Solipsistic Revue

Famished

2012-02-05T20:09:00.000-08:00

I saw Famished at Portland Playhouse a couple of days ago and was moved by the first piece of theatre I've seen that delves right into current, relevant issues with food. Some thoughts post-show:

How does food control our relationships? (to ourselves and others)

How do food politics (dis)connect us to our communities?

What are the ethics of food production?

Can't afford local, organic.

Vegan

vegetarian

gluten free

meat eater

fast food

slow food

labels, choices

the hunger within

the depravity and excessiveness of food.

the pleasure and pain.

food and memory

food and culture

food and control

food and love

food and hate

body image

skinny

fat

disease

health

How to nourish the mind and body, in a healthy, sustainable, viable, productive, affordable way?

Geographic Orientation

2012-02-05T00:25:00.000-08:00

After being a "west coaster" for most of my life, and spending about 2 years on the east coast, only to then come back to a different part of the west coast, I am pondering the idea of geographic orientation.

How does where one live affect their personality? Lifestyle? Outlook on life? I know for a fact that if I was born anywhere else than Southern California my life would be completely different. For example, diversity, and working class people were "normal" to me. My cousins from Michigan however, were literally shocked with the diversity and homelessness present in Socal. I am glad that I was born in such a diverse, enriching place. And now only because I have left that place, can I look at it objectively. I understand (now more so than ever living in Portland) the amazing high that comes along with constant sunshine, the benefits of diversity and the general laid back feeling that permeates Los Angeles' air. (I've heard many a NYer who comes to LA and complains that everything is 'so slow')

Reflecting on my time on the east coast, I must say I am no expert. But also people claimed I would have a hard time with the "fast pace" in NYC and "east coast attitudes". What does that mean anyway? I did not have a problem adjusting to NYC. I was actually thankful for the fact that so many people enjoy working and getting things done in the city. I enjoyed people's honesty, heartache, pain and stress that parades itself across the whole city. The city is resilient and so are the people. The city and the people force you to hustle, to make it work. A study in perseverance and endurance.

I miss the fast pace energy and diversity of NYC. And now I find myself in another place. West-East-West. ((Orientations made up for convenience, with a whole lot of meaning. Makes me think of the useless labels we ascribe to race, geography and sexuality. Exclusionary forces. ))

Portland is very relaxed. Upon not being available for a meeting with a new acquaintance, I was told that he was hoping I was a "typical Portland slacker" with lots of free time during the week. Nope, definitely not one of those.

Because I am getting to know people at work and in the theatre, I have rehearsed my own little geographic story. LA-NYC-PDX. Some people get more details than others, about what brought me to each place. With the consistent recitation, and reactions to my geographic journey, I wonder how much does a city thrive on its people? And vice verse? It's as if we should put down on job applications if we are a West Coaster or East Coaster.

I have also gotten familiar with one particular reaction. "Why did you leave New York for Portland?" I get asked with an incredulous tone. I get asked this in such a way that eludes to my sheer idiocy for leaving "the center of the universe" for Portland, Oregon. Some people say it more politely, inferring that I went from one hip place to another and that I must be ok.

The answer: A man. I moved for a man. Is that dumb? The feminist part of me feels uneasy with this answer every time I recite it. Not because I am ashamed, or not in love. But because it is the first time in my life that he has really affected my life decision. I made a choice to move. So far the choice has worked out better than expected. I am embracing the journey. Who knows where we will end up? SF? NYC? Stay in PDX? The good thing is I am open.

I know a lot of people who have never left their hometown. They have no desire to leave what is safe. And now I know first hand, the sheer exhaustion and emotional toll of moving back and forth. But it can be thrilling. Sort of like an anthropologic study. A study of the self and the will to survive. To adapt to consistently changing environments.

I know that during my stay here, Portland will be come a part of me. Just like the morsels of Los Angeles and NYC have ingrained themselves in my thoughts, my actions, my nostalgic daydreams. The thing about this is I can't quite put my finger on it. I can't exactly describe how place affects me, or why I miss a certain place. I do believe cities and people have a symbiotic relationship in which each are breathing in and out of each other, affecting and changing. I am just fascinated by the divide and thought process behind East coast and West coast. And yet, I intellectually understand there is a difference.

How have you been affected by your geography?

Consistency in Fluctuation

2012-01-22T13:56:00.000-08:00

Be consistent. Something I have long known that I needed to adopt, but seems hard to put into place. I like to think of myself as a wanderer, wonderer and nomad, but even those questionable labels need some stability in the real world.

Creating routines in new places. Attacking new goals and failing and falling back only to move forward again. My discipline in running is proving faulty and time keeps slipping out of my hands like dissolved sand.

How to create consistency in fluctuation? Changing jobs, changing cities, changing friends. The trite but true phrase, the only consistent thing in life is change permeates my current state.

A will to determine the way things I ought to want to sought to be.

To be

me.

Looking forward to the evolution of myself, looking back at the past with near-sighted nostalgia. Improving and living fully every step of the way. And most of all to be able to relax amidst the fluctuation.

Collapse, Wasteland and running through your fears

2012-01-13T18:47:00.000-08:00

This week has been a pretty good week. I am settling nicely here in Portland and finding my way to good things. I started rehearsing with Living Stages, a theatre of the oppressed based community theatre troupe. It feels so nice to be doing TO again. I feel a deep emptiness inside me that I am not working with youth or adults right now as a facilitator- something I want to change soon. In addition to getting back into TO, I also saw two remarkable, moving pieces of art this week.

The first was Collapse at Third Rail Rep. I went to see their free dress rehearsal, and I was blown away by the acting skills! Last week I met a man who said, "there is a lot of New York in Portland". I initially wanted to scoff, but it seems to be true. There is such great theatre, beer, coffee, arts and culture here. Collapse was a play about, well, collapse. Both metaphorically and literally. The play takes place in Minnesota, where in 2007, the 35W bridge collapsed, killing 13 people. The play uses this event as its starting point, but doesn't mention the actual event until later in the play. The characters, a husband and wife seem to be having trouble conceiving a child. The husband hasn't gone to work in a month, and the wife is worried about getting fired. The hippie new-age sister from California moves in unexpectedly. Her entrance is memorable as she enters the house, much to her sister and brother in law's surprise, claiming "California is fucked! Like anal sex fucked! Not that that is bad or anything....". The sister has just lost her job at a non-profit, and been evicted from here apartment. The overtones of the biggest recession since the Great Depression almost acts as another character in the play.

Later we find out that the husband was on the bridge while it collapsed. He has PTSD, doesn't want to talk about it, but is deeply troubled. The sister and husband get drunk while the wife is trying to salvage her job and not get fired from her law firm. After a series of strange and interesting coincidences, we find out that the husband was on the bridge during the collapse. He fell into the water, trapped by his car. He can't remember how he escaped. The wife was three months pregnant at the time and miscarried a week later.

After the strange coincidences and some minor disasters (which are played very humorously!), the play ends with the couple having a frank talk about their issues. The play ended in such a powerful way, or shall I say line.

The husband says, "How do we not collapse?"

Wife, "I am not sure we can. I think we need to learn how to fall together"

The play's ending resonated with me strongly. Any relationship is bound to have its rough patches and I feel like this question is a valid one. The answer a superb motif on how to survive the rough times, together.

The other amazing piece of art I saw was the documentary Wasteland. Wasteland focuses on Brazilian artist Vik Muniz and his trek back home to Brazil to create portraits of the "pickers" at Jardim Gramacho. Jardim Gramacho is a landfill where the pickers carefully go through all the trash to take out the recycling. The movie is not so much about the artist as these characters at the landfill. They are beautiful, driven, interesting people. What fascinated me most was many of the women talking about how dirty and disgusting the work is, would often also say that it was honest work. They are happy to be there and not walking the streets of Copacabana. Muniz gets to know several of the pickers and creates multi-media portraits of them with the recycled materials. He then donates the proceeds of the art back to the models/pickers. The movie is interesting because class, politics, light skin/dark skin, sex, money and work are all multi-valent forces that make this movie very complicated.

The movie brings up several issues-- is Muniz really helping these people? Does art help people? At the end of the movie we hear that most of the people had left Jardim Gramacho to pursue a better life thanks to the proceeds of Muniz's art. While I loved the film and I am so happy at the success of the art and for the people, I wonder who was left behind? Who is still there? Also, we find out Jardim Gramacho is closing this year, where will the workers go? The movie really made me think about how much art and social practice belong together. Do they have a place and how do they work together to create real change? Real, unalterable change, not a bandaid. This question often is in my mind. I love doing theatre of the oppressed and I know that in rehearsals seeing youth/adults SEE, VISUALIZE AND IMAGINE new futures can be radical and life-changing. But sometimes I feel like it is a dead-end path. You can't help everyone, you can't change everything. But on the other hand, there has to be people trying to change the world, offering what they can and doing what they can.

