the light on and I am cold to him because the his clothes were shurgged off around the house and the dishes were undone. Needless to say I was not cuddled tonight.
"I ... " beginning to say but break off.
"What?" Jonathan says.
"I ... am so tired."
and overwhelmed. and happy. and anxious. about to burst into tears ... or maybe I'll just pass out and wake up someone else. Life is but a dream.
This morning I came to work in glasses (pic) because my eyes were bloodshot from then night before, staring without blinking at a computer, staring at white pieces of paper. Drinking wine.
- Humane Society (best in show shoot of cats and dogs) (Jonathan talks to all the dogs (photo))
- The Dump (for something - it's closed so we miss our chance)
Jonathan, "Wal Mart."
- Wal-Mart for guerilla photographing of crowds and rows and McDonalds.
Hanging up I said, "dammit, I hated making that call."
Jonathen: "At least you got to use the word assuage in a sentence."
- Bendfilm Hub, waiting for everyone to leave so we can take up the office and edit all the photos into their completed forms TONIGHT.
"Can you talk to this?"
Technology isn't working today, I need Jonathan to talk to everything.
"It feels like the first time trying a new drug," as we take sips of nasty energy shots with warning labels saying the Niacin will make our skin feel like it's peeling off and promises of never sleeping again.
"I bet Rider is with Terri right now at his hotel."
Pick Erica up at a party she isn't feeling at 1:00am.
By 4:00am we are done. The project saved on the computer and our personal thumb drives.
At home Kevin is asleep with the light on and I am cold to him because the his clothes were shurgged off around the house and the dishes were undone. Needless to say I was not cuddled tonight.
Thurday 8th (day 5)
On the porch in the sun I am putting the last layer of black spray paint when Lucas comes over to talk. My three-year-old neighbor friend asks what I am doing which I explain. When he asks me how is my white cat I tell him she died a few weeks ago.
"Where did she die?"
"I found her under the porch one day after she didn't come home."
"Is she in heaven?"
"I think so, but it depends on what you believe. What do you think?"
"I think she is in heaven. My dog is heaven."
Lucas is a genius. I was relived to talk to him about her. His dad, my neighbor Rich gave me a hug the night after she died, when I was still unable to feel anything. I am still waiting for the descent into the the reality of what has happened. dancing on the surface of that lately...
More photoshoots.
"Where did she die?"
"I found her under the porch one day after she didn't come home."
"Is she in heaven?"
"I think so, but it depends on what you believe. What do you think?"
"I think she is in heaven. My dog is heaven."
Lucas is a genius. I was relived to talk to him about her. His dad, my neighbor Rich gave me a hug the night after she died, when I was still unable to feel anything. I am still waiting for the descent into the the reality of what has happened. dancing on the surface of that lately...
More photoshoots.
- Camalli Books (best actor, actress, supporting actor, and supporting actress) We use ourselves as the models which pleases me because they more you get non-modelesque people in photos the better the world will be, the more accurately will we see beauty. (Also: shoot for best screenplay with typewriter shots)
- High Tides (quick shoot of inside of kitchen - the theme has evolved from a concept I call "Inside, Underside" where everything photographed is some kind of inside secret part of Bend. Articles not obvious and unsually unseen. A backstage look)
- Brad's house (best musical score - big ancient piano shoot)
- Bendfilm Hub (editing of photos, I drew frames for the awards)
Wednesday 7th (day 4)
A lovely local artist working with Nancy P's dropped off a donation of baked goods this morning at work. I bagged them up to send to the families and was able to thank Nancy personally before I met Jonathan at Backporch.
Jonathan and I discussed our artisic vision for the photography project that makes up the ceritificates for Bendfilm. We came to a conclusion on an artistic concept emulating the "trash" side of Bend rather than the traditional spots. For the student award we intended to go to Summit High and have a trash photoshoot for the award. This didn't work out so well and respective staff seemed uncomfortable with our presence.
Photo shoots include:
Photo shoot continues:
Jonathan and I discussed our artisic vision for the photography project that makes up the ceritificates for Bendfilm. We came to a conclusion on an artistic concept emulating the "trash" side of Bend rather than the traditional spots. For the student award we intended to go to Summit High and have a trash photoshoot for the award. This didn't work out so well and respective staff seemed uncomfortable with our presence.
