Tag Archives: love

a few words after a long string of nothings…

I guess it’s been a bazilliontrillioninsanillion amount of time since I sat and wrote something worthwhile, and even longer since I sat to write in my wordpress blog specifically. Not sure what it was about last summer…the confusion of an active moving transition? the hot, humid Jersey air?…but I definitely couldn’t stop puttering about this blog, and at times editing and deleting the foolish ideas I recorded here.

However, between my unnecessary facebook posts and lately twitters, I am more compelled to return to writing, even if just on a stupid blog, in order to decrease my usage of these other, word-limiting, brain-numbing online community sites.

I am pretty depressed. Yes, it’s true it hit me again. And what could be the cause, this time? It is unavoidably in part, the residue of yesteryear’s gloom. But it is also, and more essentially, gaining the increasingly internal conflict between play and work, my childish and innovative self, and my practical adult self…a conflict between the realistic and strong little girl that wanted to be an anthropologist, and the contemporary version of myself, insecure and lonely, wanting to be a lover, the inner spoon in a bed of body-porridge, warm, wet, settled…

I am pretty sure that this latter, sticky self is grinding to a halt, and the inertia of this abrupt stop will lead either to complete, final destruction, or some lasting, glowing, golden something. I would rather not contemplate the former result of the inertia, so contemplating the latter, I see the potential of companionship, or good work, of confidence.

I also currently see a lot of unavoidable connections with people. And yet, they are leading to nothing, because I’m tired and I like to stay in when I’m not working. And it all seems like work. Well, I see people, mostly coworkers and people from last term’s school, who are definitely connected to my life, and yet after a short stint of relative socialness at my initial move to the Bay Area, I am once again immersed in solitude, in waiting, sometimes this feels wholly natural and steeped in patience, and many other times I am restless, and again, headed to inertia. And if I am headed to nothing? Than what? the future is too dark to tell. For the first time ever I have no real plans, nothing relevant, nothing pulling, crucial, cogent, vivid, decisive, bright.

I am just living each day. Otherwise, I feel I might go off the rocker, and that, my friends, my empty internet space…that, is unacceptable.

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Distractions

I have many things I have neglected explaining lately and I want to but I’m super distracted by the caffeine high from the Espresso Roma on College. And the man that just walked by me with a large mop of pubic hair on his chin. It was long enough to sway precociously in the wind. I had to put my iced americano down and look at the blue sky a moment to cleanse my head and palette.

It has been a whirlwind of a month, or two. It’s streaming together. Have I already said whirlwind? I think I say that to everyone who asks how I’m doing. Martha has been untrackable due apparently to a lost cell phone. Everyone on the farm, if they listen anything to the lying cheat who runs the place, have an idea through false rumor that I had sexual relations with a professor in Spain, which is funny because the craziest I was in Spain was to seduce a high strung Catholic law student Spaniard two years older than me, and go to discotecas and museums together. But when I confronted my dad’s friend, the farm “charity” man, he just blamed a woman who used to live on the farm years ago and, again apparently, has no number or phone or something, so he has no way of contacting the rumor-creator. However, as I am pretty sure I never spent more than half an hour on the farm after my trip to Spain in 2003, until recently of course, than I think this is hogwash, from my innate detective intuition anyway, (based on Sherlock Holmes, a dreamer’s intuition, not to be trusted).