Complacency is the enemy of resistance and social change.

I am moving through the week feeling inspired with thoughtful questions and the desire to do something.

Also, I have started running. One day, hopefully in the not-so-near future, I will participate in a sprint triathlon. There is a long story behind it, one that I would love to share if I can accomplish my goal. For now, I have started running. I am not in particularly good shape (an erroneous assumption people make, thin= in shape) and historically have hated running. This week I have made it to 1.5 miles. This is not amazing, but very cool considering on the spectrum of athleticism I am considered a couch potato. I enjoy running at night, when the air is crisp, the streets are empty and I can think and feel each footstep hit the ground. In a very De Cearteau-ian way, I am discovering the city more through my jogs. I've found new places, new parks, new adventures. The running seems to help my mental sanity while also creating a much needed physical space for me.

Moving into the week, I plan to stay focused and inspired.

Fissures

2012-01-09T21:03:00.000-08:00

the beginning

is near

who says you can't do anything

just try

sometimes I just want to be a kid again

not worry about any of this stuff

I got my food stamps today

I went to the store and pretended it was xmas

so much food

gluttonous and dirty

inhaling every breath of creativity

but transforming into abstract expression

desire still ranks #1, with confusion a close second

I must remember that life is not a race, but sometimes it feels like

I'm trapped.

I want to think outside of myself.

To take a vacation from my brain.

how to get a way from one's self?

how to move through one's self to another?

my heart is a home, with three locations

my head is a cabinet of ponderings

wandering and wondering

seeking and reaching

failing

utterly useless statements

that fall on the blank page like hard cement.

just give me something real.

what makes a person cry?

such a strange and mysterious thing tears are.

cleansing and absolving

working through that sadness

expelling.

I listen for the song to call to me.

wait my turn to enter.

believe in what each note tells me is true.

the music of life, always so sharp

sometimes not a chorus, but a solo.

rarely too, a collaboration.

Angels in America at Portland Playhouse

2012-01-02T12:47:00.000-08:00

Tony Kushner's play Angels in America is a must read for any theatre major. When I was in college, I remember hearing the hype over it. When it finally came time to sit down and read the play, I was fascinated by the characters, the interweaving of history and the psycho-magical aspects of the play. However, at the time of reading I was so curious to see it staged. My imagination took me so many places, but I couldn't quite see it.

Angels in America, Part 1 at Portland Playhouse was close to perfect. The stage was mostly bare, with only essential props. The actors were astounding, moving and fierce and knew their characters well. The actor playing Roy Cohn even had a broken arm, something that didn't seem to detract from his performance in the least. The music was the part that could have been a bit better. The sound design was mostly of cliched 80's songs, that I felt did not agree with the intensity of the play. The play, while having humorous, magical moments, is a serious play. A play about the AIDS crisis, and homosexual life in New York City. But the play is about so much more and it is hard to describe everything that Kushner puts you through as an audience member.

In the production at Portland Playhouse, Wade McCollum plays Prior Walter. McCollum, a wonderfully vibrant and versatile actor, is so moving as Prior. Prior, a gay man in New York City learns that he has AIDS. In the play, his boyfriend of 4.5 years leaves him while he is in the hospital sick, because he can't handle it. The scene in which Prior (McCollum) wakes up in the hospital bed, alone is chilling. The frightening sense of loneliness and longing that pervades the scene is palpable. The man he loves, his partner has left him--while he is sick --and is nowhere to be found. Louis' (the boyfriend) actions are egregious, but Noah Jordan plays him so well, that the audience almost has the slightest faint of sympathy for him. The whole play is wrought with death, mortality, longing, love, history, confusion and identity. Portland Playhouse's production did a wonderful job of taking this complicated play and keeping it honest. Even the most hated characters like Roy Cohn had an heir of charm. The actors, direction, and minimal stage affects proved affective and very moving.

During the play, I am reminded of how many problems we still have today. The play takes place in 1985, but a lot of the issues are still omni-present. AIDS is killing everyone, not just gay men. Homophobia is still as present as ever, if not worse with the talks of 'equal rights'. History is the lingering ghost in our present and future, something we cannot deny. Angels in America is moving insofar that it asks the audience to get uncomfortable. Kushner does not shy away from sex, religion and politics, and brings it to the forefront of his plays and Portland Playhouse did a wonderful job of showcasing this very deep, intricate play into something real and palpable.

Winding down/Winding up

2011-12-27T21:34:00.000-08:00

The holidays seem to slow everything down. Places are closed. People are busy. We are asked to reflect on the past year, make pledges for the new and enjoy our time with friends and family. Once again, I could not go home this year but had my first holiday with my partner and some friends. New friends, new places reminding me of old friends and old places. I suppose it really is about the company you are with, rather than where you are.

A year ago, I wrote some resolutions or things I wanted to do in 2011. It is hard to read that list currently and see how abysmally I have failed. But failure is relative I suppose, and not only relative but very personal. I have dealt with some deep seeded feelings of failure this year. The good news is I did graduate, my thesis did not suck, I traveled a bit to Montreal and Toronto and the first half of the year I was practicing Spanish. In the summer, I went from not owning a bike, to riding to Coney Island, a trip that is 14 miles round trip. I know a few more words in French and Portuguese and I wrote more, performed more and was more active than any other year. So why the talk of failure?

I still didn't get what I wanted. I wanted it all. I wanted a full time job, New York City and my long distance love. It was impossible and the universe knew it. I tried so damn hard. For two months straight, I beat myself up and drove myself crazy. The cooling my temper and worrying about money portion of last years resolution is sadly still way off mark. Some days are better, some days I feel like giving up.

How can you accomplish everything you want when you don't have everything you need?

Before I get too woe is me, I must do some privilege checking. I am pretty damn lucky. On good days, I can step outside of myself and see the wonderful world around me in all its beauty and decay. Most of the time I am short sighted and wonder why my life isn't better. Why can't I help others more? Sometimes the desire for internal change or the desire to change the world is so big, it turns happy thoughts into depressing insurmountable tasks.

2011 had a lot of great things to it-- love, adventure, performance. It also had a lot of downs. Unemployment, massive debt, loneliness.

I am not setting any more resolutions (hell, didn't I say I was going to break them?). I am giving myself a break. However, I do have a goal. A goal to make these big insurmountable ideas into small, palpable, workable things. I can't learn a language in a day. Or train for a triathlon in a month. I need to slice all my big ideas into small things that I CAN DO.

My advice: give yourself a break. No one needs anymore mental torture anyways. Think about what you really want. What do you need to do to get there? What can you do every day or every week to get there eventually?

And also, keeping some perspective.

Intimacy

2011-12-18T21:22:00.000-08:00

Closeness beyond belief

a feeling of home

knowing someone so well

better than they know themselves.

Secrets that are kept between two mouths.

Trust that is always held up by hope,

but lives in the murky waters of

monogamy.

To know exactly what to say to make one melt.

To know exactly what to do to make one hurt.

Love can be a weapon, so many people use it for evil.

I ask myself to take my guard down. To love completely and without question.

To accept the flaws and idiosyncrasies my love has and for those I possess myself.

To look in one's eyes and see yourself. To accept fully and continue on.

Togetherness is lived love.

Love

live

vile

evolve

leveraging imaginations to create futures.

That which is sewn together by the ingredients of our past. Those crumbs never quite dissolve do they.

Moving on, moving to, moving with

An intimate body.

Cold, Wintry Portland

2011-12-10T15:19:00.000-08:00

The world is asking so much.

Trying to stay afloat.

Eclipsed.

Clipped wings, trying to break free.

The spell of negativity must be broken.

I will not brainwash myself any longer.

The capitalist demons who want to buy my life, must wait in line.

I would say life is priceless, but we can see in our world that that is not true.

Swimming in a creative space, fueled by ambiguity.

Jumping on rocks, between creeks, hoping I don't fall.

Relishing in ambiguity.

Holding on for dear life to everything that is real.

But is it?

Mirages of the imagination.

Dreams and nightmares dancing together on the same stage.

Embraces remembered in the body far after they occur.

Imbalance, breaking bodies.

Breathing bodies.

