Life is a series of moments..

love always,
puffy black coats with an orange lining and a furry hood.

love always,
regret after indulgence.

love always,
visible breaths and a cigarette.

love always,
nonchalant smiles and panic.

love always,
thinking i love you.

love always,
thinking that you love me.

love always,
cracks in the sidewalks and tags on the mailbox.

love always,
trying so so so hard to fall into a place where i can be the only one you see.

love always,
the self doubt and hatred that triple dog dare you to do anything he wants me to.

love always,
the self delusion that comes in a bottle.

love always,
back of a cab at 2 o clock in the morning.

love always,
the secret silence of your friends.

love always,
the insatiable hunger of and for love.

love always,
italians from new jersey and new york and south philly.

love always,
the first time he can say your name over and over again

love always,
the twin beds.

love always,
the feeling that its never going to be the same again.

haikus.


the world is erupting
a war has been waged
when will it be over? 


looking at past lovers
i feel solidity
there is no substance.

so many minds wander
where is mine
where will I fit?

it is so coarse
i am so soft
i will be destroyed.

apart from all
connected with me
the gap is getting wider.

I am lolligaggin, dillydallying, procrastinating, denying, being a lazy fuck.

This is it, but I really don't want to write TWENTY PAGES.


Anyways.
Atmosphere is amazing. I am in love with Sean Daley. I told him and he said he loved me too when i saw him in Philly!

I swear we are one soul operating in two bodies. Yea, I said it.

He has this one song called 'skinny.'
And its fuckin me up...
so ima write something.


....
Infiltrating my brain waves
He's come into my deep caves
I don't need to be saved yet
when the road is there laid out
and paved out
It gets harder for me to behave right and proper.
It all comes back to the fake gold turning copper
to the storms on my doppler
these opportunities
for unities
outweigh my duties
Because who needs
a good tease
more than me?
But in my quest to be "free"
I fall victim to he
and I loose the "see"
just to get "be"


more later the guilt of slackin off is getting to me

So, can you read this and tell me if its too corny and melodramatic? I can't tell.

Life Lesson #1: What you expect to happen is never what happens.

 

I expected to be making a senior film right now. It would have probably been an indie flick about drug abusing teenagers or a new age mobster movie. Instead, I’m still attempting to master the medium of paint and understand all this fine arts bullshit. I’ve actually come to really enjoy it, and I think I got something pretty good.

This group of paintings and drawings are based around expectations, exceptions, experiences, and the relativity between all three in American culture, and perhaps human nature in general. (Talk more about process and formal aspects of paintings)

 

-Addiction Pt. I-

 

I’m not high anymore. I need to get high. I’m guessing it’s about 6:00pm. The sun is dying behind the smokestacks, and it is fucking freezing. Jeff’s hands are so fucking cold, I wish he would just stop - Dan is looking at us through the rear view mirror for Christ’s sake. I think we’re almost there… I’m so nervous - I don’t know why I’m so fucking nervous. He’ll get the dope and it will be OK.

 

Everything will be OK, I won’t even notice him touching me soon…

 

            “You getting an attitude, son. I don’t like your fuckin’ attitude.”

            “You’re skimpin me, man. I know you are. Be straight wit me and give me what I fuckin paid for.”

            “What the fuck do you know? You’re fuckin’ fiending, you can’t tell shit. So shut the fuck up and take it before you get me hype. Fuckin dope head…”

            “YO GIVE ME MY SHIT YOU FUCKIN NIGGER ASS PORCH MONKEY!”

            “What?! What did you say to me you little fucking mother fucker, I will kill you – I will fucking kill you...”

 

He’s reaching into his back pocket. I got into the drivers seat – I don’t even know how to drive…

           

“Dan!! DAN!! GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!! TAKE THE SHIT AND LET’S GO!!”

            “Nah – this mother fucking nigger won’t give me what I fucking paid for!”

            “You a dumb ass nigga – you know that? You don’t know who you’re messin wit…”

 

He’s got it in his hands now. He’s got a fucking gun. We have to get out of here.  

 

            “Ty, please…He just needs his fix. He doesn’t mean it… Ty, TY!! PLEASE – the cops are around the fucking corner - I don’t wanna see you go down over some dumb shit like this -He’s just fuckin fiending...”

