So I was returning to my desk from lunch with a cup of yummy hot tea when on three separate occasions someone said to me, “Tea, huh?” with a slight sly undertone.
“Tea, huh?” what is that suppose to mean? No seriously, I have no idea what tea huh is insinuating let alone why anyone would include cunning undercurrent-inflicted huh at the end of the word tea.
Did I just miss an initiation of a stealthy tea society were tea bandits meet every evening to binge and purge on scented dry herbs. I quite possibly missed my chance at becoming tea empress of the land of steam. Even better would be if I find random tea bags around my desk left by tea fairies… no? too much?
In which case I’m gonna to have to go around saying “tea, huh?” to fellow tea slurpers until I get invited again. Sure some folks around the office might find it odd but they all ready think that about me so there is no point in missing out on Hildi’s big tea adventure.
Well, if anyone can guide me through this impending paradigm shift it would be deeply appreciated.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
away and safe
“Touch it, just really quick…” he said while his death grip around my wrist tightened simultaneously trying with all his might to get my hand near his expose penis. The whole time I just kept repeating in my head, “Why is this happening… how am I going to get out of this one?”
You go into a state of panic and desperation yet handicapped by confusion. They always warn you about the mysterious dark stranger lurking behind a corner waiting to pounce on you, but never about the awkward Columbian kid who worked on a school project with you and followed up the stairs.
The worse part is he has a girl friend he lives with, way to throw you off.
So there you are, immobile by this crazed beast that’s in heat and ready to swallow you whole if you let go of the frail grip you have of resistance. The more you move and push and pull and pry the tighter his grip becomes. Eyeballs filled with frantic yearning. You can’t believe you caused this sensation in anyone. He is sick you tell yourself, sick and your distress turns into disgust and anger.
He grabs you close and starts to kiss your neck, it feels like razors cutting through your flesh. You feel his attempt to make it soft and gentle as if that could possible turn your resistance into compliance. You mind is racing at alarming speeds for an escape. You don’t want to give in and give up and allow your flesh to be used to quench a polluted thirst.
A door opens upstairs in the stair way. Time fractures itself into a billion tiny moments and you happened to capsize his grip and run as fast as you can as far away as you can in a frantic state. Away and safe.
You go into a state of panic and desperation yet handicapped by confusion. They always warn you about the mysterious dark stranger lurking behind a corner waiting to pounce on you, but never about the awkward Columbian kid who worked on a school project with you and followed up the stairs.
The worse part is he has a girl friend he lives with, way to throw you off.
So there you are, immobile by this crazed beast that’s in heat and ready to swallow you whole if you let go of the frail grip you have of resistance. The more you move and push and pull and pry the tighter his grip becomes. Eyeballs filled with frantic yearning. You can’t believe you caused this sensation in anyone. He is sick you tell yourself, sick and your distress turns into disgust and anger.
He grabs you close and starts to kiss your neck, it feels like razors cutting through your flesh. You feel his attempt to make it soft and gentle as if that could possible turn your resistance into compliance. You mind is racing at alarming speeds for an escape. You don’t want to give in and give up and allow your flesh to be used to quench a polluted thirst.
A door opens upstairs in the stair way. Time fractures itself into a billion tiny moments and you happened to capsize his grip and run as fast as you can as far away as you can in a frantic state. Away and safe.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
An exorcism: Or when my naked body jumped over a dead chicken lit on fire
Karyna came along with me to visit them. I don’t remember their names, even though I knew them so well back then. Maybe that’s what was always intended. Once the job was done then there is no need for me to remember such things. As if my mind is predisposed to erase all traces of them from my memory. I would hardly call it a visit, it was more of an invasion from mutual sides. I was a lost teen searching for the answers we all spend a lifetime trying to figure out. Back then I thought someone could make it easy for me before things got more twisted and tangled. I now realize this moment marks the complete loss of any comfort ignorance can provide.