That which is living

and full

______________

Retracing 3000 miles back; Hello Portland

2011-12-02T08:21:00.000-08:00

It's been a week since I left NY. I realize how much of NY is still in me, or perhaps how much of myself is still there. The car arrived to pick me up at 4am. I carried the two large suitcases, the same amount I arrived with and placed my worldly belongings in the car. I said goodbye to my lovely apartment that is no longer mine, but a replacement in someone else's future. The car ride to the airport was rough. It was cold, I was tired and weepy the whole way there. It seemed so surreal. Didn't I just arrive in NY? Did I really spend the past year and half in this crazy city, doing crazy things? The finality hit me. The driver asked me if I was staying in the states or going abroad. I suppose he assumed with such large bags, maybe I was going on vacation. I told him I was moving. He sensed the bittersweet tone in my voice; he said, "New York will always be here. Sometimes you need to go away to come back and be really successful'. If only the feeling of failure could be expunged through my tears.

I did not fail. I just didn't get what I set out for. I tried. I had fun.

I slept the majority of the 6 hour flight to San Francisco. I kept daydreaming of all the things that happened in NY, trying to happily close that chapter of my life. I arrived in SF at 10am, with my love picking me up to start our new adventure. Luckily for my sake, San Francisco is the one city besides NY that drives me crazy. I am in love and madly so. It has the wonders of NY but with the majestic beauty of California. It feels like home although I've never lived there. Home is not a place, but a feeling of belonging. 72 hours in SF and a 10 hour drive later laced with pitstops in the middle of nowhere, I arrived at my final destination.

Portland, Oregon

The good thing about Portland is that it has its own majesty. Nature abounds. The people are friendly, the rent is cheap and its great for artists. The bad thing is there is an amazing lack of diversity. Coming from NYC and previously Los Angeles, I feel strange being in a city with so many white young people. I can't help but notice it and feel it. It makes me uncomfortable and I suppose for now there is nothing I can do. I truly celebrate diversity and miss the different cultures ever present in LA and NYC. I know Portland is not permanent. It's an adventure, a pit stop. I enjoy it here for its quiet and stillness, but sometimes I feel spooked by it. The buzzing of NY contrasted by the silence here is eerie. Something to get used to. Also, friendly strangers talking to you! There is still so much to learn, discover and open myself up to. For now I am trying to get to know the city, find a place with my bf, and luckily I have found a part time gig for now. I yearn for creating again, but when you are wondering when your next paycheck will come, or where you will lay your head, it's hard to stay focused.

Another test. So many tests. A test of the will and character. A(nother) test of our relationship. Closeness circumvented by confusion. A lack of anything concrete, but a place full of dreams and desires. I will create a garden of our futures and plant our seeds. Mapping out past, present and future. Settling into time and place.

An adventure I must be open to. Opening myself up to possibilities and questions. It is frightening and exhilarating to not know one's immediate future-- to go with the tide, to hustle, to create flowers out of cement. My time will come and I realize I am blessed in so many ways.

Conundrums

2011-11-05T21:20:00.000-07:00

Contraptions

Consequences

find their way

hollowed out in unkept promises

words that meant nothing

a fleeting thought that was never that serious.

Commitment and its counter part.

Failure.

Commotion

with motion

dancing lavishly upon the worlds stage

forgetting others have troubles worse than yours

Nina, the voice of the goddess

bellowing blues out of the beguiled

Nobody loves you when you're down and out

Finding out the hard way

(more than ever)

nothing is simple

or exactly what you thought

re-imaginging possibilities

as finite hope

turned into action

and promises that can be married

in a union fitting of a king and queen.

The Birthday Party

2011-10-31T11:39:00.001-07:00

He called the young lady at 11pm, so his wife would not hear his phone call.

She was asleep, dreaming of a different life.

The message asked if she could stop by at 9am.

The young lady awoke. It was her birthday. 27 years old and stuck. A scorpio with a heart of gold and a temper.

Sensitive. Moody. Jealous. Passionate.

Sting

Stung

She called him back. "Yes, I can come over. See you soon"

She walked the four blocks in the crisp, cool morning.

She arrived at his house at 8:58am. Punctuality was her strongest trait.

He opened the door, smiled widely and said, "Good morning" and greeted her.

She smiled back, hesitantly. He was almost a stranger. Those eyes, so intense and peering, unnerved her. But she needed to be there.

She walked in slowly and carefully, assessing the house and feeling the discomfort all over again.

So many feelings washing over her.

There was a moment where they acted like nothing happened.

He gave her orders and she followed.

She started by cleaning the dishes. Old espresso cups, crumby plates and stained forks.

She stayed silent while washing. His presence was there, watching over her.

After the dishes, he complained about the tub.

"The tub is not clean. Maybe to your standards, but surely not mine".

Her stomach sank. Tied in knots.

She muttered an apology, half out of pain and half out of shock.

She went to his room to put away his clothes.

"Remember, don't put away socks that don't have a match. I have no use for single socks"

She saw his shirts with the names of all the exotic cities he had been to.

The picture frames of his wife, and four lovely kids were placed all over the room.

What an intimate little venture.

She thought about what his life was like before. What his life was like now.

What did he do? He was like her, but he had the power.

Money can buy you anything.

She moved to the bathroom to deal with the dirty laundry. His stained underwear and sweaty shirts disgusted her. All in a day's work.

After getting lost in the maze of the house and dizzy with the work, she became numb.

No one knew it was her birthday. It was as if she were hiding a secret from the world. To keep inside of her everything-- to share with no one. She wanted to be alone.

Instead she was cleaning his house. He complained some more. Things were not good enough.

Her OCD which had been a source of amusement for all her friends, was not enough to please him.

He was no longer happy with her. With a look in her eyes, tearing up at the non-existent future she saw for herself, she uttered with all her might, the words that barely came:

"I don't think I'm right for you"

She got her money. $40. He wanted 5 bucks in change, but she lied and said she didn't have any money. She thought to herself, "what a fucking cheapskate"

As she left his building, the avalanche of emotions caved in on her. The tears were unstoppable. She walked home, past the stay at home moms and the dog walkers. Picking up some vodka on her way home, she decided to create her own birthday party.

To celebrate what, who knows.

The day was drawn out, in long intervals, interspersed with waiting and watching.

The sigh of relief came, once the clock turned 12.

The birthday party was over.

Ant-Bird with Rob Andrews

2011-10-26T20:04:00.001-07:00

A case study of endurance and commitment.

An exchange of voices among chaos.

Pushing more, with fear unfolding.

Crescendoing to the future.

Climax.

Collapse.

Relapse.

Collaboration and Magic

2011-10-17T21:28:00.000-07:00

I honestly believe I can learn something from everyone. I've worked with many different people in a variety of different settings over the past 10 years, and believe because of these meetings and collaborations, I have become a richer person for it.

Sometimes as adults, we get caught up in routine. We get caught up with thinking we know how the world works. Our days play out through mechanical motions, our minds rarely ever breaking above water to complete consciousness. The world becomes insular. Collaboration actively disrupts this solipsism.

Today, while in my collaborative theatre project in Red Hook, a moment of magic occurred. The group, which is comprised of three adults and three youth were talking about the idea of protest.

What does a protest look like?

How do protests occur?

What sparks the action of protest?

We agreed that to protest, is to say that we wish for a different world. A world in which things are better. We agreed that to protest, is to fight against something that we want to change which usually occurs from an inciting action. After discussing for a while what protests look like and how they are presented in the world, the eleven year old next to me paused and said, "What we are doing right here (motioning to the circle, the group) is a protest. Writing our play about our ideas and what we want to change in the world is a form of protest".

I was taken aback. I started to tear up (apparently, I'm really sensitive). I spent 60k studying arts and activism and performance as protest and here this 11 year old girl blew my mind with how articulate and thought provoking she was. After relishing in the enjoyment of having such a beautiful moment and exchange, I realized this is why I love collaboration. Sometimes magic occurs. Age, race, sex, and difference create opportunities for genuine exchange. A dialogue that puts each person at the forefront of his or her own experience.

Between my experiences at Occupy Wall Street and my work on this theatre project, I am humbled by the beauty of people, ideas and collaboration. Sometimes there is no substitute for a life of exchange and collaboration. A book, a lecture, or school cannot compare.

I am reminded of how much we can grow if we only let ourselves.

