beautiful.

"want to sit in your bedroom and watch the world come to an end?"
"yep."

it's raining, it's pouring... and i probably ought to be asleep right now.

ok, well. i'll try to post every other day. maybe every day is a little too much for me to handle right now.

had another night terror last night, which was good. i love getting my face sucked off in recurring dreams. wonderful. there was also something about missing limbs, a room with wood flooring and walls covered in mirrors, the color orange, s&m, and a maniacal middle aged man. oh, and i was a boy. fun stuff. kyle apparently tried to wake me up but couldn't. i resent that. next time he has full permission to use a frying pan. either that wakes me up, or it knocks out my brain function, thus eliminating said freaky dreams. win-win.

oh, and, the weather sucks. i can't figure out if my mood is mimicking it, or if it's mimicking my mood. chicken and the egg.

i also realized how easy it is to shoplift today. i had bought a belt at target a few weeks ago and ment to return it today, so i stuffed it in my purse to avoid seeking out a shopping bag for a tiny little belt. i went into target and forgot to go to the returns counter first, so i began shopping. i was over at the belt isle, remembered i had my belt with me, and took it out of my purse to see which belt it was on the rack (so as to buy a smaller size.) i continued to stuff it back into my purse, which was left unzipped, pick out my new belt, and carry on. as i was checking out, i took my wallet out of my purse, thus partially exposing the belt within. no one noticed. no one cared. i then walked out of the store, put my purchases in my car, and walked back in to the returns counter. no questions asked.

"man," said i to myself, "it would be quite easy to take two belts: one goes in the shopping cart, one goes in the purse. then ," pondered i, "i could take the belt in my bag back in to the returns counter, use the receipt where it shows i purchased a belt, and return that belt for cash! then i would have one belt, plus the money i paid for it, back in my purse! what fools they are at target...." and then i thought: "then again, if i managed to put the belt in my purse in the first place, i guess there's no need for buying another belt... what fools i is."

on another note, my adorable 1940's tan pump heels were adorably uncomfortable after five hours of wear. that depresses me. but i did find an all vegan pair of boat shoes at target! they're soft and squishy and look like Sperry knock-offs and only cost 30 bucks. i'm in love.

the important thing to come away from this post with is that i am holding a gigantic homemade reese's cup the size of my palm. and you aren't.

pain. pain in the gleevin glovvin.

someone has brought to my attention my lack of postings.
which is veritable.
however, i've been extremely busy and quite stressed.
as usual.
around this time last year i developed an ulcer (or at least, we think.)
i named it Doug Rea.
this year... deja vu.
by suggestion of an old friend, this one is named The Virgin Mary.
("you want me to name something that weeps blood? how about the virgin mary?")
and thus it was.

anyway, my sugar just crashed, so i'm eating a bucket of cookie dough.
not the whole bucket, just part of it.
for now.
i have green nailpolish all over my hands because i fail-sauced.
and i need to go get ready to go to Mario's for a ballroom filled with food.
i ought to stop eating the cookie dough, methinks.

anywho, i'll try to get back in the habit of posting. even if it is something small and inconsequential like this.
perhaps i'll add a normal post later today, if i can fit it in.
we shall see.




happy zombie jesus day, everyone.

what i would say, could i.

hey.


i heard a blackbird this morning and i thought of you.
sitting by your window, smoking from your pipe, feeling the vibrations from the stereo system rise and fall.
it reminded me of the way you stare through me, the way you lose yourself in thought.
just like how you lose yourself in the idea of fate.
it reminded me of how i thought i could save you.
and then decided that was impossible.
and then how i tricked myself back to thinking that i could.

i saw the sunset last night and i thought of you.
i remembered weaving in and out of weeds, thorns pricking at our skin, and kissing in a stranger's backyard like rebellious teens.
trespassing on the tracks, holding you tight in the light of the train in the middle of the night.
i remembered the way your heart beat, how it jumped from your chest into my hands.
and how we spent the night on the concrete, beneath the light polluted sky.

i smelled the blue flowers today and i thought of you.
i saw you standing in the fields again, looking for something you'd never find.
it reminded me of the way your hair lit up with sunlight, brought a golden glow to your dark demeanor.
and i remembered how, sometimes, you would come back to life for a flicker of a second.
just long enough to make me believe that there was hope.
just long enough to make me understand my fault.


