The past few months have sped right past me, leaving me with various little bruises but rosy, hopeful cheeks. I’ve been living with this strange expectancy, knowing full well what I must do but not knowing how it will come to pass. I’ve got a path, but I can’t see where it goes because my eyes are stuck on either the cobblestones beneath my feet or the swirling clouds above my head. The trees are walking along beside me, watching to see which way these feet will take me. I’ve been liberated from the frustrating and tedious process of filling out university applications (having submitted the very last just shy of two weeks ago), and have currently received acceptance letters from Washington State University in Pullman, WA and the University of Idaho in Moscow, ID. They happen to be about fifteen miles away from each other, and I’m not too jazzed about either. I should hear back from the rest sometime this week, and will be making a decision over the next two months.
The determining factors will be as follows:
1. Quality of program. (Will it prepare me for immediate employment?)
2. Length of time required to complete said program. (How will my credits transfer?)
3. Cost of attendance, especially as relates to above. (Out of state vs. In state, grants, scholarships, etc.)
4. Location. (Middle of nowhere, ID vs. Charlottesville, VA- is there really a contest?)
I guess I should inform my readership (which I believe consists of one, maybe two people) what relevance all of this university talk has. Well, I received an Associate’s Degree last Spring, and have since been attempting to learn how to stand on my two feet and obtain some “real life” education before stepping back into the academic world. This past year has been a fantastic crash course in life, but I’m on the edge of losing my sanity- working at a coffeeshop full time is not exactly leading me toward a career in Landscape Architecture, which is what I really want to do, so- I’m packing everything up and heading off to a university this Fall. Woohoo! I feel completely inadequate, unprepared, and terrified, but damnit, I’m excited. I’m not as concerned where I go as maybe I should be, but I am excited as hell to a) get out of Fredericksburg, b) go to college, and c) start focusing on what I want to make of myself.
I am also happy to be making some tentative plans for the summer. I hope to take a long trip out West- there is a niece and a nephew I have yet to meet, a brother I haven’t seen in years, beautiful natural monuments to revisit, parents to spend time with, a niece to hang out with in Seattle, a huge book store to be perused and various street signs to take pictures underneath in Portland, an organic farm and bed & breakfast to stay at in Idaho, and miles and miles of empty road to pass through. I’m dreaming of mountains and the smell of sagebrush after an afternoon thunderstorm. I really hope I can get my fella out to see why I love the West so much, and why even after falling in love with Virginia’s rolling hills, there’s still a part of me that craves the wild and untamable.
Which leads me to my next order of business. In order to make my summer plans a reality, I have to make a few changes. Over the next two and a half or so months, I’ll be slashing my list of possessions down by at least half, and living like I should have been living all along- simply. I’ll hopefully be giving away a lot of my clothing, and any other little things others may have need or want of, mostly books, art supplies, kitchen accessories, blankets, and other bits of unnecessaries I have managed to acquire over the past few years. It’s amazing how much stuff I have, and how little of it I actually use. But I digress- anything I can do to save money (not going out, not consuming) and to make money (possibly selling a painting or two) I must do, because sadly, I cannot barter my way out West or safely rely on my good looks. So I guess this is my public declaration of my intentions, and hopefully a way in which I can hold myself accountable. I shall be chronicling this journey to simplicity, to my beautiful west, and to landscape architecture, and I hope, beyond.

How’s that for laying on the cheese?

Here are my current/most recent inspirations:

Andy Goldsworthy- Thanks to a thoughtful Valentine's Day gift : )

I guess I always have to have some spiritual inspiration...

I love it when people lend me books!

Sixto Rodriguez, really random but pretty awesome.

Thoreau. Need I say more?

December 2, 2008

Tiny cuts where little knives
Have found to penetrate. My skin
Taut, cracking, nearly opaque
With sensation.

Closed the car door
Drove miles in hopes, of you
Waiting at the stop.
Began again.

Coin-operated soul
four quarters in, were found out
Of rainbow-colored cigarettes.
Get another.

Spindly little legs can barely walk
Neat as a pin, smiled. And
Entered through the well-signed
Exit door.