Ritual with Rob Andrews

2011-10-10T11:52:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I performed in the Art in Odd Places festival with Rob Andrews. In the piece, I was asked to wear a black cloth over my face which covered most of my body. I placed two jars full of water, gauze and some postcards at my feet, while standing barefoot on a grass mat. The postcards invited audience members to wash my feet, hold my feet and pray. The symbolism was strong and intense.

Initially, I had mixed feelings about the piece. I wasn't quite sure how the piece would make me feel or how it would affect the audience, but it was something I wanted to do regardless. I arrived in Union Square at 3pm. I was able to see the other cloaked figures with passersby gazing at the mysterious ensemble. Slowly and carefully, I placed my materials on the ground. For some reason, I decided to face the sun, to look directly at the audience. I covered myself in the cloth, and was still able to partially see through the black veil.

The first 15 minutes were a challenge. The sun was beating down on me and I couldn't quite find my place of peace. I centered my breath and started focusing. I saw the collection of eyes and cameras (meta eyes) peering at me, trying to make it all make sense. The echoes of voices, "what is this about?", "what does it mean?", "who would want to wash someone's feet?" swam about in disembodied voices. I could only see directly ahead of me and sometimes people with cameras came frighteningly close, trying to get the perfect picture.

I stood still. As still and silent as possible for two hours. I was unsure if I could actually accomplish this feat, but I was able to do so. The main problem was the heat, but I was able to meditatively focus on my presence and the actions of others. I got my feet washed about 8 times. I believe most of them were by my other performers, but at least two were outside viewers. It was interesting to feel the differences in people's touch, energy and action in washing my feet. Some people had such tenderness it was moving.

At one point, Rob and his son came to wash my feet. Rob's son said, "I'm making art with dada!" and I started tearing up it was so beautiful. The interesting part for me, was that I thought that this piece would make me uncomfortable, or feel degrading for me or the audience. But I had a completely different reaction. I felt peaceful and meditative--I felt a connection with those washing my feet, the touch of another human. We could not exchange glances, but only exchange energy and this was powerful to me. Hearing the comments and watching the spectators helped me focus. I enjoyed that the piece made people uncomfortable, made people question and made some participate.

About two-thirds of the way through, there was another attraction behind me. From what I heard, there was a nearly naked black man behind me. I wanted to look. I resisted the urge and stayed focused. It was interesting to watch the shift from me to him in a matter of seconds. To hear all the commotion, but not be a part of it. This portion of the performance tested me in my ability to 'stay in the moment'. After the other performer left, most people went off with him. A few more people wandered by, some taking photos, others hesitantly walking back and forth, deciding on inaction rather than action.

After two hours, I took off the cloth. The sun was still so strong and the air, and my breath and the ground felt different. I was in a haze-- something between being disoriented and being at peace. I walked home taking it all in trying to focus my feelings on the moment and in the intense beauty of the experience.

A case of love

2011-10-03T19:52:00.000-07:00

A case of love for me and you.

I will wrap myself beside you and be present with this present.

I follow you, love, out of my own failure here.

The ghosts of turbulence will no longer linger, but provide only a shadow of what was.

We will become something great. What I have been wishing for. My fears will be assuaged by your sweet breath.

I am leaving everything behind for you.

Behind.

To let go, without looking back and never questioning why.

To grow older in your arms, to know that it is you that has my caress.

What makes a life

2011-09-27T20:43:00.001-07:00

and what makes it worth living?

Is it love or work?

The workless, unemployed statistic, down trodden by debt overload. I am young on the verge of old. Any minute now, my stress will appear on my face in finely lined wrinkles. I will call it wisdom. The mistakes of tripping on one's own decisions.

Decisions, decisions. Collapsed in mortal fear and despair. An emptiness that is becoming of my sullen face. This is not what I wanted my life to be. My OCD is driving me mad. I have no control and I sell myself everyday to people who want to parcel me out. Some buy the passion, others buy the sex, some, though infrequent buy my brain. A tickle.

To fancy yet nothing that will come. A waiting and stillness. Silence for the first time. Risks, choices, love, life, money, and what? What else? what else? what else? what else? what else?

I am letting my fingers talk. I need more discipline. More. More. More. Discipline. Focus. I need to live my own life and not be jealous of others. That green monster envy lives in me somewhere and I try to expel her. There is not enough room for the two of us. Someone someday will figure this out. That I am worth it. Or so I have to tell myself. The stories we tell ourselves-- how fascinating it is to create our reality. Fractions of identity, looking for the whole pieces.

If someone could just notice. Please. To sincerely see what is in me and make a move. But my struggle is wrapped up in your struggle and we will not be set free until we find our way out of the maze.

Trains, time and transitions

2011-08-24T10:47:00.000-07:00

On Monday, I took the train from Penn Station to Montreal's Gare Central. The ride was about 12 hours. Who knew the rest of NY was so green? I have adored trains for a while now, and even though many people complain about Amtrak's delays, smelly cars and average customer service, I find trains to be so relaxing. My life is always controlled by the clock. I am always close to being late, or way too early. I'm at the mercy of life in the city. Appointment, meeting, class, ellipsis on the scale.....on a train, time is halted. For hours, my mind wanders in the luxuriousness of having nowhere to go. I am stuck....in the most positive of ways. Being able to observe, pontificate, ruminate, while watching the beautiful landscape pass me by provides an insurmountable pleasure.

Slow down. I've heard that many times, but never do it. In times like this, when everything seems to be moving so fast, but not fast enough, I have to remember this. I have to remember that the most important things in life are punctuated by moments.

I am in Montreal enjoying the fresh air, the friendly people, the beautiful french words falling so gracefully off of Quebecoise tongues.....My life outside is relaxing. A change of scenery, of pace. To not be at the mercy of time, to exercise some free will....but my inner turmoil is poisoning.

One decision will change the course of my life.

Decisions like this complicate everything because they make you re-evaluate everything in your life. What is important? What is at stake? How will my action or inaction affect me? Others? Now and in the future? So many questions, but the answers are buried in rubble. I want to have everything. Does that make me selfish?

As cliche as it sounds, only time will tell.

Working Hard (for the money)

2011-07-22T17:52:00.000-07:00

Hustling.

Wishing.

Waiting.

Wanting.

Effort transforms labor into product.

Relation(ships)

occur

fingers crossed, things will go my way.

Eye to eye, hands held, a moment is shared. A moment of understanding. To level the field that is always unbalanced.

And to sit with friendly ghosts in chairs. The perilous past invading the present.

Tempo Auralities

Temporalities

Time baking in the sun. A Dali painting.

Originality is only believed because it came to my mind as a new idea. Recycled from something else. Mashed up, blended mix of pomo ideas. Diet.

The lo-cal post modernist, pastiche lifestyle.

Trying to find my niche.

Good Vibrations

2011-07-08T16:48:00.000-07:00

This week has been so rewarding, surprising, and uplifting with sprinkles of hard work and enchantment. Experiences and conversations, opportunities, questions to be answered, facts to become routines.

Good Vibrations.

Radical Positivity.

I taught my first Theatre class at the Women's shelter two blocks from my house. I was nervous. Who wants to do theatre? Who cares about theatre (especially if you are homeless)? The negative naggings kept popping up. I convinced myself otherwise. The brain is a powerful tool of destruction. 2 people showed up. It was close and intimate, revealing and silly. My actors for the day provided me with much inspiration, insight and clarity. They were so bloody brilliant and creative. And they have no freaking clue. They thought they were being silly. They felt challenged. I wanted to put myself in this situation because I am looking to challenge myself. To give back to my community and learn symbiotically. Theatre is about storytelling, masking and unmasking identities....this was the perfect foray into a new creative experience. I will be working with them every Friday evening and I couldn't be more thrilled.

I am always thinking of how I can challenge myself and how can I learn with and through my community: I think I found my answer.

Home

2011-07-02T15:26:00.000-07:00

Home is not a place, or a location but a series of feelings. An intricate binding of thoughts from the present, the past, and the desired future. Home is a place of comfort, of nostalgia, of pain and pleasure permeating the mundane.

Where is my home? Can one feel like they are from somewhere they are not? Home is the placement of memories on the canvas of my body, the conversations that appear in past lives, only to be remembered in subconscious dreams.

Home is not a place, but a desire. A desire to be accepted, to feel wanted, to feel loved. Home is neither here nor there, but everywhere I have laid my head to rest and found joy and love.

Home is a work in progress.

Home alludes the present tense.

My home, my heart, is scattered--from the west, to the east, to the south to the far north. Friendly cities and intellectual continents, fading and surpassing, waxing and waning just like the moon above.

Home is the desire to belong.