i just thought you should know.

dream on.

my dreams are speaking to me.
in some way, at least.

i've found a direct correlation with my stress level and the insanity of my dreams. i'm sure that's common, so it doesn't worry me. what worries me is the intensity of these dreams. i thrash and flip while i sleep, grind my teeth, clench my jaw, and wake up with a headache and a driving desire to pop a few benadryl and get a few hours of legitimate rest. i've always been a deep sleeper, but i find myself stuck in these dreams-turned-nightmares nearly every night. i get sucked into them. and no matter how hard i try to break away, to change the course of events, to wake myself up... i never can.

i've often wished that there was a method of recording dreams; some sort of video planted in my brain to transfer signals into images and sounds. it would be an experience, i think, to see other people's dreams. and for them to see mine. i know we all have strange dreams, and i know that i'm not the only one with this extent of absurdity in mine, but i do think that if people could see what plays in my head while i sleep, maybe they'd better understand me...

or maybe not.
at the very least, my art might make a little more sense.

how do i miss you? oh, how i miss you...

it's strange; the way that a single sense can bring forth a tidal wave of memory.

how the scent of a musky cologne, the sight of a tall, lean figure, the sound of the blackbirds in the morning can remind me of you.

i hear the trains at night running through my backyard, and remember holding you in the headlights.
i see the tiny purple flowers begin to blossom in the spring, and think of trailing you through the woods on a midsummer day.
and walking through a cold, sterile hallway reminds me of those years when we spoke through our eyes, in passing, whenever chance bespoke it.

i wonder, even now, why it digs at my skin to think of you. i wonder why even now it tears at my soul to think of you. i wonder why i still think of you, even now.

back tomorrow.

so, i'm taking a two day break. didn't have time to post yesterday, and i'm too tired today. benadryl hangover. so, i'll be back tomorrow. ciao.

carousels, GPS fails, Carla laid an egg...

there are a lot of things going on right now.

that would be a hyperbolic understatement, by the way.

i'm surrounded by must-do's and should-do's and could-do's-but-you-really-should-do's... they've all become so swollen and stubborn that i can't go on ignoring them anymore. but thinking of everything i've got to do, everything i have to pay attention to, everyone i need to call and write to and meet up with gets my head spinning like a carousel. it's a carousel that won't stop, because everytime i resolve one thing, something else develops out of it, be it good or bad. nevertheless, it's all more for me to do, more to worry about, more to lose sleep over.

an example: i had an interview yesterday that i was dreading. it actually went very well, and i was very appreciative for their advice and support. however once it was over, there were two more things for me to do: write out thank you notes and call their friend for an interview with him. now the thank you notes don't seem like a big deal, but they need to be there by the end of the week. neither of them work on fridays, and my wednesdays are extremely busy, so i don't have time to write them today. in order to mail them, they'd need to be stamped and in the box by 5pm. however, they won't be written by 5pm. so in order to get them to their destination by thursday, i need to write them in the morning and physically drive 35 minutes out, drop them off at the office, and drive 30 minutes back before a shoot. you see, simple things like thank you notes aren't always simple.

i called for that interview, and got one for friday. that's great, but now i have to re-do my entire website, search through my external harddrives, find year-old photos, reformat them, print them, upload them to the template, and hope my internet doesn't fail in the meantime. i also need to remake my promo cards, because i hate the ones i had before, and print them before i head over on friday. plus, i have to figure out how the hell to get their from RIT... with my mentally challenged GPS. woohoo.

not to mention, my steamer just broke, and my suit is wrinkled. i can't get a break.

i'm finally healthy (in a relative sense), but my sinuses are getting worse by the day. i don't go a day without pain in the front of my face, around my nose and eyes and at the top of my eyebrows. it feels like someone is stuffing my facial cavities full of insulation, or something else ridiculous. in short: it hurts.