The funny thing about the farm and the mercantile and the New Jersey experience is what people say when I explain it to them (people such as my new roommate in Berkeley, and my mom, and Andy in New York and Jens in Germany)….I forget who I told what, but I try to make it clear that I wanted help to get to New York and quit a damn good art school in Portland to go at the request of my dad’s old friend (they were in the military in Spain together, he introduced my parents). And so I went with him to New York via Guatemala (which is why my cat had to stay in California with a stranger and he never sent her for a month), and yet it was New Jersey and not New York, and the job I had didn’t really exist. I guess a young, struggling organic chinese food company has no need for a creative director, especially one that wants to do more than be bullied by a taoist ex-wallstreet businessman who thinks he knows more about art and design than you because he has been given like a thousand business cards over the span of his career and can tell you what they should look like, and what a chinese-style conformist would wear to a Whole Foods tasting at the New York headquarters…
But all that aside I didn’t expect my dad’s friend to recommend writing an email to the head of the company/ taoist businessman is response to his demanding artistic needs that would immediately get me dismissed as creative director, and I further didn’t expect him to never pay me, to call me self-centered, to throw my dad’s achievements in my face, and to guilt trip me into going to his other failing business in a little town called Angels Camp (yes creepy) in Eastern California that was being ran by emotional retards into oblivion. I had made it clear from the beginning I was not interested in being a member of Buttercup Farms(ok creepy) and that I only was requesting help, only if it was given willingly, to get to the east coast and find a connection with a creative job. That was the only incentive to leave my kick ass, however pretentious and expensive school gig in Portland. And trusting that this day in Guatemala and this stint in New Jersey with Chinese workaholics was leading to something good, and that all of his talk about my parents’ unhappy marriage and negativity was leading to something, I dived into the initial job with only a few nightmares and regrets. I mean i did have a limbo relationship to leave behind in Oregon, and this was half difficult and half exhilarating…complicated.
Anyway, this is probably not making any sense. I should have written more before now but I was worried about the implications. I had to get out of Angels Camp to begin with.
When I was guilt tripped into going there I was asked if I was happy, and I said, no of course not, I didn’t want to be there. I was young, I was finally out of the Oregon limbo and I wanted to find love, find a good job, get on with my life. He said I was unfocused, confused, didn’t know what I wanted.
Really, John? (That’s his name).
I said I love photography and writing. I have been studying them both for years now. I know two places I would love to live, San Francisco/Bay Area or New York. I know two things I would love to find a career in, photography and writing.
So, I’m unfocused? Or I just don’t share your focus. And I’m negative? Because he said in an email titled “Something you need to hear”: “I think all you are going to do in Angels Camp is spread your negativity. I don’t think it is the place for you. It has helped a lot of people and they love it. I think you are way to self centered to get any value out of being there. I am so fed up with your lack of gratitude and self righteousness.” If he is helping someone than that’s great. I know a girl there from Senegal who feels lost and bored and forced into volunteering so a $25 weekly stipened and empty promises to work at a company in New York are really just not fulfilling her dreams. I know a lady who was promised a bakery and has been talking in circles and waiting for a year. I know I personally asked not to go there and was dragged there and then told it wasn’t the place for me which I had already said if I had been listened to…and so “stick with me for a few years and you’ll be a rich woman” is not an incentive for me to scoop ice cream and dust shelves in an old store in a ghost town. I was never raped as a girl, I never had mad sexual relations with a professor, I never felt insecure and lost and unfocused enough to need the provided direction of a spiritual counselor businessman…so Buttercup Farms, so called charity that has yet to help anyone but likes to talk alot and associate itself with real charities like 10,000 Girls….please don’t try to capture me in your web and then call me negative and selfish for having different interests than you. And if I did call you a commune I was just feeling emotional. You can be whatever you want to be, just leave me out of it, all of the christian science bullshit, all of the empty promises, all of the charity associations, and love and smiles talk.
I hope that I can make an honest salary soon, and I hope I can afford to save all of my belongings which are currently trapped on the farm (near Mt Diablo actually)…before someone discovers this off the web waves, and burns it all!