Thoughts from a recent graduate: On education, the economy and big business

2011-06-25T16:07:00.000-07:00

I went to an event called "Rebuilding the Dream" a couple of nights ago. The dream in reference was none other than the "American Dream". One quote from the evening resonated with me and fueled my inner turmoil:

"We are graduating our students off the side of a cliff"

The three year old recession, which some say (erroneously) is over, is still looming and looks bleak as ever for recent graduates, especially those in the arts. Students are graduating with Bachelor's, Master's and Ph.D's to find an economy that doesn't need them or want them.

We've been told our whole lives that if one just works hard, goes to a good school, then one can succeed in life and do anything one wants.

Unfortunately, this simply is not true.

The sad truth of it is that the unemployment rate has only gotten higher. The sad truth of it is that the national student loan debt has only gotten higher, creating astronomical debt which many of us will never be able to pay back, or will struggle immensely to do so. It is not out of laziness or incapability that our generation of graduates are not getting calls left and right for employment. It is simply because there are not enough jobs. Students kill time by spending more money on school, spending more money on "great" schools until something changes.

I think it is high time that we have a student loan bailout. Wall street got bailed out and is more successful than ever. When did education become BIG BUSINESS? I am a huge advocate for education and believe in the power of it, but I am starting to get down on it. We no longer live in a society that makes education a viable or even desirable option. Education is just a business like anything else. A machine to create more workers. The education system that is currently in place is not sustainable. Soon the majority of the nation will be educated, and the jobs still won't exist.

I just hope that for my sake and others that student loan and education reform comes sooner rather than later.

Observations from a train

2011-06-21T08:52:00.000-07:00

8:20am. The F train is running on time. I enter the train and the one half empty seat is occupied by a much older man who is sleeping and taking up most of the seat. I decide to stand. I can't quite tell if he is homeless, drunk or just down on his luck. With each passing stop, more people come on the train than leave. I watch with close eyes, everyone who enters eyeing that one empty seat. Nobody takes it. The old man adjusts himself and is leaning forward, holding his stomach, sleeping as if he was in pain or sick. The seat next to him was now free. I was tempted to sit, but kept standing.

More people entered the train, the fullness of the train manifested by a cornicopia of bodies. Bodies touching, breathing, feeling. Energies exchanged and glances taken in and given out. The women in high heels and the bored kids all eye the empty seat, but quickly look away definitively and decidely. I wonder why no one will sit next to him. I was so tempted to sit down just to prove something to myself, but then I thought he might be sick and I didn't want him to throw up on me. Everyone is standing, looking for a seat. No one moves. No one gets off in Brooklyn. People glance over to the seat, as if they are considering if they should take it. The answer is always no.

The old man sleeps in peace. His long, white beard frames his long wrinkly face. I want to see if he is ok. New Yorkers are accustomed to acting like they don't care. Nothing phases anyone anymore. I'm standing in front of Korean girl. She takes out a piece of gum. She starts chewing as if she has something to get out of her system. Her angry, rhythmic chewing alarms me. It is lound, unnatractive and pointed. Her jaw opens and closes rapidly and with each succession becomes slightly louder, until it becomes a monotonous crescendo.

I'm at my stop. I leave the old man and the gum chewing to everyone else. I'm walking up the stairs and there is a guy laying on his back at the base of the stairs. He looks like he could be dead, but I'm pretty sure he is just sleeping. At least that is what I tell myself. His shirt inches up to his chest, exposing parts of his stomach. I can't imagine such exhaustion. We all pass by as if nothing happens. I was more inclined to ask if he was ok, but if he was sleeping I didn't want to bother him. The trains take people from one place to another, but it is clear some people are stuck. Stuck in a moment, and we are all passing by with rapid motion, blurring any sense of calm.

But then again, it's just another day in New York City.

'Roof Piece' by Trisha Brown

2011-06-19T09:29:00.000-07:00

A little over a week ago, I went to the Highline to see Trisha Brown's recreation of her 1971 work, 'Roof Piece'. I am not a dancer (sad to say) and was only introduced to her work a year ago in an experimental dance class I took at NYU. Knowing that she was/is a huge part of dance history, especially in the downtown New York art scene, I was excited to finally witness her work. I decided to do little research on her 1971 piece and go see the current recreation of it as is. The title gives away the location, but not much more.

(What's in a title?)

My friend and I arrived at the Highline approximately 5 minutes before the expected showtime. It was pouring and I was curious to see how the dancers would incorporate the rain into the piece or if the piece would be cancelled altogether. Just then, as in an almost divine intervention, the rain stopped. 10 dancers were placed on various roofs in the Chelsea neighborhood. The dancers all wore red, which was an interesting color choice, but also very utilitarian in that it aided the audience in increased visibility in the darkening sunlight. Most of the dancers were visible from anywhere on the Highline, but some of them needed to be found, hidden away like obscure objects. The dance commenced and my eyes couldn't focus on one dancer. The improvisations bounced off each dancer, informing the other. The dancers similar movement was interesting in that the movements reminded me of labor- the mechanization of movements in capitalism. An odd reading, I must admit, but with all the bodies doing the same thing, and doing it in such a way where movement, rather than emotion was at the forefront of the piece, this is what entered my mind. The piece was only 30 minutes, a perfect amount of time for such an improvisation. The bodies flowing movement, against the landscape of the hard, concrete city and beautiful New York skyline created a wondrous moment of beauty. Freedom. To be dancing on the rooftops of Manhattan!

Body v. Concrete

A molding of

an added

sculpture

of living, breathing

cement

Time for transition

2011-06-08T19:16:00.001-07:00

Changes come as quickly as they go. Things that take a lifetime get accomplished in a minute, by adding two letters to the end of your name. Thoughts get reproduced by the body in a daily activity called routine. A desire to stop this routine. Ru-teen. Time is made important by the labor of work.

Found objects provide nostalgic memories of places not yet been, but ubiquitous in dreams.

Longing and desire seep through the river of blood coiling at each nerve ending until organs are on fire.

to be

I want to be

a body

a body without

organs

how free we could all be

without this judgement

to wander free and mercilessly into the forrest of heaven, wherever that may be in our place of solitude, the imagination.

Secret Survivors

2011-03-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

Secret Survivors, a show with the Ping Chong Theatre company is about the secret lives and stories behind Child Sex Abuse survivors. The show is presented with 5 men and women who tell their stories onstage in an interconnected web of details recited from each of the individuals. The success of the show is that instead of focusing on trauma from an individual perspective, the story focuses on the collective trauma that arises from all people who have experienced CSA. The ensemble cast creatively tells all the stories of the survivors, with each person taking on different roles in parts of the stories- in this way, the retelling of the story allows them to be the victim and perpetrator, oscillating between points of power, reliving and retelling their stories in all angles. The stories are compelling and uncomfortable- tales of incest, or pedophile teachers, or friends that don’t know boudnaries. The show highlights the pervasiveness of CSA in an attempt to let the voices of the silenced victims be heard and to acknowledge the ubiquity of this problem. CSA is something most people are too ashamed to talk about, because the victims are most often led to believe it is their fault. Secret Survivors does a wonderful job at demonstrating the stories and complexity of CSA.

Phobophilia

2011-01-09T19:22:00.000-08:00

I was lucky enough to go see 2boyz.tv at HERE arts center, for their show Phobophilia. I was even luckier to have worked with them over the summer in Chiapas, Mexico for the Art and Resistance course I took.

In the workshop over the summer, my mind went places that I hadn't felt in a long time. The 2 boyz took us and blind folded us-- put our hands on someone's shoulder in front of us, and made us walk the streets of Chiapas, for what seemed like an eternity. At first, my thoughts raced-- I was scared I was going to fall, I kept kicking the person in front of me and everything seemed so strange without being able to see. After maybe 15 minutes, I relinquished those thoughts and became free. The experiential evidence that I was able to walk blind folded, the trust we all felt holding on to each other and the intensified sounds and sensations were intoxicating. My mind seemed like a blank canvas, in which I could place anything or anyone. I felt unstoppable.

Without the forced imagery of vision, imagination took over.

When I read the synopsis of Phobophilia (the love of Fear) I knew it would be somewhat similar, but definitely not the same.

Entering the theatre, we were all asked to wait in the lobby. We were then escorted to the basement where ushers took our coats and jackets. At this point, I was already happy at the subversion of the audience-performer relationship. All of us were then blindfolded, and put our hands on the person in front of us. Except this time, we were all strangers. It felt weird. The feeling of fear, tripping, not knowing where I was going consumed me again. When I got to my seat, I felt relieved. I was also a bit sad, it didn't last longer, which made me think, do I love fear too?