We pull up to the house around 8pm. It was your typical East Hialeah residence. Tiny, shabby and uncomfortably close to the neighbor’s house; no familiar comforts from the outside could prepare us for what awaited inside. For the sake of giving her a name of reference, I’ll call his wife Juana and I’ll call him, Fernando. Those names seem general enough to fit what they represent. Juana welcomed us in. She was warm and radiated with a light that tickles you in odd places. As if the light waves knew exactly where to penetrate in order to induce laughter and smiles. I don’t think she was with us anymore. Her mind seemed to have transcended somewhere happy and far away from your typical East Hialeah reality. At that time I could not really assess exactly where she went to, but I realized we all wish we can get there sooner then later.
She covered all grounds of formalities; we were welcomed, offered a seat and drink. We politely took a seat and waited for Fernando. Now it’s duly noted that in every reading I’ve ever had there is always a waiting period to see the seer. It’s never an immediate thing. And it’s never a normal wait. Time seems to abandon all forms of human established measurements. Minutes can mockingly pedal forward or hang back depending on the level of desperation you reach. But this situation was different. After all, we weren’t there to get our nails done; we were at a clairvoyant’s place of practice. You don’t go to a doctor’s office for teas and biscuits; you know that certain procedures will be done to you and that’s what stands your hairs at end.
Knowing the nature of what we were attempting to get done, we still weren’t ready for what was going on in this house. Karyna noticed first. “Maybe it’s just me, but why do those lights keep flickering on and off?” I dismissed it as random, not very important daily household dealings. But once she pointed it out it became rather hard to ignore. The lights, for no rhyme or reason, would turn on and off in different rooms of the house. Although we were in the living room we were still able to notice the change of light in the kitchen or in the hallway. Then Juana with her poetic timing chimed in, “That? Oh it’s just the ghost. Don’t worry the really bad ones are in the bedroom, they won’t come out.” Ay yes, time seemed to be working in reverse at that point.
Fernando came out of what seemed like a shadow projected on the wall. All big smiles and warm light in him too, yet he was still very much with us. He was holding it all together for his sake and Juana’s too. He will join her as soon as he knows they will both be okay. I’m afraid I’ve grown a bit cynical, this world isn’t made for people like Fernando and Juana. I don’t think he could ever join her without losing her along the way. He asked who’s first and I jumped out of my seat, leaving no chance for Karyna to chime in.
We stepped outside the house and the night seemed to taunt me. Somehow it knew more then I what I was about to be in store. Fernando didn’t say a word, we walked in silence. There was a small room, about 4 feet x 6 feet, outside the house in the place of what would have been a backyard. It closely resembled a tool shed or some kind of storage area. Privacy is key! As Fernando flips on the lights, my head flips with them.
To my immediate right there was a small bench like area surrounded by mountains of waxy leftovers from many burnt candles, where Fernando’s bottom must find comfort during his sessions. Hanging on the walls are scraps of paper filled with procedures, humorous accounts, blessings, curses, and iconic images. All pegged with a voodoo connection and the occasional anti-communist insult to Fidel Castro and family. The concrete grey floor was expectantly peppered with dirt but it had the added ingredient of cascaria. It’s a chalk made of eggshells. I wouldn’t recommend writing on your sidewalk with this stuff. Its main purpose is to cool or calm agitated people or places. In other words-it’s ghost valium. Fernando’s floor was covered with rubbed off spells and symbol made with the stuff. It definitely added to the ambiance of the place.
At the end, to my left, now there’s a sight- the main altar. It spans the whole wall. It was layer after layer of wax cinder and cigar ash, found objects and worthy goods. There were mountains of glasses and odd containers with servings of alcohol ranging from cheap to costly, mixed with rotting treats and decayed delights. Red and white objects reigned, all towering collectively to create the fortress for Chango.
...to be continued.
We pull up to the house around 8pm. It was your typical East Hialeah residence. Tiny, shabby and uncomfortably close to the neighbor’s house; no familiar comforts from the outside could prepare us for what awaited inside. For the sake of giving her a name of reference, I’ll call his wife Juana and I’ll call him, Fernando. Those names seem general enough to fit what they represent. Juana welcomed us in. She was warm and radiated with a light that tickles you in odd places. As if the light waves knew exactly where to penetrate in order to induce laughter and smiles. I don’t think she was with us anymore. Her mind seemed to have transcended somewhere happy and far away from your typical East Hialeah reality. At that time I could not really assess exactly where she went to, but I realized we all wish we can get there sooner then later.
