safe from harm, tonight

It's Christmas day, and so far it's been eventful. I fell asleep at 4 in the morning, which isn't an unusual circumstance; I usually begin to thrive at 12 am. I painted my mom a present [which I'll post up], I made my brother a CD, I re-read my old diaries, finished another Augusten Burroughs novel [sellevision]. My little brother slept under the tree because this year he was extremely determined to catch a glimpse of Santa, and I think it's ridiculous that my parents are still trying to convince him that Santa is real. It's heartbreaking! This morning I asked him if he in fact did see Santa, and he said no, but he did hear someone walking on the roof and in the chimney. Hmmm...
My mom gave me a meditation bowl and a Rumi calendar, as well as two tree ornaments, an owl and a horse. I was born in the year of the horse, and an owl because I'm basically nocturnal.
I think at night I get the most excited about creativity, because I'm alone, it becomes such a secretive and isolated process. I listen to oodles of trip hop and obscure art videos.

My mom suggested the other day that I move to St. Petersburg next year and study in Russia for a year. St. Petersburg is an amazing city, every street is full of it's own history. More important than all of the historic events that occurred there, it is a place that is FULL of art. Pushkin the poet was killed there in a duel; there are so many galleries, people with imagination...music with imagination....
I think it would be interesting to spend my first year of adulthood in another country.
But god I'm such a coward. And that fact prevents me from dreaming my dreams in other places other than America.
But I am sure that I don't want to live in this country for another decade, or raise my children here. Growing up in a household full of a different culture, in a country that lacks this factor, has made me crave Europe. Even Canada would do!

But before all of that happens, I have to graduate first. Possibly get a job. I'm getting overwhelmed thinking about all of the things that I need to do, applications to fill out, and scholarships to win. AH! But today is a holiday, so my procrastination is healthy at this point.

In a Karma Coma

May I have a word about honesty?
May I please touch apon the fragility of human relations, and how easily they get demolished with a single lick of dishonesty?
I feel as if this topic is going to be an obsession of mine for as long as I live, but I know that I will always stand behind being open with one another.
Love is simply this; being pure and connected. Any kind of relationship deserves a clean consciousness, or else it is one that is filled with dirty dirty lies, is it not?

As we move on, our hearts seem to get colder, more still, more lonely. What else is there to do when dark secrets are a reality of every human being? I want to be able to feel as if I some how will be able to trust everybody I will ever get close with, but I know this will never be true. And that reality is sad, it is sad that we have created this reality.

We lie to our children, our friends, our lovers, our teachers, our parents, our neighbors. That means that human connections have been made so incredibly primitive, and dishonesty has been desensitized.

SIN SIN SIN! The world is full of sin.

flew into my cuckoo nest

Beauty to me is an exotic surrealistic sight/feeling. It is so many things that you really cannot call it a noun, an adjective, or a simple emotion. In fact for me, beauty is a detail of many emotions, nouns and adjectives, and that’s why it’s the sweetest touch on so many wonders in the world.A complex visual description seeping out of so many people’s lips, their description of what is beautiful might differ from mine. But doesn’t that make the world that much sweeter?
My obsession with anything beautiful leads into my excitement with the awkward and twisted. I don't think I have ever stopped morphing my likes and dislikes, but now that I look back on my stages throughout teenage hood, I realize I have collected albums of passions in my mind. There is still no way I could answer a question about my preferences in music quickly. Or the kind of tattoos I have dreamed to be traced along my body. Currently I am obsessed with graphic artist, particularly in the mid 20th century. It began with Milton Glaser, to Aubrey Beardsley. It led to me setting up that art studio downstairs, which is now transitioning into sewing old clothes together to create new things. I think that is how many passionate people of my kind think, and get inspired by random objects and art that come into our life by chance. I am inspired by performance art, by blunts and beats, by incredible art that stops my breath for just a second, and many times by conversations. I think I am more excited about going to college for that reason, to meet a slew of people that are just as vivid and insane as I am, people that go through as many creative transitions as I do. It may not be healthy to jump from one activity to the next, but I get bored with anything that is constant. I wish there was a profession that would require going out into the world on the search for the new, for the old, for the beautiful. So far I have picked to major in journalism next year, with a minor in design. This will be a perfect marriage of written and visual beauty in my life, mixed in with publication.
And
dats
all I gotta say about that.