Fear does have somewhat of an intoxicating, pressing, teasing feeling to it.

In the the theatre we see a male, his head covered in black cloth and his arms extended out, like that of Abu Ghraib. He is wearing plain clothes. He is visibly uncomfortable, wavering back and forth, the tension in his arms physically weighing him down.

I empathized with him as a performer. It looked uncomfortable and painful.

After everyone was seated a mirage of images and sound flooded the stage. Helicopters, screams, dogs, doors, lovemaking....one could never be quite sure, the cacophonous sound blending into unknown zones of discomfort.

Video images were projected onto a black box. The brilliant, adept and creative use of projection proved intensely watchable.

A voice questions in the background in French....the performer answers in French and English. It is reminiscent of the interrogation methods we know too well.

Phobophilia was definitely an experience not to be missed. An innovative, questioning look at ourselves and relationships with fear. A comment on the politics of modern day and the encapsulating fear we face in our daily lives.

Resolutions I will surely break

2010-12-28T17:22:00.000-08:00

As the end of the year is approaching, many of us will have too much time on our hands (see holiday) and think about family, friends, loved ones and things that we want to improve about ourselves in the upcoming year.

Surprise.

I am no different. I had the (mis)fortune of not going home this year, but instead enjoying my first ever New York blizzard. My boyfriend came to me, and my parents will visit two weeks into the new year.

2010 was a year of big change for me. When I think about the past several years, I haven't had so much change since 2007. However, 2007 was a very shitty year, with mostly terrible things, but 2010 has been a mixed bag.

I worked and left my first "real job".

I moved across the country with two suitcases.

My obsessive, passionate romance turned long distance.

I started my Master's program.

I worked on some projects in Mexico and with collaborators, and pushed myself to DO things.

Sometimes I miss a lot about my old life. I miss the comfort at my old job, the feeling of family. I miss my friends who would meet me for margaritas after work, my friends to make films with, my friends to take photos with. The feeling of longing and nostalgia has never been so strong.

But I know I am creating more memories here. And this new life I am creating has pushed me into a new place. I am stronger. I trust myself more in some ways and don't understand myself in others. This year has not been without its challenges. All the "newness" can disorient you.

Suffice it to say, this year was a year of incredible growth. Of new beginnings. Of new ends.

In an attempt to remain trite, but not overly cheesy, here are some resolutions I am sure to break for 2011, and some desires thrown in their for good measure just so I can remember what I really want.

1. Stop fucking worrying about money- I seriously have issues in this area. My student loan debt is hella scary for sure, but it shouldn't ruin my life. Money should never be attached to emotions, it should just be something you need to get by.

2. Remember always that love and health is all you really need in life. All the rest is extra.

3. (ready for SUPER trite?) Go to the gym- I don't want to lose weight. I don't want to get a "hot bod". I want to get in shape. I miss swimming like I did in High school (god, that was ages ago). I also think this will help with me overall general malaise and worry problems.

4. Cool my temper. Most people wouldn't think I have a temper. Often, I don't. Sadly, for the people I love the most, sometimes I can be a real jerk. In short, I want to calm the fuck down.

5. Acceptance- maybe it is my slight OCD, but sometimes I have a hard time accepting things that I don't like. Whether it is the way I look, a grade I got on a paper, or something else unexpected, sometimes I just don't deal well. I need to let go more and hang on less.

Why worry about things you cannot control or change?

Some of my goals for 2011:

1) graduate with MA from NYU and have thesis not suck

2) get a job that doesn't make me want to kill myself and that can assist me in paying my loans and rent.

3) Travel more- if financially possible (most likely contingent on #2)

4) Continue artistic expression- poetry, videos, photos, performance. I feel I have pushed myself this year and want to continue the momentum and not just graduate and be done with it. I want the creative energy to continue to flow even if I am in school or not.

5) Practicar mi español,portugués, y francais

6) Continue to push myself. Stop worrying about making mistakes. Mistakes are learning opportunities.

7) Give back in some way- financially, emotionally or just volunteering some place.

After writing this, sometimes I feel like we make resolutions because we want what we think is the perfect life. We want the perfect job, the perfect partner, the perfect body-- all of these things based on irrational desire. On the other hand, I think what is a life without goals.

If you don't know where you are going, any road will take you there.

So for 2011, I guess I just want more peace and happiness? Doesn't everyone?

Return of Ulysses, Bread and Puppet Theatre

2010-12-17T22:08:00.000-08:00

Bread and Puppet Theatre is in NYC!

The Return of Ulysses:

Black and white, dark and light, modern sky above me, antique sky below me.

I feel like I'm in a William Kentridge drawing.

What is left?

the price of war, the price of death.

Of human capital.

Absurdist farm animals grazing on ideas of anti-capitalism.

Dissonance.

Metaphor over material.

Substance over object.

DESTINY, TIME, LOVE, HUMAN FRAGILITY.

farmers rake dismembered body parts. hands no longer for the holding. faces only for the dying.

Violence- BUSINESS AS USUAL.

Brothers and Sisters and MotherFuckers

2010-12-17T21:49:00.000-08:00

Which one are you?

On Wednesday night I attended Brothers and Sisters and MotherFuckers at PS122, an original piece created by Dynasty Handbag, AKA Jibz Cameron. After taking her persona class at NYU, and talking about family, persona types and trauma, I wanted to see the work she had put so much time into.

The show was ambitious-- Dynasty played all four characters in the show! The protagonist, the bratty younger sister, the miserly, overly talkative and concerned older sister, and the well intentioned, "good guy" brother. The three siblings were all performed via video, and Dynasty acted with them in real time, creating an interesting dynamic of real and recorded. Her timing was impeccable, I almost forgot we were watching videos at some point.

As stated in the show at the beginning, "This is a story that has been told a million times....". However, the irony and compelling characters make it worth watching and a perfect holiday show to remind you exactly why you don't want to go home this year. The show's insight into familial banter at the dinner table during the holidays is keen and witty.

I have so much respect for Ms. Handbag and her ability to pull off such an incredibly monstrous performance feat. You can definitely see how much work and tireless effort was put into the show.

I am left with trying to match my family to the characters....and who am I? I am an only child, so I'm not a brother or a sister....but am I.....?

Crave me together

2010-07-15T18:56:00.000-07:00

Desire with no where to go, festering inside these organs that just sit here, doing nothing. Movement amongst the silence, taking upon the qualities of madness, for my lover, 3000 miles away, is fading from my physical memory. I am ready. Take me. But don't leave. I will fall apart.

Creation

Temple

Love

sacrifice

joy

money

debt

doubling

dying

finding

exacting

cutting

looking

feeling

tension

hands

fingertips upon writing me into poetry

gaze always follow from the male's eye

follow follow

find

another

word

for

dis(cover)

Grasp

2010-07-07T20:06:00.001-07:00

Our bodies stayed silent, while our hands said everything.

Forgiveness

2010-06-14T22:12:00.000-07:00

I am asking for forgiveness. To clear the air. To get rid of this muddled, tainted feeling that is relentless. I have put myself out there, standing alone.

Will you meet me half way?

Hello New York

2010-06-12T08:45:00.001-07:00

A new life, a new chapter. I have started school again. I am a student again. Broke and educated, beautiful and loving I hope this leads to something. We can all try our best and hope for the best and just work towards a goal.

I felt lonely the first couple of days. My life, my identity was stuck in L.A with everything I left. I miss my friends, my boyfriend, my family.

But I am going to define myself now....work on myself. I am going to travel to Mexico and study with Zapatistas (how rad is that?).

Finding myself in this crazy world and crazy city.....

Flames of light

2010-04-17T23:16:00.001-07:00

I was reminiscing this week about all of the people that have come into my life and then gone. Whether lovers or just friends, some people seem to be there for a certain period of your life, then vanishing as quickly as the wind that brought it there. After starting to get a bit melancholic over the situation, I then thought to myself that it seemed that everyone i was no longer with, had served its purpose during that time.

People are like little flames of light that come into your life. Some are just a spark, some are a long simmer, illuminating your world for a lifetime. But sometimes, with those ephemeral sparks, we want more and we try to create that spark again, but it is dead. The absence of light and heat is daunting, but there usually is a candle, standing sturdy in the background.

keeping the light alive and enjoying the sparks that have passed.