She covered all grounds of formalities; we were welcomed, offered a seat and drink. We politely took a seat and waited for Fernando. Now it’s duly noted that in every reading I’ve ever had there is always a waiting period to see the seer. It’s never an immediate thing. And it’s never a normal wait. Time seems to abandon all forms of human established measurements. Minutes can mockingly pedal forward or hang back depending on the level of desperation you reach. But this situation was different. After all, we weren’t there to get our nails done; we were at a clairvoyant’s place of practice. You don’t go to a doctor’s office for teas and biscuits; you know that certain procedures will be done to you and that’s what stands your hairs at end.
Knowing the nature of what we were attempting to get done, we still weren’t ready for what was going on in this house. Karyna noticed first. “Maybe it’s just me, but why do those lights keep flickering on and off?” I dismissed it as random, not very important daily household dealings. But once she pointed it out it became rather hard to ignore. The lights, for no rhyme or reason, would turn on and off in different rooms of the house. Although we were in the living room we were still able to notice the change of light in the kitchen or in the hallway. Then Juana with her poetic timing chimed in, “That? Oh it’s just the ghost. Don’t worry the really bad ones are in the bedroom, they won’t come out.” Ay yes, time seemed to be working in reverse at that point.
Fernando came out of what seemed like a shadow projected on the wall. All big smiles and warm light in him too, yet he was still very much with us. He was holding it all together for his sake and Juana’s too. He will join her as soon as he knows they will both be okay. I’m afraid I’ve grown a bit cynical, this world isn’t made for people like Fernando and Juana. I don’t think he could ever join her without losing her along the way. He asked who’s first and I jumped out of my seat, leaving no chance for Karyna to chime in.
We stepped outside the house and the night seemed to taunt me. Somehow it knew more then I what I was about to be in store. Fernando didn’t say a word, we walked in silence. There was a small room, about 4 feet x 6 feet, outside the house in the place of what would have been a backyard. It closely resembled a tool shed or some kind of storage area. Privacy is key! As Fernando flips on the lights, my head flips with them.
To my immediate right there was a small bench like area surrounded by mountains of waxy leftovers from many burnt candles, where Fernando’s bottom must find comfort during his sessions. Hanging on the walls are scraps of paper filled with procedures, humorous accounts, blessings, curses, and iconic images. All pegged with a voodoo connection and the occasional anti-communist insult to Fidel Castro and family. The concrete grey floor was expectantly peppered with dirt but it had the added ingredient of cascaria. It’s a chalk made of eggshells. I wouldn’t recommend writing on your sidewalk with this stuff. Its main purpose is to cool or calm agitated people or places. In other words-it’s ghost valium. Fernando’s floor was covered with rubbed off spells and symbol made with the stuff. It definitely added to the ambiance of the place.
At the end, to my left, now there’s a sight- the main altar. It spans the whole wall. It was layer after layer of wax cinder and cigar ash, found objects and worthy goods. There were mountains of glasses and odd containers with servings of alcohol ranging from cheap to costly, mixed with rotting treats and decayed delights. Red and white objects reigned, all towering collectively to create the fortress for Chango.
...to be continued.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
fat toe tales
Tarantula hands find their way up my spine
Tickling my nerve endings with smite
Tender trauma is telling of treacherous tendencies
I cut loose collective condemnation
With eye poking retribution
I regenerate amputated limbs
…and find the sad tale of self mutilation is the only true condition of my identity
Tickling my nerve endings with smite
Tender trauma is telling of treacherous tendencies
I cut loose collective condemnation
With eye poking retribution
I regenerate amputated limbs
…and find the sad tale of self mutilation is the only true condition of my identity
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
The end of a sketch book
So I've come to the last page of my sketch book. I'm posting some key drawings that never made it up here just as a progress report.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
the endless deep end...
Sally was the type of girl that needed the constant tang of things to sizzle by creating chaos in her life. She would complicate things on purpose to see what happens when something falls.