 

I drove Dan’s car home that night, Jeff ran as soon as he saw the gun. I got my dope. I sat in the park and watched the lights from strangers’ cars reflect in the pond. I forgot what happened for awhile. I forgot everything for awhile. The colors, they were so pretty… And I said it’s going to be OK, it’s all going to be OK…They say I’ve got a pair of rose colored glasses on, but we’re all going to be OK someday, because anything is better than this.

 

Addiction Pt.II

 

Waking up in morning is always the hardest part. We’re both sober, and I’m always wondering if they regret it…I must look so ugly – my makeup rubbed off and my stomach hanging out. I don’t blame them, sometimes I regret it too. But I’m just looking for love, and I know I’m looking in all the wrong places. But I can’t stop...  

 

            “Open up your mouth.”

            “No, I don’t want to...”

            “What do you mean you don’t want to? Open up your mouth.”

 

He’s got a firm grip on me. I’m in over my head, now. No one is around. He could do anything...I don’t even really know this guy. This was so dumb…

 

 I am not letting this happen to me, again.

 

            “No. I said no. You wanna be an asshole? Fine. You can get out of my house.”

            “What the fuck is your problem?”

            “My problem is you have no fucking respect for me.”

 

He let go and sat back. He looked at me hard, and his eyes are so fucking pretty, so mesmerizing. He’s just a human being, just like me. He’s just lost and he needs my help, my love. This always happens – it’s always the assholes with the pretty eyes. Why do I always believe that I can get them to love me? Why do I always believe that I can change them?  He’s looking at me so intently…

 

            “I’m sorry...” He said.

            “It’s OK.”

 

 See? He’s not really that bad. He just got carried away…I moved closer to him, I wanted to reach out to him – and then he grabbed me by the throat.

 

            “I’m sorry that you think you can lead me on and then not follow through.”

            “Please...please...stop…”

 

Is this really happening? Should I scream? I can’t breathe…

 

            “You want me to stop? Well I’m sorry but I can’t do that-”

 

He’s squeezing harder.

 

            “You need to learn some fucking discipline, you know that? No man is ever going to want you if you keep playing games like this, you know. You need to learn to obey your man if you want him to love you, you know that, right?”

 

He’s squeezing even harder, now. His pupils are dilated. He’s getting off on this - this sick bastard...

 

            “You gonna obey me? Huh? You gonna do what I want….”

 

 I’m getting dizzy. I can’t hear him anymore. I think I’m going to die tonight, and all I can think about is how my addiction to the search for love - love which makes life possible - has brought me to my death.  All I can think about is Alanis Morrisette…

 

And isn’t it ironic…Don’t you think?

 

these are all snippets from Febuary 2006. Change isn't real.

i am impatient to the point of wild fire
yet
i've stayed here
silent
forever.

 

Dark nights crept down through trees,
and I could fall back onto the waves;
they.

they would catch me.


the love stories played out over uneven sidewalks,
the parking lots that gave home to cigarette butts and our egos.

the street lights that illuminated the backseat to the beat of the radio

 

and the common ground,
this common sound
that wraps around each and every one of us
is the trust we must keep between ourselves
the parallels of what we all can tell is what keeps us on the same level
disheveled lies that pry into my mind distort the crimes i've committed
but now i will submit myself to me and only me
so I can finally see the light.

 

 

its only days, days.
answers will take shelter
in my hands,
in his hands.


And I won't need your maybe's.

 

late nights
always end
with a sad morning



i feel hopeless sometimes,

i'm always burying myself alive -
I don't hear the screams because I tune them out.

I act so proud of overcoming my death,
but all I really want
is to re live it.




over
and
over.

 

 

people pass you,
and
you want to reach out
to touch them,
but
you figure its better
to just
stay still and quiet.

 

 

I got drunk on valentines day hoping to numb away the pain of my vacant bed,
and all it got me was mixed signals and telling my ex-boyfriend that I love him.

Sometimes, I think it might be nice.
Then other sometimes, I don't want to ride down the same old roads again.

Patterns and repetition
are intricate, are they not?

Otherwise, they wouldn't be so aesthetically pleasing.

Is life just one big houndstooth print?
Or maybe paisley.