The title is everything, for which, in this, I have nothing

2010-03-07T13:24:00.000-08:00

The presence of her is still here.
Our parents are not what we'd want them to be and the past is a constant reminder of the things we haven't done. The future mocks us with possibility, and we jump higher to catch the carrot.
Feed me, my love.
Package me and sell me, to the masses.
My soul covered in bubble wrap and sent to India.
You will find parts of me everywhere.
This is globalization.
Soon my thoughts will automatically be twittered into the universe.
there will be no use for these mouths, these bodies, except to suck the life out of each other, with a simple kiss, which will remind us of the simple things, the way they were before.

The leaves have changed their colors

2010-02-28T13:34:00.000-08:00

and the seasons have changed. Change. Who would have thought my life, my little life would change so much. With a thought dropped into the ocean, a wish upon a star, the change hit me abrubtly. My life is on the move. NYC here I come. Scared and happy, trying to roll with the tide.

Please be wonderful in disguise.

Thought for the day

2009-11-24T17:05:00.000-08:00

There are no mistakes, just things that happen or don't happen.

Start with, End With

2009-11-24T13:09:00.000-08:00

For once I am writing and in a good mood! haha.....I had a shitty day yesterday, just one of those days where nothing goes right, and now I feeling refreshed and happy, reveling in the fact that I have no control of certain things. Life is ok. Comparatively, life is fucking amazing.

Thanksgiving is coming soon, and I am so thankful for my friends, my bf, my small apt, the food i can buy and my job. The food bank line is getting long as we speak and it makes you realize, if people will wait outside for 6 hours in the cold for food, there level of need is different than yours.

How often do we put our blinders on? We get caught up in the bourgeois, the petty, the soulless.....if you have food, health, friends and shelter, we have life, we have love. We can only work for more, but we are not entitled to more.

We need to share more love, not hate.
Love yourself above anyone else.
Do one good thing a day.
Get some perspective.

what will all of this mean in 20 years? 50? 100? the constant pariah of time gnawing on our ephemeral souls and hearts. the moment is now.

take it.

make it yours.

find love in your world.

Heal.

With teeth

2009-08-14T10:09:00.000-07:00

I keep dreaming my teeth are falling out....what could this mean. Only in dreams.

quick draw

2009-07-27T21:13:00.000-07:00

the last photos taken, the last money spent, there are no cures, only maladies in times like these, the mind is a trap, and a clever one at that, the destruction follows you around like a foul smell, just to let you know he is always there

climbing against walls of lemon eyes and sugar cane, the desert feeds my oblivious soul. there is nothing. fabricated non-truths, styled very well for verity's sake.

how is there more, but less, disintegrating, anger, finding, looking, always something, there is no letting go. cling out of fear, out of loneliness, out of curiosity.

i will find the way and the dream soon, just keep searching, don't let it get you down, all of this information, sinking into my brain, ignore the useless, we waste too much time, but im so busy, but i waste, im not productive enough, or pretty enough, enough enough ehough ive had enough! i can only be so so so so nice and i try, i do, walk please

towards me, my love, i want you need you feel you live never before under the stars of my skin and the universe of my heart

cool.

i think so.

it happened before.

sure.

you never liked it.

no, you didn't.

how could he

how could she

not possible

it could only happen to you

you are the prettiest

you are the best

if the world ends now, i want to be in your arms.

so, find me.

I hope he is right

2009-06-30T01:37:00.000-07:00

Moving, loving, escaping reality, or by escaping we mean running with our eyes closed.

He doesn't want me. He doesn't need me. I am a joke, a young toy to play with, but nothing else.

I'm too old, he sees me dying on the inside, it is not secret.

There is too much pain in this world.

I try to let it go.

But it lingers

like a heavy weight

upon a heart that was never quite sure of itself.

Best. Quote. Ever.

2009-06-02T22:56:00.001-07:00

At a cafe and i overhear, "I look like freaking R2D2 on crack!..............it was a very enjoyous experience"

haha.

Identity

2009-05-11T21:37:00.000-07:00

What are we besides a puddle of social conditions and stimuli? what is it that makes us actually us? do we find things sexy because they really are or we are conditioned to think so....been in a contemplative mood lately. pensive as hell, thoughts meandering on the mindless terrain of obsession.

i want to create something real. i want to feel this way forever. i keep sliding back to the memories, back and forth, good and bad and remembering what could be.....

sometimes you just wonder

what
it
really
is

the
fact
that
we
are
all
here
and
doing
what

is
the
point

i
mean
really

think

really

think

for you

your

yourself

think for yourself

can

we

even

do that

i am

i am not

i am not sure.

Following the follower, sinking below

2009-05-05T22:50:00.000-07:00

I'm so lame about this blog. Been traveling to Death Valley, SF, Salton Sea, and oh so beautiful Riverside. Shot my first experimental film with my friend. Learned a bit of dark room. Good times to be had.

i still don't know what the hell i want...what i am doing. constant push, pulls, lonely hammerings of melancholic memories.

i want to travel more, worry less.
i want more coffee and booze, but should drink tea.
I want to NEVER WORRY ABOUT MONEY.
Fucking capitalism ass rapes people, we are slaves to it.
hyper active mind fucking keep analytical booty in tact.
memories flushing out of toilets, love overflowing hearts in hands of time that passes on to each other again and again, when will the pattern end, moving towards nothing, but everything is happening, no time to think, just go, i just want to sleep a bit, maybe make some love with that guy i love so much and cocoon myself into nothingness. yes i used cocoon as a verb.

so there.

Touched

2009-03-21T23:41:00.000-07:00

Love and the pursuit of happiness

2008-08-10T16:35:00.000-07:00

The greatness of lovers outweigh the tragedy of the mundane.
Smiles override tears, while passion pervades weakness.
Strength climbs in every pore saying yes yes, i've found you with a declarative kiss.

If I'm dreaming don't wake me up

Collision of caution

2008-07-16T08:05:00.000-07:00

well, hello dear non-existent audience, it's been a while. I have been busy, very busy, but for all the good reasons and I am very happy. The temptress of time has seduced me, taken me over, I am getting stronger, more mature, I feel a change, there is light behind my eyes again, not a flashy old motel 'vacant' sign.

incredible.

life can be really amazing, and I am trying to keep my head up and keep it that way. hopefully more writings soon, but I hope you can see this smile.

The Sex of Secrets

2008-06-25T09:10:00.001-07:00

hearts race as breath quickens, the new touch dissolves into fingerprints, tainting the pure skin which was absolved of all its lies. the soul sighs mercilessly in joy, finally being touched, don't stop, don't stop, not now....cement this moment of verity, tell me it's real.

Ease of ashes

2008-06-01T23:42:00.000-07:00

"Who will save us...your smile is on fire....still my heart will let you down....everyone in this room they got troubles too, secret stories of lives that we never knew...."

My new poppy delight! Oh my god, I could just bob my head, sucking on lolipops smiling to this shit.

But my favorite lyric..."why is it that two people can't feel the same way at the same time"

http://www.thesubmarines.com/

I saw the Cure last night. Wine. Robert Smith. Sad emo...hot friend. Love love all around. The most beautiful thing I saw was this lesbian couple and one of the girls took her gf's hand and raised it, and said "I am marrying this woman!"...I don't particularly believe in marriage as an institution, but this was a great moment to witness. Pure love and passion.

I miss that. I can wait.

One heart to break...many to fizzle...does someone have any glue?

"Everyday we wake up, we choose love, we choose light...."

I will try, thank you Submarines.

The best thing that never happened to me

2008-05-28T08:50:00.000-07:00

I thought this was different. Isn't that what we all say, all the time. 'This time it's different' and when the same shit happens, we are cursing ourselves, why, why, why, the interrogative why mocks any semblance of rationality and sanity. I followed my heart. I followed it so far, I fell over, encapsulated by the lens, until I saw him leaving the frame, oh wait, that's not the frame, that's my life, he is leaving my life, at least I have a picture. A picture that he was here. We were here, there was something, I didn't make it up, not this time, even though I do dream about it. Let's go back to pretend, I am sick of reality, let's just go back to making pretty pictures. I can pretend to be pretty and put on a nice face, it will all work out. And I am not jealous one bit despite my green face. I don't hear anything. Your silence speaks volumes. I fell in love with your strories and you with my words, but they are all substitutes for what we really are.

You will never know the essence of me, because you never reached out to touch it. Sitting here stewing in my own thoughts, curdling rotten things making milk out of love.

I want something that I can never have. I have set myself up for the eternal dissapointment. And there is no one else to blame because i positioned myself in such a way, the story had made itself before I even entered it. So perfect. So perfucked. It's like it never happened. We can erase any mirage that it did. But you can't take away the picture. For one moment, you were honest.