Photo shoots include:
- Devore's compot pile
- Newport trash & bottle redeeming room
- Nancy P's trash
- Pakit
Photo shoot continues:
- Farmer's Market
- Fred Meyer's (mask hunting)
- Goodwill (mask hunting)
- South Timber's (saw dear friend with Michelle with her Hawaiian necklaces) (Best of Northwest theme)
- Bendfilm Hub (photo uploading and decompressing)
- M & J (best musical score shoot)
- Silver Moon (same as above) (picutures are too dark)
Kama Sutra for hands, make yr own zine
MyDad once told me he thought he was dyslexic. Dyslexia being the kind of visual scrambling 
occuring when one is reading and just can't seem to put the words on the page. Dyslexics have difficulty reading because their brain takes an egg beater to the words, they can't read in order.
occuring when one is reading and just can't seem to put the words on the page. Dyslexics have difficulty reading because their brain takes an egg beater to the words, they can't read in order. I kind of think I am dyslexic, kind of how I think I am also autistic. This is to say I relate to some of the symptoms but likely do not possess the actual disorder.
The handwash sign was not telling me wash my hands, it was telling me what to do on a first date without putting out too much. It was telling me the secret handshake of the World Health Organization.
So. I took their pictures and added my words.
1. Okay dear friends, this is actually a mini comic. If you would like a physical one please get in contact or you cane print out and make one from the link RIGHT NOW.
2. Adjust the size when you print it out to make it as big as you can for an 8.5 by 11 without accidentally cropping. It will probably be smaller so you might have to cut it out. Whatev. 3. Then watch this video which will tell you how to get the mini comic from the piece of paper (the music is lovely & helpful!)
Tuesday 6th (day 3)
Little girl at work with the Celeste-like eyes and mousy hair kept asking me something I couldn't decipher through her 2-year-old articulation and to be honest I'm not a good guesser.
"Cut" the Taylor-Swift-resembling volunteer told me when i asked her to intepret. "She wants you to 'cut' her pasta." So I did. Then I found a geriatric fly in my kitchen, named him Finn,(pic) and had to set him outside because of threats against his life.
The rest of the day was complicated.
Trophy making. (pic) Erin, my interior designer turned Americorp volunteer friend sought out those porcelain figures your grandmother hoards of children on benches with dogs, whimsical women in sweeping dresses, Norman Rockwell Limited Edition figurines. There were the basis of our trophies.
(comic: Erin pointing out Settlers, "You play Settlers?")
Erica picked me up a bit later to watch the Hangover at McMenamins. When the room was too packed and the only place to sit was far right front row we decided something else needed to be done.
Went to see Kevin at High Tides and get smoked salmon chowda (the best the best the best) we watched Sex & the City until both of us were to disgusted to be women anymore.
"There women are morons. The show tries to sell them as smart but they aren't real. There is never any chemistry between them or the men they date."
When Erica went home I drank too much, tried to write and ended up throwing my typewriter across the room and breaking a picture frame in vehement expression of stress and anger, a feeling occuring with greater frequency these days.
Kevin came home to me finishing up a pen-pal letter with the theme "ANGRY LETTERS ... SENT!" in which I wrote to my ex ("yes, I am drunk," I wrote in the first line, "you used to tell me I was disgusting when I was drunk") and we walked to the nearest post office box.
"Give me a cigarette."
"Cut" the Taylor-Swift-resembling volunteer told me when i asked her to intepret. "She wants you to 'cut' her pasta." So I did. Then I found a geriatric fly in my kitchen, named him Finn,(pic) and had to set him outside because of threats against his life.
The rest of the day was complicated.
Trophy making. (pic) Erin, my interior designer turned Americorp volunteer friend sought out those porcelain figures your grandmother hoards of children on benches with dogs, whimsical women in sweeping dresses, Norman Rockwell Limited Edition figurines. There were the basis of our trophies.
- dollar tree
- goodwill
- joannas
- goodwill (comic)
- home
- michaels
- home depot
(comic: Erin pointing out Settlers, "You play Settlers?")
Erica picked me up a bit later to watch the Hangover at McMenamins. When the room was too packed and the only place to sit was far right front row we decided something else needed to be done.
Went to see Kevin at High Tides and get smoked salmon chowda (the best the best the best) we watched Sex & the City until both of us were to disgusted to be women anymore.
"There women are morons. The show tries to sell them as smart but they aren't real. There is never any chemistry between them or the men they date."
When Erica went home I drank too much, tried to write and ended up throwing my typewriter across the room and breaking a picture frame in vehement expression of stress and anger, a feeling occuring with greater frequency these days.