It's a Damn Shame

YOU! With that whiskey coating the inside of your neck, it is pouring inside your veins, swimming like the lovebirds twisting in the sky. You prowl the night with glazed over eyes, letting the world play in front of you like an old filmstrip. You cannot feel this film that is turning for your pleasure, you reach out to touch it, but it turns away. You’re a shameful beast who prays on hard liquor and scandalous dreams, surreal ness in the night, hold my hand I’ll guide you there.

Fly Away!

When I have anxiety like this, I've got to write. And I will tell you why this not-so-sudden fountain of nervousness and a hint of excitement has come about me. I am taking a HUGE vacation in two days. I leave Monday. I am flying, with my mother, to Paris. In Paris I will meet with my cousin, and stay for a week. Then we're off to Italy for 10 days. Staying near Rome, wondering if we're going to get a villa for that time with our other friends. My dad is flying down to stay with us in lovely Italy. We are then flying to Moscow and St. Petersberg. Personally not to excited about that, but who knows it might be the best part of the trip? Then we're flying to Khabarovsk, where I will meet my family who I haven't seen in almost 9 years. My boyfriend is joining us there as well. I'm anxious about the flight, the places, the LONG time away from my personal "reality", it feels like a lot of things piled on to each other. I keep thinking about how I label myself so much as "being scared of flying", and how it really just overwhelms me to even think about flying, and now that I know it's going to happen so soon for SO long, and so many times, you can see by this run-on sentence that I am ANXIOUS. Thankfully, for the last couple of days I have calmed down about this block I have in my mind against the trip, and I am just going to go and do it. I do love travelling and seeing new things and new people, but GETTING there, is just incredibly frustrating for me. I know all of the statistics, and they do help, and my mind isn't scared, but physically I tense up. Why is that? That is the hardest part about getting over a fear, is the pattern of it. That way you feel when you know your fear is coming, it sits in your stomach and your mind screams to run away from it. It's all mind over matter right? Then why can't I get over it?! Thinking about it now, my emotions can be so overwhelming sometimes that they get in the way of my daily life.
A couple weeks ago I found out that someone very dear to me has Hepatitis C. Even though I talked to my friend, and got that everything was going to be fine, I swear for two days the thought kept hitting a nerve. What can I say? I'm a sensitive person. I truly am. Secretly.

All you need, is always found

I almost forgot about my "past" relationship with poetry. I began writing poetry when my 4th grade teacher's mom, who was a poet herself, came in and taught us the basics and famous poems of our time. I kept a little "harry potter" journal and wrote all sorts of poems in there. One day I took the journal with me to the mall, and left it on a bench to never be seen again.
BUT-> there was a lot saved over those younger years. I used to use "poetry.com" as a common publishing place.

type in my real name if you know it.

Ecclesiastes

For everything there is a season,And a time for every matter under heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted
A time to kill, and a time to heal
A time to break down, and a time to build up
A time to weep, and a time to laugh
A time to mourn, and a time to dance
A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing
A time to seek, and a time to lose
A time to keep, and a time to throw away
A time to tear, and a time to sew
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak
A time to love, and a time to hate
A time for war, and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

I thought that this demonstration of life's emotions in general would be able to find it's way into the memories of every person that reads this prose. For every line there is an example of this 'time' in your own pains and glory. You could feel the sense of sorrow in the first line and a sense of ecstasy and stealth in the second verse which supports the weight of the sorrow itself. If you always look back onto this verse at a time of your own sorrow, it reminds you of that feeling in your chest that you get from absolute bliss, and that it isn't a feeling of the past, but will be a fragment of your own future many more times to come, even if they don't reside in this life time.

peace ( =

Deaf Ear

No direction, I keep flying into muffled clouds. They're cold and selfless, I lift up to float. So I drift upon this lovely little flower, it's silk petals warming me into sleep. In my dreams I howl and scream to forever stay in this world of my petty imagination that drives me wild and suffocates with laughter. I spin every which way as if to avoid waking to this gray selfish mirror of my own obscurity.