Like when you start a new job, and an urge to indulge in deviant behavior swells up inside creating an incessant wave of dissatisfaction until you submit. So you start stealing money from the register or become sexually invasive with a co-worker...or you buy alcohol for all the minors you manage and unanimously everyone goes to the roof of the 3 story building to hang out... or walking in on your boss getting a blow job from a male co-worker... and of course, getting so high at work, you mistake a roll of fax ink for powdered doughnuts.
Keep collecting those life moments sweet sally, or your head will swallow you whole.
Like when you start a new job, and an urge to indulge in deviant behavior swells up inside creating an incessant wave of dissatisfaction until you submit. So you start stealing money from the register or become sexually invasive with a co-worker...or you buy alcohol for all the minors you manage and unanimously everyone goes to the roof of the 3 story building to hang out... or walking in on your boss getting a blow job from a male co-worker... and of course, getting so high at work, you mistake a roll of fax ink for powdered doughnuts.
Keep collecting those life moments sweet sally, or your head will swallow you whole.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
"Doc" update
Added a few more details to this piece, but it's still missing more... so the next time i post an image of this piece it will be done!
:)
Friday, February 27, 2009
a conversation...
She said, “Pumpkin seeds of gold lighted love...”
You rebuttal with, “Pockets full of porcupines evidently show funny trails of loose fingers… I say we touch ourselves enough until the sticky blends in.”
She agrees, “And the lips pour out sour rainbow apple showers”
You keep pushing, “And we candy them… ram a stick through their core, add strategically placed nuts on their faces. Sell’em while their still hot empty cores and the lot.”
Sullenly she remarks, “To make bubble wrap money to send to the sugar cane dumplings for the next fire work surprises of treats.”
You hastily try to comfort by talking cat to her, “As tarty as shooting up your diabetic cat with insulin.”*
*Taken from an actual conversation via text messaging with ladybug Diana
You rebuttal with, “Pockets full of porcupines evidently show funny trails of loose fingers… I say we touch ourselves enough until the sticky blends in.”
She agrees, “And the lips pour out sour rainbow apple showers”
You keep pushing, “And we candy them… ram a stick through their core, add strategically placed nuts on their faces. Sell’em while their still hot empty cores and the lot.”
Sullenly she remarks, “To make bubble wrap money to send to the sugar cane dumplings for the next fire work surprises of treats.”
You hastily try to comfort by talking cat to her, “As tarty as shooting up your diabetic cat with insulin.”*
*Taken from an actual conversation via text messaging with ladybug Diana
excerpt from a nonexistent piece
“I’m extremely proud of you…” He awkwardly inches his way towards her, only to fall short when she took notice of his socially subscribed attempt at tenderness. It wasn’t a lack of desire from his end to get close to her. She makes it impossible for anyone to dissolve the epic impenetrable barrier against all forms of life that surrounds her personal space. He was quite impressed and simultaneously tortured by it.
“Are you kidding? Do you really think a hug can make this work? There is so much that needs to be done, this is pathetic…” her words seem to joyfully bounce off him. It was just too easy to get hypnotized by the passion in her eyes. He would spend eternity burning in her rage if only she would allow it.
He just loves the way her hands curl into tight little fist when she gets worked up. “… it’s seems like I’m the only one trying to make this into something…” she has this funny little habit of licking her lips in frantic sweeps from side to side as if she is trying to rub off her lips. Then she starts to pace around the empty space in the room. When her monologue gets intense enough, it makes no difference if anyone is listening, she escapes somewhere else too.
He spends a lot of time day dreaming where she goes. He wishes he could join her sometimes. They could skip along, hand in hand. He could never really know where she goes. She has good and bad days. Sometimes she thinks she’s invisible, or another life form sent to save humanity from public bathrooms. The episodes only get more and more complicated… as if she is building the coarsest road to her safe space. She stopped caring about her sanity a long time ago.
He would take anything she gave. He caught himself hazily staring at her again. He knows how much that infuriates her but he won’t stop himself, maybe just hide the smile on his face. He enjoys it way too much. The blow of her fist to the wall snapped him back to the present.
“Why aren’t you listening to me?” she croons.“I’m always listening, I’ll always be the one listening…” this time an honest but still a failed attempt at softening her.