Kevin came home to me finishing up a pen-pal letter with the theme "ANGRY LETTERS ... SENT!" in which I wrote to my ex ("yes, I am drunk," I wrote in the first line, "you used to tell me I was disgusting when I was drunk") and we walked to the nearest post office box.
"Give me a cigarette."
Monday 5th (2)
Woke up to a lady gaga dream I don't think I'll ever be able to shake.
(comic here)
At work I fed the kids, bagged up the chili, labeled them and sent them off with it to their homes.
People kept coming into the kitchen complaining the soda they want is not in the building refrigerator. I gently remind them they can write their preferences on the "suggestion" post. They tell me they don't like soda anyways, they just expected to see diet squirt or Sam's Choice watermelon punch which is quite common.
Picked up the epic looking Bendfilm trophy at the Hub office on Iriving with Erin. Tomorrow we get the ball rolling with trophy making for Bendfilm winners.
Artistic concept: photograph Mr. Bendfilm in locations unique to Bend that surreptitiously depict the theme.
(to still be developed) Project still in the making. Day 1.
At home I intended to work but picked up on a reoccuring theme and wrote a letter to my pen pals through swap-bot. When hungry Kevin and I competed in the kitchen for counter and stove space making food and messes until we settled back into the routine of me, working and him, reading.
Watched 12 monkies.
Late night bundle up walking downtown a homeless man is sitting on the sidewalk. Kevin chastens me when I cross the street.
(comic here)
At work I fed the kids, bagged up the chili, labeled them and sent them off with it to their homes.
People kept coming into the kitchen complaining the soda they want is not in the building refrigerator. I gently remind them they can write their preferences on the "suggestion" post. They tell me they don't like soda anyways, they just expected to see diet squirt or Sam's Choice watermelon punch which is quite common.
Picked up the epic looking Bendfilm trophy at the Hub office on Iriving with Erin. Tomorrow we get the ball rolling with trophy making for Bendfilm winners.
Artistic concept: photograph Mr. Bendfilm in locations unique to Bend that surreptitiously depict the theme.
(to still be developed) Project still in the making. Day 1.
At home I intended to work but picked up on a reoccuring theme and wrote a letter to my pen pals through swap-bot. When hungry Kevin and I competed in the kitchen for counter and stove space making food and messes until we settled back into the routine of me, working and him, reading.
Watched 12 monkies.
Late night bundle up walking downtown a homeless man is sitting on the sidewalk. Kevin chastens me when I cross the street.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Sunday 4th (day 1)
The heat doesn't turn on and the clock on the stove in dark. Snow on the ground so I guess the power is out. Tonight we were making chili and it seems to appropriote. Erica (younger sister) sends me a text: come see me im sick so I do and expect and even want for us to just sit a second and do nothing but when i get there she is ready to go thrifting.
"It's sunday,"
I say and spoil everyones plans.
At the grocery store shopping for my job, shopping for the chili fixings we need to make the chili we (we meaning Kevin & i) are making tonight Bernadette is there with kacey.
"We are also making chili," Bernadette says. A sunday afternoon socializing with helter-skelter weather feels cumbersome, mouthfuls of less than small talk we make the small ceremony of acquaintances and move on.
"I hate the way people talk about the weather," Kevin comments in the car in the middle of a conversation about the relativity of Type A & B personalities (we are varying shades of grey, we both agree).
We perform hokey monologues.
"Golly! Only in Bend is there snow in October!"
"If the weather is weird, you know yer in Bend!"
Kevin believes anywhere someone lives they always think their weather is spectacular. Special. Like there's is the only weather that is unpredictable.
After a stint at Costco we are in the kitchen I find myself working 6 out of 7 days a week being irritable to one another, listening to radio, crying over onions, stirring beans & tomatoes & meat & garlic & roasting spicy white peppers and peeling back the skins. While the chili turned and rolled inside the pot we watch half of the Shadowless Sword (a kung-fu film). Then, putting our shoes back on we put the chili the refridgerator, cleaned up our mess and drove home to Jeremy Peterson's In House.
"It's sunday,"
I say and spoil everyones plans.
At the grocery store shopping for my job, shopping for the chili fixings we need to make the chili we (we meaning Kevin & i) are making tonight Bernadette is there with kacey.
"We are also making chili," Bernadette says. A sunday afternoon socializing with helter-skelter weather feels cumbersome, mouthfuls of less than small talk we make the small ceremony of acquaintances and move on.
"I hate the way people talk about the weather," Kevin comments in the car in the middle of a conversation about the relativity of Type A & B personalities (we are varying shades of grey, we both agree).