Listened to music by a band
who doesn’t play anymore. Here
Spoke your words, then we sang them.
Under night.

To go to that place,
You still salty on my tongue, I’m
Shattered. Tiny fragments, listen to a
Quiet tune.

little pieces made little cuts, where
I left them. Sharp tiny knives
At the end, I’ll start peeling.
With intention.

December 8, 2008

Driving home, cold morning, cold seatbelt.
My cigarette burns my throat less than the cold,
A sensation not unlike the swelling of tears.
Watch the sky, wait for the storm.

For some reason its colder here, Hurts more
than the bright bitter of ten below with wind.
There’s nothing to fear. Wood stove-warmed
Concrete with paint peeling under my toes.

Spiders crawling up the walls, spinning
As they go. Making patterns on my drywall.
Papering it with my 13-year-old mind
And tiny iridescent silken webs.

Rare snow days, foot of white, blazing blind
Stay inside and read and make up stories.
Never was much for sketching, but if
I’d had a mind I’d write for miles.

Tumbling through the cascade of white,
Falling like the delicate crystals that melt
In my hair, on my skin, on my paper tongue.
I’m measuring the snowfall.

I didn’t have to work today after all, so I spent some time working on a piece I started at the beginning of the month. I tend to work too quickly when I paint, afraid that I’ll lose inspiration once the paint begins to dry. But with this piece I felt like I needed to be patient, to take my time in studying it, and forming the brushstrokes in my head, adding a bit of white one day, a bit more green the next. I think it’s finished, or nearly so. I’d appreciate input/constructive criticism.

Currently untitled, possibly “love like orchids”

Acrylic on masonite

Bust Detail

And here are some pictures of my tiny kit-kat, full name Bellatrix Jayne Hare but normally just called, ‘kitty’ ‘tiny’ or ‘kitkat.’

Happy Thanksgiving everyone, I’ll be back at the keyboard either Friday or Saturday.

November 25, 2008

I wish my neighbor would not keep their television on 24 hours a day. It’s really becoming a nuisance.

I was inspired by Whitney’s post, and want to post my own list of things I am thankful for. So here it is, not in its entirety, but nonetheless:

-    my tiny, warm, fuzzy kitty nestled up against my chest when I’m in bed. She purrs so loudly it’s almost obnoxious, but mostly it’s comforting, and adorable.
-    Family. I’ve been loving the intense conversations I’ve had with my mother recently; our relationship has grown so much lately and I appreciate her wisdom so much.
-    Having a car that works. It’s nice to be mobile.
-    being able to have pink hair. It gets attention, yes, but I love being young and free and able to express myself in such obvious ways.
-    Having my own place. It’s home, as much as it can be without my family around. I’m establishing myself as an individual, as an adult… I love learning to stand on my own two feet, even though it’s hard.
-    Friends. I have few here, but I appreciate them so much. I am slowly building a tiny community of people with whom I can share inspiration, and beliefs, and passions, and ideas. It’s coming very slowly, but just knowing that I have people who care about me is a balm in times where society has become so impersonal.
-    My country. I’m proud to live here, in a fresh blue state, in a country that demanded change. November 5th, I’m thankful for that day.
-    New experiences, with new people.
-    Bartenders who know my name, and my drink. Not because I’m an alcoholic, but because I’m a townie.
-    Fredericksburg. This town is so much better, now that it’s mine… I work here, live here, hang out here. This is a great little town.
-    Brown eyes.
-    A job that I care about. I care about the people I work for and with, and care about the business we maintain together… it is nice to work at a place that revolves around the people who run it, and who they serve, rather than the brand, the name, the reputation.
-    Good espresso, quality coffee. It makes a difference.
-    Laundry days. I get to read my book, get out of my house… and I love folding fresh-smelling, still-warm clothes.
-    My brother. I don’t get to see him much any more, but we text constantly and he is always there to reassure me and keep me sane when things seem crazy and I can’t handle my emotions.
-    Music. I thought it would be terrible to live without my ipod, and large library of music… but I’m enjoying what I have, and building on it slowly and thoughtfully. I am listening to Phosphorescent right now, and am learning all the lyrics to the handful of albums I have recently acquired. I am appreciating music more these days.
-    Animals. Tiny cat. Warm. Fuzzy. Entertaining. Scratchy. Crazy dog. Bitey. Squeaky. Adorable. Oh the things we put up with, when we have pets.
-    Food. Having struggled off and on with an eating disorder, I have a strange relationship with food. I love food, and I love having an appetite, and trying to maintain a healthy lifestyle.
-    Learning how to be. This past month has been emotional, and a struggle at times… some days I think I’m fine, others I think I might not make it. But all in all, I know who I am, know where I want to go, and I am thankful for the life I have, and that which I am able to share with others. Life is a wonderful, difficult, delicate, passionate, and confusing thing.