“I’m taking the whole goddamn block with me if I have to, so don’t get in my way!” She flings her long, black, witch hair over her shoulder and stomps off leaving the trail of her scent behind for him to wobble after her.
He just loves the way her hands curl into tight little fist when she gets worked up. “… it’s seems like I’m the only one trying to make this into something…” she has this funny little habit of licking her lips in frantic sweeps from side to side as if she is trying to rub off her lips. Then she starts to pace around the empty space in the room. When her monologue gets intense enough, it makes no difference if anyone is listening, she escapes somewhere else too.
He spends a lot of time day dreaming where she goes. He wishes he could join her sometimes. They could skip along, hand in hand. He could never really know where she goes. She has good and bad days. Sometimes she thinks she’s invisible, or another life form sent to save humanity from public bathrooms. The episodes only get more and more complicated… as if she is building the coarsest road to her safe space. She stopped caring about her sanity a long time ago.
He would take anything she gave. He caught himself hazily staring at her again. He knows how much that infuriates her but he won’t stop himself, maybe just hide the smile on his face. He enjoys it way too much. The blow of her fist to the wall snapped him back to the present.
“I’m taking the whole goddamn block with me if I have to, so don’t get in my way!” She flings her long, black, witch hair over her shoulder and stomps off leaving the trail of her scent behind for him to wobble after her.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
work in progress... "DOC"
I'm still working on this one... but i thought it might be nice to share what i have to far...
Thursday, February 19, 2009
because i can...
Sometimes, because I can, I change the way I interact with people.
This change transcends all potential shifts and developmental upgrades to our common everyday self. The change is aware of itself; aware of it’s affect on the relationship that exists between me and these people.
I shift in the storyline and test the pressure points.
Push and tug and press and hug and lick and sniff and rub and tickle and slug shove.
This is the only true way to get to know yourself…and the other
It’s not that I feel like other human beings exist to feed my collection of interactions.
I'm not some savage creature feeding off of human emotions.
We don’t feed, we exchange and we serve as another’s catalog of moments.
This change transcends all potential shifts and developmental upgrades to our common everyday self. The change is aware of itself; aware of it’s affect on the relationship that exists between me and these people.
I shift in the storyline and test the pressure points.
Push and tug and press and hug and lick and sniff and rub and tickle and slug shove.
This is the only true way to get to know yourself…and the other
It’s not that I feel like other human beings exist to feed my collection of interactions.
I'm not some savage creature feeding off of human emotions.
We don’t feed, we exchange and we serve as another’s catalog of moments.
Friday, February 13, 2009
10/09/2008
I'm rehashing some words I put down in my notebook...
(This one is a little negative)
10/09/2008
Here I am festering in my discontent. I am angry and unresolved. But worst of all I realize that I am completely jealous and envious of your freedom; your freedom of commitment, of work. I’m green over your freedom from emotional ties and superficial sensations that serve as chains to tie me down. I am indeed my own worse enemy. I create the situations that I despise. Is it a test of wills? Why would I endure such ridiculous circumstances? Why am I so dependent of these emotions?
I want to bathe myself in the moon’s pure white light and erase all the cuts my feeble arms acquired while attempting to hold onto some sort of reality.
(a few hours later this happened...)
I want the power to engage-to awaken the beauty in other’s minds. I want to inspire, I want to my smile –my presence to ripple affect those around me. I want my good vibrations to be contagious. I want to love eternally. I want to share my whole existence with the world. I want to group hug them all while I’m at it! I want to do real good things for humanity not just what is told to me is good…
I’m a rational being and that’s all it takes for me to do good unto others even when they won’t do good unto me. I have to give even when there is no returning, more so when there is no return.
(This one is a little negative)
10/09/2008
Here I am festering in my discontent. I am angry and unresolved. But worst of all I realize that I am completely jealous and envious of your freedom; your freedom of commitment, of work. I’m green over your freedom from emotional ties and superficial sensations that serve as chains to tie me down. I am indeed my own worse enemy. I create the situations that I despise. Is it a test of wills? Why would I endure such ridiculous circumstances? Why am I so dependent of these emotions?