I felt OK for a little bit on Valentines Day, even before I was wasted.
I said to myself,
"Self, you don't need anyone else to make you who you are."

Cliche.

The real reason I think that I get myself bent out of shape is literally the lack of someone in my bed.
And I'm not talking about sex,
but just the physical connection. The warmth of another person wrapped around you.

Again, Cliche.

But I think us as humans, operating as just blobs of energy,
we crave others' energies.
So to be in another's aura is to be really feeding off of another's energy.
Its exhilarating and comforting, to know we are not really alone- to know we are not the only warm person left on this earth, because lets face it, we all feel that way in the cold city time and time again. The only invasion we get of our personal space is some douchebag who needs to get somewhere STAT and brushes up against your shoulder, without an apology.
Humanity is cold and busy and flat.
Humanity is unapologetic, greedy, and shallow.

I roll with the punches too often, because its survival of the fittest.
If you don't, you'll be eaten alive.
But at bedtime I would like a break.
I would like to come home from a day of war,
and find peace as I travel out of this plane into another.

And thats what I did Valentines night.
A friend, I thought.

But sex ruins everything.
Not because of sex, because of all the stipulations involved with it.
And I have made way too many mistakes thinking that others can ignore all those stipulations, and appreciate the whole. (Ha Ha get it? HOLE!)

I digress. The point I'm trying to make is that
Valentines Day is depressing because
Humanity is ugly.
And all the chocolates and flowers and greeting cards make us look so pretty
when really
I feel closer to strangers than my own friends sometimes.

And thats whats really sad.

why do we feel we have to fight, or disrespect another, to gain respect?
 
we are civilized, technologically advanced, educated people (for the most part), and right is words over violence, maturity over profanities, to be humble, understanding, open - while wrong is using violence to solve problems, using violence to prove strength, profanities to prove seriousness, to be full of pride for ourselves and oppress others, to shun what we do not understand and stick to our own, to defend against the uncomfortable feeling  change and to rebel against what is the enemy's idea of right.  To be "wrong" is to be righteous, to stand upon what America was built upon and is still functioning upon.
And embedded in these righteous functions, and perhaps the gas pedal for it, is us versus them. Race, gender, class and creed are at the core, and it drives our behaviors, motivates us to continue a battle, or a revolution, a primal instinct for confrontation, war, and violence as measurement of who is better, stronger, smarter. Who has the power- and in turn - who has control?

Victory  - Respect - Power - Control - Freedom

Are criminals wrong or are they just fighting the good American fight against 'them'? A revolution against the very government that is fighting against what they do not understand, defending against change, as they stick to their own of the upper crusted formally educated white man?

The Man is a criminal just the same - as all of us are criminals, stealing power every second we can, fighting on all levels from passive aggressive teenage girls battling for the quarterback boyfriend to nuclear war to robbing banks to sabotaging your competition in a better job to murdering cops to bombing abortion clinics.

dedicated to the less
looking for the greater good
I just end up with the mean.

gleaming with jewels
these fools walk right through
these scenes are nothing new
believing you are few and far between
makes it harder to see your own mediocrity.

and a purpose is questioned
and often mentioned in detest
But the best things sting
And I could give you the hand
If you give yours
But more requires bringing up a sore subject
and your affect brings me down.

Thoughts:

-Its tragically humorous how now that I am almost done with school  I
a. Am actually trying. Kind of. Maybe.
b. Am stressing myself out more than ever before.
c. feel like giving up.


Its funny how everything comes back at one time or another.

Why does eating popcorn make me hungrier than before? Does this happen to anyone else??

I've realized I can say no, so fuck everyone that thinks I'm a whore.

Psychology is all bull shit. I keep thinking that I'm the verge of an emotional/nervous breakdown, but this may be because I'm being brainwashed.

Psychology isn't really bull shit, but I'm really questioning whether I can be the therapist because I feel like I'm still the patient.

I really hate the games you have to play to open the door for love. I keep telling myself that I don't have to (play games) if its real, but its becoming more apparent that nothing is really real.
Except for me, of course.

If you can understand that, then you might believe in phenomenology too.

Knowing about that makes me not want to give a fuck about a lot of things I should give a fuck about.

I think "whats the point" so often, I must be depressed.

But I get these spurts of energy so I must be bipolar.