Something stolen from me, in the dead of night, chilly and cloaked and understood. I ended comfort, I ended security. I am afraid of being myself, of being someone that people may not like… so I covered with someone who was normal. I liked it. It was approachable. I was in love, with someone. I stayed inside, a cozy house, a warm chair and kittens and lovely little boring things. Nothing beautiful, everything blank and dry. Patient. I’m trying, I’ll be alright.

I would much rather be a passerby than carrion, a bag with a name and a tag that said I was yours. I hurt, I caused it; I’m sorry. I’m going to start a war, like a lyric to a shared song. I don’t have much left at all, but this I will remember to share with you. We went and were normal, maybe love, maybe forever. I wanted more, always, didn’t want to complicate things. Didn’t want to leave you, couldn’t justify. Couldn’t stay. You’ll know.
Never part of your family, your pretty little family.

I love the early morning, in the dark. Silent, hiding, mostly I feel alive. I found my headphones, but someone stole my music. All of it, gone, but most of it didn’t belong to me. Soft blankets, feminine feelings, unbelievably soft legs, lips that want to be kissed and a heart that knows it cannot fly. A deep breath and a longing. A deep breath and a yawn.

I’m still in this town, la-de-da-de-da-de-dada, this pretty little town. A stranger in a familiar town, known but aloof without trying. Typical, so typical, like a lyric in a song we shared. Piano keys I know your fingers will touch, I’ll be remembered in those little in-betweens, in the air, separate, maybe. It’s too much to expect. I care, I care, I do. I want to be something other than what normal little nothings, simple, nothings, mediocre paintings I have problems and need to leave. I wanted so much, but couldn’t make it with clumsy fingers. Can’t complete this pattern with threads that don’t match, don’t make sense.

Learn to be alone. Learn to do what I couldn’t do with an excuse. Must hear, must breathe, must be. I’m. settled, romantic, tender, open, protected, soft, tough, shallow, interested, violent.rooted.lonely, free, unnoticed, inspired, sold precious. So dear, so dear. As little as I’d like, I’m going to seem a little

fragile.

-Here’s one:

Maybe a little trade
Pinpricks, yarn tied round
Simple knots.
Little lives, settled
In bellies and warm.
Open, wide, come in
I’d like it very much,

Just some simple tale
roses, what she’d like
a girl, they like them.
Generic, simple.
Sweet, no blame.

Enveloped in hours, time
Like books we never read.
Laid on the stand
By the bed we unmade.

I’d like a little sand
To tell, raw like weeds
Wet with worry. Legs,
And hands and feet
Open, stale, for air
We saved it all
Fortunate, squalored.

Spoken slow, slurred
With tears I couldn’t share,
Hands, glass between
Pillows, lashes,
Blues, clear blind eyes.

I’d like some time
But would not ask.
Slipping farther, going West
Into the shy wind where I live.

September 11, 2008

Collect the moments one by one, Guess that’s how the future’s done. Oh oh oh.

Can we all live together, like a family, the way it was when things were easier? Oh but they were never easy. We’ve all got it hard. Anyways I guess we all just learn to give, learn to go, learn to take, learn to grow. The summer’s over, now it’s time to hole away and work to ready ourselves for the long cold. We all got it bad.