i also just found out that i grind my teeth horribly at night. from stress. i'm actually wearing down my canines, they've rounded out on the backside already. i mean, i knew i have a lot of "teeth falling out" dreams, which is an indication of stress, but i didn't realize that when i was grinding my teeth in those dreams, i was doing it IRL as well. now i need a brace to cut out 60% of my jaw strength at night. bummer, dude.

everything else that's going on is relatively standard: multiple photo projects i don't have time for, models backing out or not responding, business classes that make me wonder why i'm a business minor, history class technology failure that make me want to slap my professor, the general annoying quality of RIT students, and my lack of free time. so there isn't much there to talk about, unless you want to hear me complain for a few more pages. which i will spare you from. because even i don't like to hear myself complain if it has no witticism weaved into the story.

did i mention that i found one thing that never fails to satisfy?
chamomile tea.
i love you.

the collector.

i had a musing today. i had an "ah-hah!" moment, where life fell inline and the universe made sense. i had a moment where i felt in tune with everything, and everything was in tune with me. and for once, that balance opened my eyes to the world around me, and the mundane became glorious.

it happens every blue moon or two, when the light is ethereal and every color is crisp... the details in the wood grain, where a child once sat and scribbled impressions in the surface... the chipped brick in the fireplace, where a husband remodeled... the pulls and stains in the carpet, where family and friends stumbled and spilt memories... everything so clear, so perfect. so photographic. even a moment watching the elderly couple read opposing books in opposing chairs by the poorly painted window is a moment that i realise i am a photographer. i am a collector of people. their beings, their habits, the choices they make, the lines in their faces, the things that they've left behind and the homes they've created. i collect people. i am a collector.

grab-bag.

so, i know i didn't post yesterday. however, i did write. i shot out a short poem in the afternoon at some point, which is on my RESPIRATE blog. take a look if you'd like. anyway, i have a bit of a post for today. there's a lot on my mind that needs to come out.


i've lost another friend. this is the ?th friend who has turned their back on me, taken what i've given them and used it against me, warped their personalities and declared jihad against me. it's like it's a core part of his being now to hate me, to make me miserable, and then to martyr himself when he's quite obviously the one to blame. i don't know how many times this has happened to me. or why it happens all the time. i've guessed that it's simply a byproduct of being a strong woman with a set of values and courteous practices that i enforce and expect to be practiced back towards me. is it too much to ask that you take out your own trash instead of letting it pile up in the living room for months at a time? is it too much to ask that when you spill spaghetti on the floor, you pick it up? is it too much to ask that you run the disposal so your food doesn't rot in the kitchen sink? i just don't understand why these aren't standard practices...


on another note, i've lost another friend. i've realized that there are people who are simply too fragile to become involved with. i should have never expressed my feelings for him, or grown attached to him. i should have kept my distance and remained friends, muses, poets with a kindred vision. unfortunately, mr. porcelain can't fathom the idea of physically being near me anymore. he needs to "stay away from stressful situations," because, you know, walking down the train tracks and listening to our favorite bands for hours on end is stressful. or something. the truth is, i miss him terribly. and i wish i could have taken that first kiss back, because at least then i would still be able to see him. and seeing him, being around him, thinking and talking with him late at night is what wakes the artist inside of me. but now that hope is gone, and i suppose i need to find another way to feel appreciated for one hundred percent of who i am. if there is a way.


to switch topics entirely, it's finally spring here. i took a ride today, 35 minutes both ways, with the windows open and Adele in the stereo. it felt great. driving is a really good place for me to be. if driving could be considered a place, that is. which, i consider it a place. so it is. but it truly is the only way for me to escape reality and embrace myself. no distractions, no people, no fake conversations or reasons to multitask. all i can do is drive. and sing. and be whoever i feel i am that day. if i had a green car, i would take more road trips. unfortunately, i can't justify burning fuel and supporting the oil industry while we have clean alternatives. i'm too much of a hippie for that.


i've also noticed that i'm happiest when i sing. it's another form of escape for me, to get lost in the music and have its energy flow through me and resonate with my body. i can't explain the feeling it gives, but i know that each singer feels it. because that's what makes a singer. and once you have that moment, well, you don't forget it.


i need more music in my life.

old eyes, new eyes.