I want to bathe myself in the moon’s pure white light and erase all the cuts my feeble arms acquired while attempting to hold onto some sort of reality.
(a few hours later this happened...)
I want the power to engage-to awaken the beauty in other’s minds. I want to inspire, I want to my smile –my presence to ripple affect those around me. I want my good vibrations to be contagious. I want to love eternally. I want to share my whole existence with the world. I want to group hug them all while I’m at it! I want to do real good things for humanity not just what is told to me is good…
I’m a rational being and that’s all it takes for me to do good unto others even when they won’t do good unto me. I have to give even when there is no returning, more so when there is no return.
this is only a test...
Sometimes it feels like I’m winning the little test I set up for those I share some sort of human socialized relationship with…
It seems ridiculous of me to even prescribe the qualities of winning or losing in a game I’m the creator and only player aware of its existence. Yet somehow I have the upper hand in the war of social interaction. It’s an epic battle to gain the mighty throne of uselessness, created and maintained by the perversion of my imagination.
These tests are just a pale reflection of my short comings, desires, and weaknesses. I expect in the other the qualities I wish to manifest in myself.
They serve as reflections of my moral standings. What I give importance to and believe… what I was taught to believe as appropriate traits.
Truthfully I really want the other to concede and let me win. Allow my judgment to be right, give me an affirmation of my idiocy. I wouldn’t go so far as to think I’m the only being that engages in such absurd games, but I have no desire to find out who else is partaking.
If they can forgive me for creating the test then somehow I can forgive myself as well.
It seems ridiculous of me to even prescribe the qualities of winning or losing in a game I’m the creator and only player aware of its existence. Yet somehow I have the upper hand in the war of social interaction. It’s an epic battle to gain the mighty throne of uselessness, created and maintained by the perversion of my imagination.
These tests are just a pale reflection of my short comings, desires, and weaknesses. I expect in the other the qualities I wish to manifest in myself.
They serve as reflections of my moral standings. What I give importance to and believe… what I was taught to believe as appropriate traits.
Truthfully I really want the other to concede and let me win. Allow my judgment to be right, give me an affirmation of my idiocy. I wouldn’t go so far as to think I’m the only being that engages in such absurd games, but I have no desire to find out who else is partaking.
If they can forgive me for creating the test then somehow I can forgive myself as well.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
eggplant dragons...
I pepper my daily life with streams of patterns. In creating these patterns I ease the pressure of collective existence.The more established these patterns are, the more likely I am able to escape inside my head.Once these patterns become second nature to my body, the more likely I am able to perform these tasks while my mind wanders off into my favorite place… my imagination.
I have a routine for everything I assess as useless daily collective living task.These include but are not limited to: showering and other hygienic tasks, *work-not my own personal creative work, but the kind we do to gain some sort of monetary compensation in order to sustain a certain prescribe lifestyle. I would like to add that I don’t like work. I know a lot of people don’t either. I just don’t see the point in exerting so much energy for someone else’s gain.
Since I don’t like it, I have learned to sacrifice certain useless vices in order to accommodate my lack of desire of working for other’s gains. Eating can turn into a sort of routine as well, at least the process of preparing my food for work. Cooking can be very pleasurable if I didn’t have to run out in the next 15 minutes to avoid heavy traffic.
And in comes the biggest waste of time EVER… driving. I hate driving, I hate cars, I wish I didn’t have to do it but I live in were public transportation sucks.I especially tune out of this world when I am driving. It is completely involuntary though, I just escape automatically. I know it’s kind of reckless but my body choices to tune out.
Blah blah blah… I could go on and describe the specific patterns I have established in full details, but I realize how boring that must be. All the while I’m leaping to and fro to worlds filled with eggplant dragons that need to be roasted by winged marshmallow sea bass. Or I’m devising an intricate plan on how to convert all red heart people into yellow projecting shaman.
After a while though, the escape these patterns make take a toll on me. I just want to be in my head and I don’t want to come out. Social interaction can be very difficult when you are imagining the people around you as pirates attacking you. Plus, routines get boring-so as outrageous as my imagination can be the exterior can dampen the joy of the innerverse.