I fixed my sink tonight. Stayed up late watching episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Went to a classy all-night joint with a friend. Talked about gypsies and communal living. Makes me remember, makes me want to pick up a mandolin and shred some clothes. I love my comfy cushion, but outside is nice as well. Trees and dirt and leaves are nice too. Mountains, oh Pretty mountains! Dreams of going west. The east is soaking me up. I need to be wrung out, then hung out in the chill wind to dry. I need mountains and valleys and green.

I got a job at Hyperion Espresso about two and a half weeks ago. I still have two and a half more weeks to struggle through at Corporate (otherwise known as Starbucks.) I’m still feeling humble and awkward when I walk down the red brick sidewalk, and through the glass door on the corner. I say hello, smile, try not to seem out of place as I jump up the narrow stairway. I don’t fit there yet, but it seems like I should. Corporate makes no sense for me; an independently-owned and operated downtown coffeeshop does. It feels strange, three years of working like an unappreciated old dog at 9 dollars an hour has left me tired and overworked, but making the transition is not as easy as you’d think. I run the show at Corporate, giving people tasks and dealing with irate “This doesn’t taste right” and “I said 6 Splenda!” customers all day has prepared me for dealing with the worst caffeine addicts this city has to offer. But when it comes to independent, I’m the new girl; I was taught how to run a “new” register, how to brew coffees, how to make mochas, how to deal with the addicts, how to restock condiment bar, etc., all of which I do as second nature at Corporate. It is a humbling experience being taught how to do something you’ve been doing for the past three years.

I hope that I will learn to love it, that I will become part of the family that has existed there for many, many years. I am the new girl again, not allowed near the espresso machine for fear that I will mess something up. I have trained people how to make lattes, but at this place, I wouldn’t dare try to touch the milk pitcher without permission. Watching these baristas do their magic has made Starbucks seem like a complete joke to me, and my excitement about a “perfect” cappuccino has turned to a feeling of beverage-making inadequacy. I guess I always knew it, but never quite admitted it to myself until now: Starbucks is a corporation. They try to make money. They make money by selling a mediocre product to consumers who don’t have time to wait for a perfectly crafted latte in a downtown shop, who would rather go through a drive-thru on their way to work than wake up ten minutes earlier. They cater to the blended beverage crowd of young adults, to the commuters who need a fix, to the soccer moms on their way to their kid’s ballet lessons or athletic events. They have made it this far doing what they do, and will continue to as long as they can ride the choppy waves of a bad economy. If McDonald’s can, they can.

I’m not saying Corporate is so terrible, or that anyone is terrible for buying their products; I’m simply saying that I am finished with it. Even if the other place doesn’t completely meet my expectations, I’m still very happy that I’ve managed to make the break after all these years. I love my downtown Burg, and I love working here. I can be myself, without a uniform or a hat or a fake smile or a band-aid and a long sleeve shirt hiding my art. I don’t have to say, “Would you like to try a pastry with that today?” or “Would you like to try one of our Nourishing Blends?” I’m on to the land of room for cream, single or double, with no whip, soy/rice/organic milk, organic French roast, for here cups, and recycling. Number ones, Karls, Christians, Mels, and real Macchiatos. Espresso that tastes like caramel and finishes smooth, and foam that is velvety every time. And all of that is worth the time of feeling like an awkward new kid again.

By the way, I still have an amazing boyfriend. It has been an effortless five months.

May 7, 2008

Holding out your arms
Waving in the air like fans,
You take your sail and wrap it.
Around your face, around you
Like the fading wind.

February 8, 2008

Thoughts on life, love, and the pursuit of happiness.

What happens when you give up on your dream? Is it something you are conscious of, fully aware of, accepting of? Or is it something that simply happens? –The pursuit of happiness.