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My life sucks

I’m being guilt-tripped into moving back to California to work in a small town at a Mercantile Store I never wanted to work at. Ever. I have always said that. And I asked the family friend “uncle” to help me find something I love related to my art that could help me get out of more pretentious art schol in Portland. I wanted the real thing, a school in Ny, or maybe a job in Ny. So he mentioned a job in Ny and I came and it was actually a job in NJ, that’s cool, except it wasn’t a job at all, because the boss of the company didn’t want me or anyone here in the first place. He just wanted to make the “uncle”, also chairman of the board feel like he had control of the situation. And so I fucked up at every turn so he could say to “uncle” I needed something else, perhaps more school or an art job in the city. But not this. So family friend “uncle” took that to mean I am failing at what he wants, and what he wants is someone to help with his businesses, one was this young food company in Jersey, another is this mercantile in Nowhere, California. I love the coast of California. But I have been aching to be in New York. Not eastern California ex-gold mining towns with hicks. So I said I wanted to stay but he is wealthy and powerful, and I am broke. So he says I’m selfish and self-centered, if I don’t do this. Do this for 6 weeks. Except really why should I do this for six weeks if I’m just going to leave right after, what help would I be if I’m stuck in a place I never wanted to be with a group of religious, conservative emotionally confused people? But he says I lack focus. Really? Because I don’t want the same thing that you want for me, namely to work for you at this place?

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Colors of squares

I’m still sad but trying not to think too terribly hard about it, cause if I look t things from one perspective I can barely handle it. So instead I think about others things- like art. Like mark Rothko and his 300+ cm oil paintings with brilliant colors of squares and blended rectangular forms that absorb you like napkins, and penetrate your nerves without your knowing it. Most common museum goers would pass a Rothko and think “but why?” and yet they would feel him maybe on a layer of themselves they had closed or never opened up to realizing…so as nietzsche here was a philosopher with a great passion and musical inclination, who constructed art as Nietzsche constructed words, in order to appeal to something hidden inside you, raw, Dionysian, passion infused with a reflectiveness for Apollonian sensibilities. Why? Because our emotions can’t be continually trampled over for the sake of our social fabrics. They must be expressed and felt even on a fabric canvas, colors of all degrees to express fire-born moods, and bring back life to our patterned little boxes of routine, habit and forgetfulness. We all choose to forget, why not start by feeling in art, then in ourselves, a choice to remember, and then in a relationship, to feel more than ourselves…
I have been all thumb typing again. In conclusion, I am a believer in true love, yes Adam was right and in it I will continue to believe especially as I learn how to love myself, it has been the most difficult part of all.

Ps. Wish I could upload my new DVD project like a movie… Slideshows and amazing music of Portland and my studio for my architecture seminar. I imagine one day I’ll look back nostalgic and a little melancholy. Tomorrow I’ll look back and think goddam I am tired, what was I thinking staying up so late?