It’s been 27 years and I still can’t find the balance between these worlds on mine. There will come the point when these worlds collide and the clean up won’t be as easy as it use to be. I’m going to have to pick a side.
*present job excluded...
I have a routine for everything I assess as useless daily collective living task.These include but are not limited to: showering and other hygienic tasks, *work-not my own personal creative work, but the kind we do to gain some sort of monetary compensation in order to sustain a certain prescribe lifestyle. I would like to add that I don’t like work. I know a lot of people don’t either. I just don’t see the point in exerting so much energy for someone else’s gain.
Since I don’t like it, I have learned to sacrifice certain useless vices in order to accommodate my lack of desire of working for other’s gains. Eating can turn into a sort of routine as well, at least the process of preparing my food for work. Cooking can be very pleasurable if I didn’t have to run out in the next 15 minutes to avoid heavy traffic.
And in comes the biggest waste of time EVER… driving. I hate driving, I hate cars, I wish I didn’t have to do it but I live in were public transportation sucks.I especially tune out of this world when I am driving. It is completely involuntary though, I just escape automatically. I know it’s kind of reckless but my body choices to tune out.
Blah blah blah… I could go on and describe the specific patterns I have established in full details, but I realize how boring that must be. All the while I’m leaping to and fro to worlds filled with eggplant dragons that need to be roasted by winged marshmallow sea bass. Or I’m devising an intricate plan on how to convert all red heart people into yellow projecting shaman.
After a while though, the escape these patterns make take a toll on me. I just want to be in my head and I don’t want to come out. Social interaction can be very difficult when you are imagining the people around you as pirates attacking you. Plus, routines get boring-so as outrageous as my imagination can be the exterior can dampen the joy of the innerverse.
It’s been 27 years and I still can’t find the balance between these worlds on mine. There will come the point when these worlds collide and the clean up won’t be as easy as it use to be. I’m going to have to pick a side.
*present job excluded...
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Diana Update
Just showing some of the progress on this piece.
It's been sort of a bitch to work on, only because the canvas was primed for acrylics and i'm using oil paints. So what would only take one brush stroke now takes five for the same depth of color and effect.
Patience and love is all it takes to finish it!
Friday, January 30, 2009
imaginary (hildi)- entries for anik,dōt project
1.
Growing up my sister and I didn’t have imaginary friends, we had imaginary villains. They looked like giant Ken dolls; pre-synthetic hair, and they were all called "Macho".
2.
My mother instilled in her children a fear of using public bathrooms. She made it seem like a bacteria would eat me from the inside out if I so much as exposed my bare bottom near a public restroom. It got so bad sometimes I would go the whole day at school without relieving myself.
One day during an art club meeting, Mr. Mac asked me to get some construction paper out of the art supply room. But I also really had to pee. What to do? What to do? My poor judgment convinced me to get the paper first and hold it out until I got home.
Bad Idea, I stretch to grab the construction paper off the shelf and lost control of my bladder. I peed all over the floor. Yup, I was that kid-the one that smelled like pee. In a feeble attempt to cover up my embarrassment I used some of the construction paper and left a trail of moist ripped urine smelling dots all over the floor.
Best part is, my sister did the same exact thing in the same exact room… and she tried to cover it up the same exact way.
3.
I had a “Ralphy” when I was younger. For those of you who don’t know what that means, it’s what you call facial hair whiskers on women. It was really noticeable. One day on the bus ride home, right before I was at my house, an elementary school boy yelled out, “That girl has a mustache! I thought only boys had a mustache…” and he was genuinely confused. I’m assuming that moment altered his perception of reality forever… good the little fucker deserved it for calling me out like that!
4.
I once jumped butt naked over a dead chicken lit on fire in order to exorcise 3 ghosts that apparently were sexually assaulting me while I slept. And yes, I had to jump 3 times.
5.
I still remember one of the first moments I transcended from child to awkward teenage hormonal gunk. And it was all because of a girl named Roxy.
She was a patrol at my elementary school and I really did look up to her! She was always very kind to me. She was one of the few older kids that would talk to me like a human being and not like a child.