I'm a sucker

So I have a folder on my laptop called "cool shit iLike", and basically whenever I find a picture that is worth right clicking and saving, and later to marvel at..I don't hesitate. So here's a glimpse into my collection:

composed of naked bodies

A closeup of bloodcells

A shocking post card I found on postsecret.blogspot.com

A beach in China

A glimpse into how much ego and drugs can destroy a person. How easy it is to become somebody totaly different, in such a short amount of time.

Return of the 3-D Manatee

I apologize ever so deeply for not listening to you, through these days of cold. I fear nothing but letting go of your lips held between my solemn hands, wringing out your evidence into a dirty, filthy sink. Wasting away your wisdom into another thing of my past, would be suicide on my part, forgive me again. I only live and breathe because of your patience, and your beams of light. That light grows inside of this little girl's heart, dimmed again by my selfish repression, forget what I've said, I'm aware of you now.

Mona Mona

Just a quick sharing experience:
If you like to look at different arrays and portrayals of one subject, and an assload of mona lisa's...this site is for you:
Mona Lisa

Close Your Eyes Mother Dear

About a month ago I was going to enter this writing contest at myithtings.com, and it was supposed to be a piece about what I think beauty is, and what it means to me. I began writing about what beauty is in the world and what it meant to be truly beautiful, but after looking around on the website I realized this was built off of "fashion" sort of deal, actually when creating a profile you can upload pictures of new things that you bought and how much money you contributed to the wasting away of humanity and our planet in general. And I quit the writing!
But overall, beauty is something so questionable to me in the first place. Most days I'm confident with my physical state and being, there has been only one day in my life where I didn't want to go to school because of that visual punctuation [and that was when my face got an allergic reaction from some type of face cream and inflated into a red balloon..it was horrible..moving on.] What I later learned was that I can get more things from life, whether it might be a job, or a free soda, is by my looks. I actually think I learned that recently, thus upsetting more than anything and thinking ONCE again that "gaawd this is a man's world!". That's when I let go of my physical form, and form in general! I stopped shaving my armpits, plucking my eyebrows etc. And not to be counterculture, or possibly so, but to also prove to myself that I am extremely comfortable with the formless things within me enough to fly on.
Beauty feels like such an obvious but such a complicated word to define. "There's beauty all around you!", it's very true, but much more different for me than it is for you. I wish that just for one day we can turn the streets into a completely magical world and we can wear costumes and avant-garde-crazed things, and speak in languages and accents we only dreamed of originating from. So I guess that for me, beauty is an imaginary world, that we bring alive in our minds whether it be in nature, fashion, or just people and their essence. Take it in baby, take it in.