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Maybe it’s not friendship…

“I must do something or I shall wear my heart away”. (Charles Dickens) I will name the five now: Loren, Michael, Josh, Sean, Adam, and Jeremy. And the whole names to boot. It will make it easier for my self-reflection. Let’s evaluate. First there was Loren. I fell in love! Haha, this deserves a blunt list to organize my brain:
1. Loren: me 19 english/philosophy major UO, him 22 psych major UCB, coworkers at calpirg in Berkeley, he’s my instructor first day, first day he’s wearing gold shorts, flamboyant, if he’s not gay I will like him I note…he is also laughing with a girl he later was gaga over though she had a beau…sex twice, ecstasy three times, overdose once, rejection: began after initial sex, and full-blown after second time….I knew from his words I was a good lover. What was it? My bad response: calls, gaga eyes, completely smitten, annoying…
2. Michael and Josh: neither was a coworker. Josh: friend of friend, came up to me, drunk at a party, sex many times the first night, hip hop music (I was in a hip hop phase, the roots, black eyed peas…) he cut his achilles in the shower, lots of blood, stitches…I consoled him with Billie Holiday, bad luck, Me: sold guitar, gas money to visit him at Western Oregon, beach night, sex. Michael comes along: smitten immediately. Sex: 0 times. Make out, beach, hot springs, popsicles, and cigarettes not to mention lemon drops: many many. Outcome: wishy washy Josh declines, I am wrapped up in Michael. He follows me on the street on campus. Gives me a flower behind the ear. “Youre mine for the day”. We meet at the library, he passes a note of ISBN numbers. And then an email. “Want to get popsicles sometime?” I have concluded romantics can be the most devastating. He nearly gives me a heart attack at the hot tubs, my heart is beating so fast with excited romantic feelings. I nearly puke. Michael maybe meets someone then, because a decline. I’m being a weirdo. I like him alot. He knows it, and no chase. He declines more, and then beings this girl Windsor to a party. She has a high-pitched voice and is chubby. I hate. Then he sees Josh, and weird moment, (friends circle stuff). But I moved to Spain. Good thing too because I was starting to be smitten again with a friend of mine and that was getting wonky too…(“men and women can never be friends, the sex part always gets in the way” I feel jealousy from this old movie quote and how true it is for some boys)….Michael is still my friend, he writes randomly, he’s married. Josh: meh, who knows. I hear he’s married. I really could care less.
3. Sean: barely noticed him at first. As usual, he pursued me, my regular charming cashier at Sundance. Everyone liked him, that big smile, those sparkling eyes. I was indifferent. And then a night: wine, red tie, walk in the dark, stories. I always want to move slow. I absorb things slowly. I react slowly. I lose my heart and recover it slowly. But I move into these things too fast. So Sean: sex maybe 4 or 5 times. What then? His ex back in town. Post ex: less communication. Our friendship and laughs: declined. Good bike trips and parties without jealousy: 0. Me: devastated. Next step: he gets me a job there, a great place, Sundance. Only problem: he’s there. Big problem. He puts up a wall and I am no longer a friend, I am a stranger, I might as well have the ebola virus. There is no escape. Quit a great job and delusionally believe it had never happened. Or face it until things smoothed over. His friends: fuckers. The outcome: keep job and eventually notice my gaga-eyed coworker Adam. And he noticed me months earlier.
4. Adam. Charming. Weird, graduated, 26, from Illinois. Long hair. Wild. Protective. Pretty eyes. Maybe this was the first time I was in love. Me: I move into his complex o the 2nd floor, he is on the 3rd. We run into each other in the hall. I’m carrying a spatula. He is standing in the stair well and has no idea why. He comes in. For several nights we stay up til dawn talking. We make out over an algebra book. Everything is heaven. He only has to explain once that he still has feelings for the married woman coworker and that he will never marry and have kids. I still really like him. Sex, I like him more. We move in together. Fights, passion, etc. I move to Korea, my cat dies. I’m devastated. He likes a girl. The new girl at work. They close the store together now. I am alone in a foreign country. I want to die, like my cat. I curse them. And then he calls and they didn’t work out. I can use my webcam again. We talk. I return and we’re on and off for months. I’m unemployed, a nomad, lost, confused. He wants space. Visits me in Ptown once a week, once a month, never. No more. The summer is a blank one. I wanted to camp, I wanted to make love. I wanted another night on the beach. I wanted a lot, and I felt blue but not the sky, more like an early Picasso with old weathered men and poor, hungry children. I felt hungry but too tired to consume anything. Just able to walk and walk and walk as if searching for the light at the end. And the biggest consolation was that the foreign country, the year of loneliness miles away form anything familiar, was over. And my power source came in the strength I had hadfor a moment there overseas feeling solitude with peace, knowing I would return to something, and being immersed in the moment, not expecting, wanting, or wishing. Just knowing that that was all there was then, and whatever was ahead would be good, and more familiar. But this was my freedom. And no one was there to reject me. I wasn’t interested in anyone but myself; in that was a sort of peace. But a temporary, lonely one. It was a blind spot. I wanted to return and find love…