One day being lead by foolish peer pressure and the desire to fit in I jumped on top of a toilet seat and dropped a huge spit ball over to the stall next to me. A thud and a shriek later I knew I hit my target. But to my dismay when I peaked over the top to mock my victim it was Roxy looking right back at me in horror.
All she could do was stare back. Her eyes were searching mine for a viable excuse. Hildi couldn’t have been the one to do this one… maybe she walked in after the culprit left. No, not really. It was me-all me. I had to tip that cup over.
To add insult to injury, she was caught at one of the most vulnerable moments anyone could be messed with-while her pants are around her ankles. Right then I ate the apple and one more layer of innocence was ripped off me.
6.
In an effort to torture me and indulge in the stereotypical behavior of older siblings, I was taunted with story of trash can retrievals and I was told I’m Freddie Mercury’s love child. You see I had really buckteeth… and a Ralphy…
7.
After a very sweet romantic date, we were about to seal the night with the perfect kiss. Suddenly we find ourselves not alone. My dad scuffles out of the house to greet us, half asleep and only wearing his underwear. He lifts his arms up in the air in a pleading motion.
I skip the kiss, jump out of the car, run pass him, and into the house - mortified! My dad wears bikini cut undies!
Growing up my sister and I didn’t have imaginary friends, we had imaginary villains. They looked like giant Ken dolls; pre-synthetic hair, and they were all called "Macho".
2.
My mother instilled in her children a fear of using public bathrooms. She made it seem like a bacteria would eat me from the inside out if I so much as exposed my bare bottom near a public restroom. It got so bad sometimes I would go the whole day at school without relieving myself.
One day during an art club meeting, Mr. Mac asked me to get some construction paper out of the art supply room. But I also really had to pee. What to do? What to do? My poor judgment convinced me to get the paper first and hold it out until I got home.
Bad Idea, I stretch to grab the construction paper off the shelf and lost control of my bladder. I peed all over the floor. Yup, I was that kid-the one that smelled like pee. In a feeble attempt to cover up my embarrassment I used some of the construction paper and left a trail of moist ripped urine smelling dots all over the floor.
Best part is, my sister did the same exact thing in the same exact room… and she tried to cover it up the same exact way.
3.
I had a “Ralphy” when I was younger. For those of you who don’t know what that means, it’s what you call facial hair whiskers on women. It was really noticeable. One day on the bus ride home, right before I was at my house, an elementary school boy yelled out, “That girl has a mustache! I thought only boys had a mustache…” and he was genuinely confused. I’m assuming that moment altered his perception of reality forever… good the little fucker deserved it for calling me out like that!
4.
I once jumped butt naked over a dead chicken lit on fire in order to exorcise 3 ghosts that apparently were sexually assaulting me while I slept. And yes, I had to jump 3 times.
5.
I still remember one of the first moments I transcended from child to awkward teenage hormonal gunk. And it was all because of a girl named Roxy.
She was a patrol at my elementary school and I really did look up to her! She was always very kind to me. She was one of the few older kids that would talk to me like a human being and not like a child.
One day being lead by foolish peer pressure and the desire to fit in I jumped on top of a toilet seat and dropped a huge spit ball over to the stall next to me. A thud and a shriek later I knew I hit my target. But to my dismay when I peaked over the top to mock my victim it was Roxy looking right back at me in horror.
All she could do was stare back. Her eyes were searching mine for a viable excuse. Hildi couldn’t have been the one to do this one… maybe she walked in after the culprit left. No, not really. It was me-all me. I had to tip that cup over.
To add insult to injury, she was caught at one of the most vulnerable moments anyone could be messed with-while her pants are around her ankles. Right then I ate the apple and one more layer of innocence was ripped off me.
6.
In an effort to torture me and indulge in the stereotypical behavior of older siblings, I was taunted with story of trash can retrievals and I was told I’m Freddie Mercury’s love child. You see I had really buckteeth… and a Ralphy…
7.
After a very sweet romantic date, we were about to seal the night with the perfect kiss. Suddenly we find ourselves not alone. My dad scuffles out of the house to greet us, half asleep and only wearing his underwear. He lifts his arms up in the air in a pleading motion.
I skip the kiss, jump out of the car, run pass him, and into the house - mortified! My dad wears bikini cut undies!
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