I’ve not fully given up on any dream that has substance. I’ve let go of things and I’ve stopped pursuing things that have no basis in reality, but I have never once thought to give myself up to the demon of settling for less. Must dreams be ungrounded and unrealistic? My dreams have included but are not limited to fashion, art, writing, romance, travel, and family- when I was younger I had no way to ground them, but as I’ve grown up a tiny bit I’ve found ways to include each of them in my future plans. I hope that I never get to the point in my life where I give up on the things that I love, simply to “get by.” I cannot and will not simply “get by,” I may as well give up on this life if that were the case. The beauty about this life is that we have choices: every day we have a choice to make, and every new situation poses new opportunities in which to grow and to make our dreams realities. So why give up? I’m still a baby. I’m still learning to walk, I’m still drinking from a bottle and taking naps in the afternoon. It scares me to think about how I am ever going to finish school, to get a real job, to make things happen, and to eventually have a family. But I’ve given up on the whys and the hows, now it’s about doing. It may be fun to ask those philosophical questions, but sitting in coffee shops and talking in circles never saved anybody from drowning. It’s good to speculate on the practical questions of life, but no one ever lived life by asking how to eat, they had to do the thing to learn how, and then the how ceases to matter.

New thought. Life.

I’ve looked back on the past few years and realized how little things have meant. While they were happening they were epic, possibly the end of my life as I knew it… dirty kisses meant love, flippant insults were mortal wounds, thoughtless rejection was a nail in my coffin, smiles were true friendship, nods of the head were license for decapitation. And yet I am completely unscathed. I am still a whole human being, more aware of my self and others, and hopefully more able to see beyond a single day’s emotions- I hope that I have grown. I hope that at the end of this life I will be as tall as a tree, with as many stories to tell as Grandmother Willow, and as content as a very fat honeybee. Emotions are the reactions to the changing waves of my life, and empty words the sounds of desperation that get lost in the spray and foam… the only thing that still resonates within me is the love I have for those close to me, for my self, and for the things I find beautiful on this earth. People come and go, faces change, opinions are never concrete, days become vague memories. The sun may go down but the hope we have of something more will never fade. To view life as meaningless, as disjointed, as hopeless, and to treat days and words as though they are disposable is to give up on the self, to commit suicide of the soul. There is nothing emptier than giving up on faith, whatever that faith looks like to you. Remember being a child? Go back to that, remember how it felt; then get up, find a purpose, and continue living life.
The object of intention is to find meaning. As there is meaning to everything in the universe save things manmade, how could I have ever thought that a day as being a separate thing, an island in the midst of my life? A day is a leaf on an immense tree, or more likely a single cell on a single leaf composed of thousands upon thousands of days, the swaying tree time itself- immovable but moving, fluid but purposed. There are so many words but so few that mean anything, and I struggle to find them so often… I am trying to say that what happens in a day is not the end, will not be the end, it is part of something much bigger. And we are all part of something much greater. A grain of sand in a glass, made of sand, made of little bits of being, made of time, made of sand, made of glass. It’s astonishingly beautiful. The ugliness is the expensive timepiece that chimes when you can’t help yourself. The ugliness is the cold marriage bed, the caged bird, the empty bottles of beer, the promises never meant, the broken heels, the bruises on the neck, and the dead hands that cling to others for their warmth. We say we don’t need people, so we surround ourselves with things and spend half our time breathing our life into them, while treating people like the things that should never have had souls. We say we only need ourselves and we’ll make it, but we can’t love ourselves enough to stay out of other people’s beds, or to get out of our own. We use people to feel something, when that fails we use chemicals to feel something, when that fails we give into oblivion. That something that everyone is looking for is not something to be felt. It is Something that should be said, should be spoken aloud every minute of our lives, and shouldn’t be traded for an imitation of freedom that is actually bondage.

“I can hardly comprehend
There’s something about the divine nature that is inside us and kills us when we give up our faith… but kills us the wrong way. That grain of divinity
Gives us life, and causes the truest pain, and the best pain, when we understand
What it is there for. Otherwise we die in the bile, shit, and blood of what’s left.”

Love. It’s the most beautiful thing.