5. Jeremy. Takes me off facebook. Such a little action and so painful! But woah, let’s back up. 9 months in Portland and no job. In Thailand I had spilled tea on my keyboard. Time passed and it came back to haunt me. Kernel panic and a dead ibook, and Ian, my old boss’s neighbor sets up my new macbook pro. I love it. Aluminum. Shiny. Black keys. Backlit LCD screen. Liquid crystals. That’s beautiful. I remember this boy with longish dark locks sitting next to Ian. He seemed unapproachable. Later it’s Ian who helps get me an interview when they’re hiring, and Dan hires me right off. I meet Jeremy and he says something rude. Bad start. But then later we talk. We have things in common. And he sculpts. And I picture him sculpting me with his hands, and I want it to happen. I am determined to get to know him. Little did I know his roommate liked me and I had to maneuver around that. And then we see a play and I snap something and it irks him and I think, well that’s it. And I email him and then…he wants to hang out with me! He wants to bake cookies with me! So we do, and we talk about everything and I want to move slow but I also want him to sculpt me with his hands. And so we well, we don’t move slow. And I tell him I’m sensitive. And he says so is he. And I tell him I am picky. And he is too. And I tell him I really like him but I just came out of a confusing heartbreaking affair and things are better slow, I grow slow. So does he he says. It’s perfect. So we jump right in. Time: 1 1/2 months. Breaker: I have herpes. Who knew…I guess Adam had it. I guess I hadn’t even realized that it was a lifetime disease. it doesn’t go away and Adam had it and I now had it and I had given it. Without a single problem of my own here he was and he was a big mess. And he tried to deal. And we hung out. And we even had sex again: once. And then I don’t know, something fell apart. Something clicked. He made a decision. And on the phone he said no more. And at work he was cold. And again a wall. And I was scared. Here it was again. That inevitable hurt. That wall. That deep core of pain. I felt like I had been punched. I could barely breath. Should I quit. I couldn’t. Look at the unemployment rate. I swung back and forth between hope and hopelessness. And the hope was the worst. It was the worst. Because it was shadowed in hopelessness. And shadowed by other failures. And I’m still lonely.
But I named five guys, three coworkers. I have neglected Tynan and Colin. I have nearly forgotten oh what’s his name, Gabe, and Pablo, and honestly can’t think of the guy who took my virginity’s name at the moment (oh, ahem, Thor)…But all these I told to mosey on, and didn’t think twice. And Tynan, man I really messed him up. But wasn’t he just obsessed. Isn’t this unrequited love a sort of obsession? He had all these ideas of me and our potential, but what did he really know? ANd why did he want to be with someone who so obviously had had a change of heart. And he was a puppy dog, and it was pathetic. And so looking at it from that perspective, I might see myself more clearly and I feel like a fool. So I’ll weep in silence, and bit my tongue from now on, because this behavior, this need to just at least talk, well, it’s so unbecoming, and I am so much better than that. Plus with all these guys to think back on, I’m sure if I had played it more cool I could have saved myself a lot of heartbreak and dignity if not created more moments of free-loving adventure. And I’m not a longterm loose-skirt, and now, well with the H, I suppose I’m pretty prude until well into something, but let’s just agree to have a little more self-respect shall we, and not try to hard at the things that are not going to be…But you know, Adam really is an exception in all of this, and I’m not saying he’s the Mr. Big to my Carrie alter-ego, but he certainly has come and gone a few times and remains one of my dearest friends. Because I suppose he knows me. Maybe it’s not friendship in the normal sense of the word, but I like him in my life, he holds a part of my heart even after all of it or maybe because….and the special glimmer in his eye for me, well, that has always remained and I for him, and that’s more than I can say for some.
But back to my little lone apartment and my newish cat. Pizza and a movie for us, all right. I just guess I’m feeling the urge to get past all this and I’m disappointed that I can’t seem to yet. I want to settle down. No drama. No games. I just want a best friend/lover/dreamer/artist and lots of time in bed being lazy. Its really so simple. =)
But that’s more than enough for now, just words from a wise man:
“Don’t walk behind me, I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me, I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.” (Albert Camus)