I'm addicted to cigarettes, sex, cuddling, and America's Next Top Model. I should go to rehab.

Could you imagine Cuddling Rehab?

The reason why I did heroin was because it would give me an excuse to forfeit all of society's expectations of a normal human being. It gave me an excuse to be free in exchange for being a prisoner of a drug.

I'm still trying to figure out if there is any such thing as being free and being successful at the same time.

Guilt is what motivates me half the time. Isn't that sad?

I shouldn't be complaining. I have so many great opportunities given to me, so I should make the most of them. I should be eternally grateful for the way my life is panning out.

So why am I still not completely happy? What is wrong with me?

I wonder if anyone has found any real answers to anything. Probably not.

If we can't know anything for certain, then why do we do anything at all?

I must be depressed. I must be bipolar. I need to spend thousands of dollars in therapy.

Am I even funny? shit..

Juxtaposition is a funny word. It has a J and an X.

I wish I was what X was looking for.

Maybe I'll be what J is looking for.

But is he what I want? He listens to all this music that just digs up a part of me I thought I had left behind, but I can't seem to shake. Thats not the reason he may not be what I want, p.s.

I want to see the world. I want to be great. I want to be famous. I want to be a musician. I want to speak to the whole world. I want everyone to know my name and love it, I want people to love me, because I love you all back so much, even if I hate you. This is a two-way relationship, people.

I feel like I've become bossy, but I don't know how.

I feel like my persona has become me, maybe this is my problem. I've lost my true self.

My id wants to kill my super ego, and I think I might let it.

----

Esophagus tightens,
frightened by this lack of intimacy
Faltering easier than I can strut
But I'm breathing, breathing.
Empty cavities as gravity is pulling
Lulling eyes shut
But mine are still open.
(One day I'm so scared I will wake up with everyone gone. Everyone dead.)
Apocalypse dripping into me
I don't know if God can see through me anymore
I've torn away from the meek
Peaked at my most evil moments,
and I'm an addict.
My free will is willed by others,
I am smothered in shoulds
to be good
Be good because they would.

let me just ruminate.


For I am an uneducated romantic
taking poker faces at face value

why does the underside
draw me in
so well

with charcoal, my features
are featured in their wins
and never a loss,
because I will always forfeit the game
For nothing but chances.

And there is a war going on,
from overseas to the alley cats to my heart and mind.

and my mind over this matter
is falling flatter and flatter
with every thought.

(Raw canvas over coloring books.)

Is this violence a part of me or do I just carry it around?
Is the softer side of me always working to hide or to work?


I should be so lucky
to find myself
at their feet,

but even more

they should be so lucky
to hold me, pull me,

and in this vessel of shoulds
lies so many ties, knots and plots of land
that stretch me across
too thin
to make any right decisions.

Is it intuition or neurosis?
Is it my nature or my conditioning?

And do questions take me closer
or farther
from somewhere I ought to be?

this has been inescapable for the past month and its something I don't like to think about as an issue but it is:

men vs. women.


psychology classes are filling my head with all these theories.
one is by a woman psychologist, i forget her name but she thinks that women put relationships and connections over everything else.
and men are all about self-propelling.

like, a woman would pass up a great job opportunity if it meant that a relationship would be severed.
bull shit
now this was written late 80's, but I don't feel that way.

I do think that women care more about relationships, but in these changing times we're changing. we're pressured to just fuck him and then leave it alone, to propel ourselves into a successful career, to make it known that we can do everything a man can.

Oh man, do I have this complex. Am I fighting these internal womanly callings in order to prove a point?
Am I pushing myself into an internal conflict? Am I loosing my femininity?

I just want to be valued and respected, and in this society to do that I think a lot of us feel that as women we have to prove it. And this does NOT mean that every man is looking for us to do this, or that every man thinks lower of us because we have a vagina.
I think its quite the contrary.

I think many men of our generation have a lot of respect for women, and that they don't even think of us as any different, really.
I also feel like I have more balls than a lot men these days. Its like the reversal of roles. Or maybe its just because I go to art school and theres a bunch of sensitive dudes around. Because certainly in many subcultures there is still a huge lack of respect for women. Mostly in the most machisimo cultures. The gangsta or the wall street business man. The warriors.