so, i managed to miss an entry already. i had the intention of writing yesterday, but i wasn't home long enough to do it. i spent five hours in a hair salon, bleaching the holy hell out of my hair and catching up on my reading of The Three Philosophical Poets. very good book, by the way. it's giving me new insight into the nobility of properly written poetry. quite influential. i was shocked to see it was only $2.95 after a three-time discount at Barnes and Noble. real injustice, there...

anyway, i took a trip down to the Southern Tier today with my parents. Kyle came as well, poor kid, although i think the photos he took made up for the 2 hours of awkward silence-and-repeated-question patterning. the overall status is that my  grandmother is crazier, my great grandmother is older, and the dog is fatter than the last time we saw them. which is nothing new.

the thing that got my attention, though, was my great grandmother's apartment. not because it's cute, and not because it's an old, converted church, but because every aspect of it is a reflection of some aspect of her.

i'll spell it out for you.

my great grandmother was born and raised in Brooklyn. we have no idea who, how, or where her father was. her mother (whom we think was from Poland, or if not, probably a second gen) was killed one day while crossing the street to go to the store. my great grandmother and her siblings watched out the window as she got hit by a bus. thus, the parent-less children went to a Catholic orphanage where they were raised by nuns. in turn, my great grandmother is extremely Catholic (although, in the true sense of a Christian, not so much the corrupt kind) and believes she owes her life to the church and to the people around her.

it's ironic how she's come to live in a church. and how her life has been extended to a long 92 years. her eyes are failing her, she's nearly blind. she's diabetic, allergic to anything red, takes over twelve medications daily and has poor circulation. she's shrunk to about 4 feet tall, and her hair is about as white as cotton. but every wrinkle in her face tells a story, and every smile is honest. and that is quite a woman.

while i was at her apartment, i kept noticing the light. it was streaming in and out through windows, weaving around the house, diving in and out through the stained glass and coloring every old photograph, every knick-knack, every porcelain humming bird and rosary with this incredibly ethereal glow. there was an energy there that often is not, and it opened my eyes to see the beauty in the details of everything surrounding this woman, telling of who she is and how she has lived. and knowing the history of it all, well, that just made the story even richer. so even if she can't see how wonderful she is to us, at least i can try to see it for her.

something about sangria.

never underestimate the power of natural sunlight and fresh air.

i'm sitting on my bed with the window open, and despite the small student-sized apartment i live in, this room just grew a few extra square feet. the sun isn't strong today, it comes in waves, but every now and then i get a burst of light in through the window. the coolness in the air helps, too. it's a way of escaping this landfill i live in; brings some of the outdoors inside. which, at this point, is all i can ask for.

the ambient noise was really beautiful too, until the maintenance guys came along. now they're yelling back and forth, cleaning the decks and breezeways, guessing what stain is from what type of alcoholic beverage. every few seconds they quiet down, and i let myself think that they're leaving, only to shit myself the next second when "SANGRIA!" rapes my ears. good lord. i can't wait until they see the vomit that's been frozen, thawed, and refrozen on the stairs...

oh, and, now someone is using a chainsaw. so much for the tranquil ambience.

every day that i come home, i find another reason to hate this place. to hate the people i live with. to hate the area to which i'm confined. to hate the darkness, the dust, the dirt, the rotting food in the sink, my personal lack of cabinet and fridge real estate that causes me to keep my food, pots, knives, and booze in my bedroom closet. i live in a hole in the ground, under a rock, at the center of the earth. and it's 4,000 miles to the surface of anything representing organized society.

the chainsaw is gone, and we're back to the sounds of a broom on concrete and the passing of cars.
if only it would stay this way forever.

this is a blog.

welcome to my life.

i've been very impressionable lately, in all aspects of my life. different people are having different effects on me and how i define myself. most recently, my best friend began a daily blog. after seeing how it's helped him work through every day situations, or communicate better with certain people, or even just be a solid set routine in a chaotic environment... well, i've decided that i need one of the same. and here it is.

goal: write once, every day, for at least 15 minutes.
probability of success: during the first week, 95%. second week, 85%. third, well, you get the idea.
perspective: well, just because i know i can't ever finish what i start, why should that mean i can't start in the first place?

i am determined to prove myself wrong. about... something. for some reason. or something.
here goes....