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Art, losers, distractions, love

First a quote from the man of the hour: “Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it. Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it. Hatred darkens life; love illuminates it.” (martin luther king jr) MLK was a force to be reckoned with, with fierce love. He deserves this week of tribute.

Recently rewatched a good film…In the Hustler (a film starring Paul Newman, Jackie Gleason, and Piper Laurie), Paul is a “born loser”. He is talented but always sets things up in his life to fuck up. If his pool is my love life I am him in this film. Or I am unlucky and lost. I think I am 26 and it’s no big deal and I should not worry an stew so. I’m like Piper’s character, Sara. She is lost her imagination and dreams, stories from books, and her little room with little vices. Her ending was the inevitable turning point for fast eddie’s growth to cut out his pattern and win.

Distraction. Sitting in a McMennamins cafe by campus I eavesdrop on two white- haired men. They’re talking about “fucking idiots” and craigslist. Tha craigslist talk is basically you can’t hire on craigslist. That’s where you find and age pool of 19 to 23. Cheap hire. The only consolation is that it’s heap day labor. The things you learn eavesdropping over a cup of lukewarm coffee, (they don’t refill often enough). Ooh con ersation moves to my specialty of he moment- architecture a Portland state… They are both drunk like ugly portland mad men…businessmen, paranoid, red-faced and stodgy. I could tune them out.

The HW reading: on drawing. “dessine moi un mouton”. Dreams too can be drawn. And here and now. We create art especially drawing and sculpture to understand in touch, feeling and gesture (communication beyond words), Where We Are…not a geographical detail but an existential age old question. What kind of place? What us the set-up of thus place we happen to have fallen into? And through art become familiar, tame, master this place or thing that makes us. So the accidental doesn’t invade our imagination. So we can form what we feel somewhere tangible. Each drawing place has the particularity and local knowledge of a here and at the same time a promise of an elsewhere. Necessity and freedom. And dreams. “Dessine moi un mouton” (le petite prince)

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The Age of Innocence

All things taken into consideration “The Age of Innocence” is actually a much better movie than I originally gave it credit for being. Not that i have recently seen it again, but I remember it well enough to know the messages of the film are terribly insightful and as I should read the book, everyone should at least see the film if not read the book. (The film is directed by Martin Scorsese, I originally though Daniel Day Lewis was overly dramatic but I am willing to completely reevaluate that in light of recent events which make the events in the film and the emotional dramas involved seem to ring truer than ever…and the 1920 novel is by Edith Wharton and most likely much better than the movie). It is a story about men and women struggling between societal expectations and love. Set in the Golden Age of New York, there is a sexy woman that makes a man’s heart beat, and another conventionally lovely looking lady that meets the proper role expected in a wife at the time. The second proper lady becomes the wife of course, and the other is always this unattainable, fiery phantom that he longs after, but is too cowardly to actually go after.
“’Then stay with me a little longer,’ Madame Olenska said in a low tone, just touching his knee with her plumed fan. It was the lightest touch, but it thrilled him like a caress.” (Wharton)
It is amazing what a powerful force social norms can be against personal desire. Feelings of fear, fear of lost love, fear of losing face, fear of losing one’s self respect, identity, and place in society, these are all elements intertwined to crush potential happiness that comes from following your true heart. I hope everyone learns to follow their hearts a little better, including me…
But I think I need to explicate further. You may now think that I think of this male character only as a coward, and Olenska as a great beauty. But it obviously isn’t so black and white. She was different in that he preferred something deeper in her essence that was apart from surface beauty. It was this surface convention that was being upheld with the innocent charm of his wife. I remeber the movie pretty well, and was thinking about it last night as Jeremy made a point at a coworkers’ birthday party of telling everyone he was going to a movie he’d already seen (avatar, which I hear has an awful simplistic love plot) with a “friend” who I know to be a sweet, innocent girl with a dog he knew from Eugene who is not in town and now maybe the reason he has thwarted me and refuses to acknowledge my existence. I don’t think this is exactly related, but I find similarities in the need to uphold ideals, to be fit within a framework with which someone can understand his identity in society and not feel out of control. His desire for Olenska in the story was intense and possibly too intense for him to comfortably explore, and as she didn’t want to be lost in the made up reality of her that he was creating, as she preferred her self-respect, independence of spirit and her own separate identity, than she too was ready to accept being alone instead of tainting with a prescribed affair the pure condition of their unconsummated desires…he saw a perfection in her, but he also I think was afraid of breaking that perfection and seeing her as a real person losing that novelty and that lust. He also saw in his wife a purity and innocence that I think he felt comfortable with, as he never could fully act upon his passions, and I believe that was out of fear, most essentially of himself and to what he could become if he lost that familiar social fabric that created who he was as a man of society in NY’s golden age

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