What they don't realize is that there are more and more female warriors, who fight the world and fight with themselves.
We can't be proud of being a wife and mother, we can't admit that we want that relationship, we won't cry, no, we won't be that emotional wreck -- we can't be happy.
This is all internal, now.
Just like how we internalize the "ideal beauty" that we see on runways.

Its our fault for believing all this shit,
its not man's fault or society's fault.


I feel like its a hopeless cycle, because history can't be changed and neither can our internal instincts. I guess we just have to do whats good for us, and not give a fuck, even if we aren't viewed as equals. I think that must be the answer to happiness, to just not give a fuck about anyone else's opinion, and to always listen to our own needs. Even though its not that easy.

bad decisions
leading to belligerence
an interest
in this hazy mist of the past
this is the last time
i'm looking back
an act put forth
delivers me short of my worth
and gives birth to a fascination
that is only a manifestation
of my everlasting patience.
facing this
i've missed
my eyes
i sigh
a belly and mind
filled with his lies
i dye these colors brighter
it makes me righter
but i just want to feel lighter
i am the writer
and you're the reader
i'm cleaner than you
and you're meaner than me
all i'm doing is trying to be free
but all i see
is me
leaving this behind.

pay no mind
pay no mind
pay no mind
to the time
and the rhyme
of this twisted reason
cus you're not real and neither am I.

your eyes
are lies
and so are mine

crimes of passion
flashing
and lashing
in my throat
you can't float my boat
without a flow
so put your bow and arrow down
cus this is bound in a time
that isn't mine
anymore.

pay no fucking mind
this is the grind
that i'm really not trying to find anymore

whores
and bores
i'm sore
from all this folklore
of the streets
your game is beat
treat me better
and maybe these letters will say something different.

pay no fucking mind.


--------

These casings become hardened,
and I don't know why jade is such a pretty color.

Not believing in anything is the easiest way to breathe,
but when an old man
sits on the stoop
outside
its too hard to let old ideas lie down.

I've watched him pick through tissues and old socks,
old newspapers and faded pictures,
silently counting the only material manifestations he has left.

He sits on the stoop everyday,
waiting.

And in a jaded city
with chemical eyes
and predators hands
we all pass him by.


I have this dream
that heaven will exist
only for him.

He won't be hungry anymore,
and he will bathe in silk
with the angels.

I have this dream
that God
will take care of him,
when no one else will.

I have this dream that that old man
will smile,
the old man will be at peace.


The buildings trap us in
and the smog keeps the sorrow still.
We don't believe in God,
we don't believe in heaven.

We believe what we see,
and thats the safest bet.

But for the old man's sake
I'm taking the risk.

a mouth
spoke about
my doubt
as a route
of internal bleeding
he's reading me slanted
he's beating my planted roots
with black boots
as he shoots darts
falling apart at the seams of his heart
he's not sweet and yea I'm being tart
the art of defense is far
from his truth
a ruthless warrior
never stops short
what we are
is chained to the bar
in a court room
we can't stop
we let it groom our mistakes
we can't stop
we let it ruin what we take

We cuss and we fuss and we bust each other up
corrupting ourselves
only time tells
when our cells will open
I'm hoping he fails at his games
he's keeping my name
dirty
he's keeping himself sturdy against my blows
but my words will flow quicker

a flicker of hope
when coping
is roping him into his own corners
i wasn't born in yester years
these tears will not fall
the smallest call out
can erase everything about
my past
and his last love affair
but i'm prepared
to share
the blame
because we are the same
game
shame
is our only option
and he won't bargain.

shame is my only option.

Thesis:

Art is a reflection of life. Art is therapeutic because we relate, and to relate, we have to have experienced something connecting each other. We are all experiencing life. We experience connections, when we experience we are feeling. We are connecting with something that we can tie to words, or something with which we cannot. Spirituality, underlying, under the waves of energy we give words to but really they go so much deeper and we feel it when we dream, when we are under the sun and moon at once. We feel it when we love, and when we hate. Its deeper than words, maybe deeper than images. Songs, plays, I want to paint what comes out of us, something we can relate to and images that reminiscent of ourselves and our hopes and our dreams. Something easy to connect to, something to make us tear up or to laugh or to recognize. The human face and body is what we are, and it is what we relate to best. We are our own canvases, blank when we are born and we build layer upon layer year after year or rather experience after experience. Time is of no bearing on us except as to organize....