Kiss Me With Your Fever

I am writing to you in a rather dysfunctional, but totally functional form. I think that I am at a higher state of being than I ever have been, and maybe that is my unconsciousness lying to me. Will I ever know the difference?
It's like the only time that I can ever proceed with my writing is in the middle of the glorious night. It's so still. It's as if the only way that my liquid mind can flow is throughout this chill and silence.
I am able to bring myself back from this walking sleep that has created a film around my naked body, and I want to tear it to pieces, wipe it over some other fabricated being. Most of all I want to learn how to be alone, without feeling alone. I think that will only remain in my mindset where I am peaceful, and forgiving of the anxiety within me. I found out that I can control a lot of things with my mind, like hunger, and headaches. I also found that I feel like I can do anything with the world and be impressive to myself. I feel like I have the ability to change the world from inside out, if only somebody would listen. People listen, but I know that many are not capable of proper human interaction. Proper human interaction is, pure, and selfless. I use the words that symbolize most likely something entirely different for you than what they symbolize for me. I look above and see many books, books that I've only half read, and put off for later. So many people are afraid about taking the SAT, and I am really not. If it's judging you on how confident you are with your own intelligence, then shouldn’t you rest easy, unless you're doubtful that you know anything? I think my mind is fully capable of even being a doctor, but I know that my inner Being isn't, just of the thought. Like carving dead people up, I know that that person's body is just an abandoned carcass, and the soul is already gone, transformed into something else. That's another mystery that I am not dying to know. I'm a bit excited to see what it will be. Everyone says that death happens so soon, that you don't even feel it. It must go by so slow, so painful, so torturous. Letting go of your breath, letting it collapse and suffocate your body that once breathed with ease. Makes you want to take a deep breath right? That's what I just did. They need to create a technology that has the ability to hear your thoughts and write down each detail. My thoughts are much too elaborate to write down every single detail; many times their thing that I don’t have the word for, and neither does the world. But that's what we all are, aren't we? A couple of lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, or rather walking around in some type of lost dream, a fast dream. And words are only symbols; the only way to interact with somebody is by becoming close and letting your energy collide together. All of the words in the world hold a feeling or picture in your head. It might be a memory, or it might be a stereotype, which is a memory all in all right? Stereotypes are a bit like scary pictures of people stuck in your head. They’re images that made a huge impression on your mind, a negative or positive one. If there are so many stereotypes about a huge group of certain people, then why do people say that we shouldn't "judge". It's just the way that our mind works. But I don’t stop there, we should all work to take that memory out of each other's minds. Our personal stereotypes are formed on the basis of experience, why don't we all work to eliminate those experiences? That's just the sad part, that we can't work together. Those stereotypes set us apart, forever and on. But don't cry my darling; life is so very beautiful in just that way. That unexplainable way.

V for Violin

Random obsession #1320398230-> listening to violin rock.
Let me begin by clarifying- rock songs played by classical instruments is probably the most god sent and epic movement in music. Just imagine, your favorite rock song played by a symphony, it's so loud and intense, it sends chills up my spine. And that's just a "macro" look into the ordeal, I looked smaller and found myself watching youtube videos of people shredding on the violin. Yes, that corny fucking word, shredding. So go and type in those two words: violin shredding. Watch and enjoy, and wish you played violin like that in your 3rd grade class.

I found this amazingly sexy-voiced girl: Marie Digby. She not only has a sultry voice, but she plays guitar and piano like an angel. And she's gorgeous. Her music choice is a bit questionable, but it doesn't really get in the way of my pure enjoyment of her talents. Here's the link to her video of her doing a cover of Jim Morrison's "You Give Me Something": Marie Digby.

On a more personal note: tomorrow is quite the exciting day for me. I first have school, which is the cherry on top [or bottom] of this day, then a dark photo shoot for miss Gilbert, at 4 I am running off to have a private audition for an indie film "Broken" in the square, and hopefully that won't last too long because then I'm meeting up with my other half to go to a fashion fitting for a local avant garde fashion show. dAmN! Not to mention then I have to figure out how to fit 3 hours of high school homework into the mix. I'm a little panicky because pressure turns me on, and hopefully tomorrow will mean a pressure-filled next couple of months if I land the leading role in "Broken". Plus trying to get a job, take the SAT's and getting a driver's licence.

If We Were All Inebriated Tonight

If I ever get asked the infamous question of "who would die to eat dinner with..anybody in the world?"...type of deal, besides Jim Sturgess from Across the Universe [because he's an obvious oozing pot of sexual eruptions]..I would pick this guy, Phil Hansen. He looks like the most plain looking motherfucker, but god is he incredible. And incredible artist that is. Talented and very genuine, is a good word, for this man. Basically his art consists of using random but very impression-effective objects to create his images, usually of people. From making a layered piece of Rosa Parks using copied pages from a bible...to making a frozen wine portrait of Amy Winehouse, Hansen's creative storage box in the cranium is filled with ridiculously good shit. Here's a video, that you would be dead meat for not watching.
Influence
He is a definite immortal in this world, and I think I'm going to write him some kind of thank you message for all of the inspiration he personally gave to me. If you're wondering about the image in the top of Mr.Hendrix, that one Hansen created out of red, white and black tipped matches, and then set the thing on fire, which I don't know if it's a personal statement on the behalf of Hansen...but I could see his point. Art isn't made to have a definitive point anyhow, to each his own. Check him out: ww.philinthecircle.com