We perform hokey monologues.
"Golly! Only in Bend is there snow in October!"
"If the weather is weird, you know yer in Bend!"
Kevin believes anywhere someone lives they always think their weather is spectacular. Special. Like there's is the only weather that is unpredictable.
After a stint at Costco we are in the kitchen I find myself working 6 out of 7 days a week being irritable to one another, listening to radio, crying over onions, stirring beans & tomatoes & meat & garlic & roasting spicy white peppers and peeling back the skins. While the chili turned and rolled inside the pot we watch half of the Shadowless Sword (a kung-fu film). Then, putting our shoes back on we put the chili the refridgerator, cleaned up our mess and drove home to Jeremy Peterson's In House.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Soliloquy of a Solipsist
A poem about myself without using the first person pronoun
Things have felt misplaced lately
a stranger walks in a familiar house
troubles are found in the most comfortable places
--- - sitting prisiscley and uncomfotable is recommend
because home hasn't felt like home since mom and dad
though the lover that shares the bed, the couch, the stove, the coat rack, the lamps, the laundry detergent, the financial concerns, the midnight suppers, the back porch, the late dark times and the early dark times(not the french press or shoes)
but the cat died last week and the litter box hasn't been cleaned.
This place has no curtains (dyed during asummer) because they were torn down last winter
too much yellow
and the carpet is gone
given away
so many things piled up in the car so arms can swing freely
two people in my life have epilepsy
they are both gemini
if this means anything to you
seen both of them disappeer for several uncomnfortable minutes
my house is in them
so there is worry.
they say
home is where the whisley is
but whiskey is nothing without the christmas lights and candles
or the converation
or the radio
but still with all this home -- alludes
and bruises show up on hips and knees
a bull in a china shop
People say, older people say
"at one time it didn't feel there was a place for me in the world, then it happened."
So there's hope.
Bedtime is on the couch because he reads late
going to bed alone is unbearable
during snowy days the night time bedroom window is opened
breathing snowflakes helps winter go by easier(faster)
not once this fall have the apples been picked
and shaved and cut and toppled into my glass bowl with
sugar and cinnamon
nothing like a pie in the oven makes one feel home
the sudden curse (coarsness) of too much change all at once
things are lost
(but there isn't as much dust under the carpet is there my dear?)
the green book got at the library is not in the same place
and my notebook is has simply vanished
and the memory isn't so good for things specific.
There is a Sylvia Plath poem which goes through my head on vol du nuit
Soliliquy of Solipsist
which makes things unreal
and undoes the street before my very eyes
yet quite positivly, though there is no god, truly none,
it must all be as it seems.
Things have felt misplaced lately
a stranger walks in a familiar house
troubles are found in the most comfortable places
--- - sitting prisiscley and uncomfotable is recommend
because home hasn't felt like home since mom and dad
though the lover that shares the bed, the couch, the stove, the coat rack, the lamps, the laundry detergent, the financial concerns, the midnight suppers, the back porch, the late dark times and the early dark times(not the french press or shoes)
but the cat died last week and the litter box hasn't been cleaned.
This place has no curtains (dyed during asummer) because they were torn down last winter
too much yellow
and the carpet is gone
given away
so many things piled up in the car so arms can swing freely
two people in my life have epilepsy
they are both gemini
if this means anything to you
seen both of them disappeer for several uncomnfortable minutes
my house is in them
so there is worry.
they say
home is where the whisley is
but whiskey is nothing without the christmas lights and candles
or the converation
or the radio
but still with all this home -- alludes
and bruises show up on hips and knees
a bull in a china shop
People say, older people say
"at one time it didn't feel there was a place for me in the world, then it happened."
So there's hope.
Bedtime is on the couch because he reads late
going to bed alone is unbearable
during snowy days the night time bedroom window is opened
breathing snowflakes helps winter go by easier(faster)
not once this fall have the apples been picked
and shaved and cut and toppled into my glass bowl with
sugar and cinnamon
nothing like a pie in the oven makes one feel home
the sudden curse (coarsness) of too much change all at once
things are lost
(but there isn't as much dust under the carpet is there my dear?)
the green book got at the library is not in the same place
and my notebook is has simply vanished
and the memory isn't so good for things specific.
There is a Sylvia Plath poem which goes through my head on vol du nuit
Soliliquy of Solipsist
which makes things unreal
and undoes the street before my very eyes
yet quite positivly, though there is no god, truly none,
it must all be as it seems.
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