To be continued.


Something else:

I am out of focus.
Something is tugging at me from nights past,
its sitting there tickling my fancies
and prancing about
bragging of tagging you
it.


I'm waiting for you to say
 what I think you want to,
For you to do what I think you want to.
And I want you to
Do what ran through you
Under your blue cap
I am on your lap
Just a poor sap
thats rapping about an imaginary love
That will go right above your head.


And with that said
I've come to my senses.
I just tempted your loins
Because I am just a toy,
And you are just a little boy.

And in these pursed lips
there is no time to be coy
Give me a tip, a sip
and I'll do a trick

Sick of instant satisfaction
And this fleeting attraction.

Detraction of permanence
and worth
I'm hurt
without anyone saying
a word.

No one says
a word.

Getting used to this solitary span
I've ran and ran
Just so I can breathe
I'm still teething
and feeling out
this route of round abouts
Through doubts and droughts
I'm not sure if I still know what counts.
And if what I amount to
Is all I am
then whats written is a sham
Cus I still give a damn
And a man
still rules everything around me.
Don't get me wrong -
I see it all
But I call the shots
from behind an empty parking lot
Where we fought for hours
Where we devoured ourselves in the heat
of a moment
Just trying to control it.
I'm never the same
because I might loose this game
I have a fear of shame
And I always want to do things right
I keep getting tighter and tighter
Telling myself I'm a fighter
When all I do is retreat to lighters
and cigarettes
Betting on what will go wrong next.

I've let things control me
I've let people own me
And when I break free
I just get lonely.

I know this falls solely on me
Because basically
I'm really all I'll ever have.
Its not sad
just truth
ruthless the first time
But this rhyme and reason
season it bearable.

Its only terrible when
I'm blind.

Pushing and Pulling:
Tomorrow is a never ending metaphor
For a motion to move forward
And a sun setting is beautiful because
its the end
and
A sun rising is breath taking
because
its the beginning

Days are mistaken
and taken
for granted
as just time
when time
is all we have.


The ocean does something to you sometimes.
Just sometimes, when you're far back
and looking.


...

I wonder if
I tell myself not to wonder
because it only sets me deeper into you.
I hope
I tell myself not to hope
because it only heightens the tower
for me to fall from.

Walking forward
with two feet on the ground.

Patience is a virtue I've learned to deal with.

Forty five miles per hour
Sixty nine degrees
One billion stars
One thumbnail moon
Five fingers
caress the lights from boats on the ocean,
the dunes,
and the waves
as we drive, drive, drive

Twenty mile per hour breezes,
Ten dollars in the bank
Three margueritas drank
Eight surfers lurking
Six children working on
Two sandcastles
Four Thousand sounds of crashing waves
Four cigarettes
Three planes fly over head


infinite words with no need to be said.

everything seems so silly
when you're listening to r. kelly:



I am wrapped up
I am unraveled.
I am just a stupid girl
I am the smartest bitch
you'll ever get to make out with.
I don't want to play games,
I'm all about bein a player.
I feel like I'm not good enough,
I am so much better than that shit.

I am muy caliente and one day everyone is gonna wake up and realize that.
Including myself.



I'm gonna get rid of my one last piece of baggage -
and everyone is gonna be sooooo fuckin jealous!
Yea and when you finally realize,
You're gonna cry yourself to sleep.

woke up still drunk.
what the fuck
its mothers day,
and
yo momma is on mtv.
i should call my mom.
will i be a mother one day?
and a wife?
what the fuck happened last night
it was raining really hard
and my hair is still wet
my dreams were real
my dreams were real
I think I would have liked to get into a fight last night.
I think I would have liked it if he stuck around.
I think I would have remembered more
if I hadn't been sucking on limes all night.
Oh yea, its mother's day.
Mothers are the ones who made limes, fights and kisses possible
for all of us.
I know I'll be a good mother.
I know I'll be a good wife.
I've been thinking a lot about umbrellas
I've been thinking a lot about my future,
your future.
Connections, minutes, breathing, and fates.
Its nice not to feel invisible.
Its nice to think that
Things happen for a reason.
If death has a plan,
then life should as well.
I'm going to call my mother now.