Left with pixels and words to swim with and cuddle at night.

Dissected Beauty

2008-05-07T14:23:00.000-07:00

and sometimes this is exactly how I feel.

As it were

2008-05-05T22:43:00.000-07:00

wonderful wetness inspiring streams of strain, amidst the pain of attachment, the caress spills over to the rational...assuage me, mollify me....the cuddles cadence, muffles that voice.

thank you. a hand, a touch, a love, a something, a kiss, a something. it all means nothing but it means everything colliding into space of molecular insignia.

kisses for that memory and longing for it to come back.

Dinner of Pimps: an anecdote

2008-04-28T22:24:00.000-07:00

He did it. He really did it.

So I met a painter a couple weeks ago at this really rad show. He had tater tots near his work, and I was so happy, blown away, oddly interested that someone would have tater tots as a snack near their art. We get to chatting and I say, "this is awesome. You have tater tots! This is dinner of pimps man!"...he said, "what did you say?"..."I said, this is dinner of pimps, I mean come on, fucking tater tots for dinner."

He said, "that is brilliant, I want to make a painting out of it, with neon colors, and tater tots, that says dinnner of pimps!"...weird where inspiration comes from.

me: "oh my god, do it, it will be hilarious"

him: "for sure"

now maybe I am skeptical, or just have had enough people say things they don't really mean or know that people don't often follow through (seriously lacking in the human race), but he fucking did it. He just sent me a picture on the phone...

this is good, because my lack of sleep, and not yet sleeping and thinking was depressing me...it is nice to know some people do what they say they will. and find little crazy phrase laden minds sexy and make paintings out of.

YES!

Places, Faces, Suitcases

2008-04-16T00:22:00.000-07:00

I think the best places to people watch are bars, airports and parks. I cannot wait for San Fran in a little over a week. Next week will be crazy good. I have been so productive today, I feel good.

People are so inherently interesting and complex...seems like I have met a slew of new people lately, all of which are very interesting and interconnected.

I feel like dancing in my underwear...maybe I will.

Exuding Extremes

2008-03-14T14:23:00.000-07:00

Phantom rings of phones and things, the besot mess of this bliss, kiss, abyss into the ditch of power. Submerged, submissive in the blind looking for the kind, where are you, searching for two, maybe three, drink glee, jump happy, quick snappy, you don't respond, restless, joyless, passionless, more less. Grinding down shades of gray into crumbs, particles of past pictures present, molecules of movement managing the menace, filling in the empty holes with spackle. Strength pervades weakness, one point for me, you lose, I am lost, it's a play can't you see? Stuck in traffic on the freeway of desire, you fucking liar, hold me, mold me, whatever you want I have.

Red Tape

2008-03-13T15:37:00.001-07:00

Hold on
One moment
Someone will be right with you
May I help you?
Please sign here
You forgot this part
Oh, you're in the wrong place
Who are you here to see?
We don't do that
Let me call someone that might know what you're talking about
This will take two weeks
We don't give out that information
Please hold, the line is busy
Wait time, 10 minutes
All lines are STILL busy, wait time 30 minutes
You've reached the wrong number
Who is this?
Ummm....
well let me refer you....

Current thoughts:
Frustration with school systems, medical offices, all bureaucratic institutions
Monogamy, politics, sex-- Eliot Spitzer-- who the fuck would pay up to 80 grand for pussy?! What a spectacle that story is.
Claritin D will mess up your brain and heart rate!
Being quasi-sick, but ok is a damn nuisance.
Air is good.
Sometimes I want to be a cat.

Muted Fracture

2008-03-02T01:26:00.000-08:00

"The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it"

Nothing left but empty minds and rotten hearts. Bloodless bodies baking in their own sin.

Fallible

2008-02-28T15:56:00.000-08:00

I am getting caught up, caught in, sucked up, sucked in, dried out. I fell for it, then fell over, then bent over and it was all over. Goodbye forgiveness, hello sunshine, I still feel the stubble on your skin. Move me, make me move, immobile in heart, luminous in stature, I don't make sense. Do you want to come here? Join the party. It's fun I promise.

I'm getting dissolved in the smoke, but coming up bricks. My flowers are blooming amidst the sea so powerful the sun so bright.

Give me something honest, something true, I want to see the real you. Do you even know who that is?
Note: whatever I write can be construed as fact or fiction, and as I know the reader will take the words however they so choose, so whether you believe it is true or not is completely irrelevant to if it actually is. Writing for me is an amalgamation of things expressed.

For the misguided mishaps misleading me to you

2008-02-17T18:53:00.000-08:00

i- yes, please

I want, but can't have.
I look, but can't see.
I wait for you in an empty room and my mind is boiling with thoughts of your erotic incantations. Your talent and intelligence seduced me. "Oh, you're a silly girl", the ghost whispers. I ignore the ghost, but know he is right.

I am in love with a mirage. But doesn't it feel good? Dreams have always been better than reality. I WANT HIM. Desire has never burned so bright, or more pathetic in its luminescence.

ii- no, thank you
I messed up. I made a mistake. It wasn't there, it was never there, I conjured it up in my head, till I believed it was real. They are laughing, an orchestra of laughs, caucophony of insults playing their sad melody, and I smile, smiling, spewing forced glee. My makeup runs down my face while I am crying, but with a grin so big the Cheshire cat is jealous. How could something so real, be so fake?

iii- maybe
maybe I would.
maybe I wouldn't.
maybe mocks the meaning by teatering on a see-saw.
PICK A DAMN SIDE.
he said maybe. How could my yes, resort a resounding maybe?
maybe waits and waits.
The jeapordy song plays.
Alex Trebec is getting older.
Maybe I should find something else to do.

Eros/Venus/Aphrodite

2008-02-14T19:27:00.001-08:00

Anne Sexton is my poetic lover.

The Kiss

My mouth blooms like a cut.I've been wronged all year, tedious nights, nothing but rough elbows in them and delicate boxes of Kleenex calling cry baby cry baby , you fool!Before today my body was useless.Now it's tearing at its square corners.It's tearing old Mary's garments off, knot by knot and see -- Now it's shot full of these electric bolts.Zing! A resurrection!Once it was a boat, quite wooden and with no business, no salt water under it and in need of some paint. It was no more than a group of boards. But you hoisted her, rigged her.She's been elected.My nerves are turned on. I hear them like musical instruments. Where there was silence the drums, the strings are incurably playing. You did this.Pure genius at work. Darling, the composer has stepped into fire.

The Fury of Cocks

There they are drooping over the breakfast plates, angel-like, folding in their sad wing, animal sad, and only the night before there they were playing the banjo. Once more the day's light comes with its immense sun, its mother trucks, its engines of amputation. Whereas last night the cock knew its way home, as stiff as a hammer, battering in with all its awful power. That theater. Today it is tender, a small bird, as soft as a baby's hand. She is the house. He is the steeple. When they fuck they are God. When they break away they are God. When they snore they are God. In the morning thet butter the toast. They don't say much. They are still God. All the cocks of the world are God, blooming, blooming, blooming into the sweet blood of woman.

When man enters woman

When man,
enters woman,
like the surf biting the shore,
again and again,
and the woman opens her mouth with pleasure
and her teeth gleam
like the alphabet,
Logos appears milking a star,
and the man
inside of woman
ties a knot
so that they will
never again be separate
and the woman
climbs into a flower
and swallows its stem
and Logos appears
and unleashes their rivers.
This man,
this woman
with their double hunger,
have tried to reach through
the curtain of God
and briefly they have,
through God
in His perversity
unties the knot.

I am not them

2008-02-12T23:04:00.000-08:00

I am not them, the ones who walk their dogs during the day.
I am not them, the people who shop and chat, conversing on the phone.
I am not them, the people who make love at night and drink coffee in the morning.
I am not them, the politicos with their ideas of change and thoughts of nothingness.
I am not them, the people who think they are the only ones.
I am not them, those who think intelligence is worthless.
I am not them, the talkers and the walkers with nothing behind it.
I am not them, the people behind shams and drudgery.
I am not them, but wonder who they are.
I am not them, but deal with them with a smile.
I am not them, but they define me.
I am not them, but they make me sick.
I am not them, but can't help but wish.
I am not them, but I'm pissed.
I am not them, but wonder how they live.
I am not them, but wonder how they love.
I am not them, so loneliness follows me.
I am not them, so
I am not them, so
I am not them, so