I guess I’ve fallen in love with someone before. I’m talking about the romance kind of love that is wonderfully painful because it has something of that divine nature in it, because it represents the union of divine and terrestrial- not the love that most of us have known, which is not love at all but a trick of light that singes the heart and parades itself like a painted whore. Most of us have known plenty of that not-love, though I don’t have a name for it… it is different than straightforward lust because it uses the heart, however cruelly. It is cold: it is the cause of divorce, it is why the marriage bed is cold, it is why sex is a weapon, a god, and little more than a pastime, it is the source of pandemic loneliness, it is the reason women cannot live in harmony, and the reason men don’t treat women as they should be treated. We’ve all had our share.
I take it back: I have never fallen in love. I have felt it, I have come dangerously close to it, but I have never fallen into its aromatic depths. If I had truly fallen, I doubt that I would be talking about it. I have, however, come so close that I can only be happy for this person, but I cannot view them as a friend anymore. Maybe one day, but not now, not soon. My heart is raw from a divine wound not caused by a human being, but by the dangerous power of Venus herself. Read That Hideous Strength to understand. Everyone else I have been with, and sadly there have been more than a few, stand in my memory as grey. I felt momentary pain at each end, but nothing so dangerous as the truth; the only thing I feel when I think about the others is a sense of emptiness, a fog that settles over my memory. This fog leads me to believe that that which is not divine, which has little or no truth to it, kills the soul. It’s like telling lies, only committing them with other people’s bodies.

June 19, 2008

It has been awhile, old friend. But the keys feel familiar under the intentioned tap tap of my fingers.

I just finished the His Dark Materials series. The idea was to read the books so I could watch the movie without being completely lost, but instead I got completely and utterly sucked into Lyra’s universe. It has been some time since I’ve been sucked into a world other than my own, and it feels like home. I enjoy spending time in places where my soul is free and uninhibited by physical limitations. I’ve had a burning in my soul, burning, a real feeling in the pit of my being that screams something altogether unintelligible and spiritual.

I was riding in the car the other night, with a full moon and a feeling of detachment. I was elsewhere, somewhere flying with my soul, wherever it goes. The moon was nearly full and the neon lights were blazing enough to make tears well in my eyes. I cannot be happy when there is no real. I cannot see past the many-layered concrete city and the lights that pitifully pretend to be sunlight, moonlight, natural light; there’s nothing that can compare to the reality of the Earth-that-is. We cover it up and control it, put borders in and around and through it, till all we have is a bit of a reminder of what it was before we attempted to tame it.

I never thought of myself as an environmentalist. But the increasing urbanization of my home is enough to bring tears to my eyes. I feel the earth’s sadness, a dull, ancient sorrow that cries out to the depths of my soul that belong to it. I was once a part of it, and as long as I am not encased in some concrete casket or thrown into an asphalt sea, I will return to it. And it calls to us. Sometimes ever so faintly I hear something that does not belong to the buzz of the mechanical world. I am sick with the use of technology, not sick of it, but sick because of it. The food we eat, the water we drink, has all been tainted by the pollution that makes our lives more “convenient.” I am sometimes afraid to be part of this machine.

Back to the books. As I was reading them, mostly outside my work, various people mentioned the fact that I was reading a “children’s” book. A children’s book that made me cry, and think about a spirituality that I have pushed away, and to listen closely enough to hear the gentle heartbeat of the universe. I encourage everyone to read it, and to stop taking yourself seriously, so that you can take the books seriously. Not just this series, I’m not trying to advertise. I just have the feeling that when I take myself seriously, I lose all that is real about me. It’s like a bear trying to be a human and losing his fundamental bearness. Maybe we are some sort of universal joke- children wrapped up in a vast world, trying to be adults and failing miserably. Would John McCain read Harry Potter and enjoy it? Would Barack Obama read the Golden Compass and scoff, or would it pass over his head like a universal inside joke? Maybe we are all missing the point, a little bit. Maybe we are all lost.

I’ve been thinking about witchcraft lately as well. Not Wicca particularly, but I guess I should say paganism. Nature religions, ancient folklore, mythology, spiritual philosophy, druidism even. There was something real and true and powerful about the pseudo-religions of folks who lived simply, with the earth as their mother and its cycles their gods. I wish, for a moment, we could strip all modern religion down to what it was. Science is a religion that seeks to know, spirituality is whatever religion gets us to feel- what about what gets us to be? The Earth is the only thing that knows how to be without question, and nature follows its lead. The universe has a language that all animals, all rocks, all droplets of water, all plants, all stars know- but which humans have chosen to forget. If only I could remember, the words I knew while I was in the womb. Read The Alchemist.

More Later.

“Fake Flowers”