Thursday, December 27, 2012

Bedtime Story - Andrew the Mime


{A Merry Christmas, Apocalypse and New Year to you all!}

 I hope you are finding yourselves renewed and invigorated; it's time to go out and take on the world, eh?
 Please enjoy another little bedtime story with a cup of cocoa, tea, or nothing at all! xoxo



There was a town 20 miles west of Aberdeen. The city, if one were to call it that, had been scrapped together from hunks of trailer siding, blown out tires and the ends of splintered garden tools. None of the post war shanties were particularly cheery, but the town 20 miles west of Aberdeen was so lackluster nobody had even bothered to give it a name. It was a town where bones sat out in the sun to be bleached. Where children dreamed only in whitewash and lips remained perpetually chapped and cracking no matter the weather. Folks nodded to each other as they strolled down the empty roads, connected by a mutual aimlessness. The town had been built on what was once a disheveled trailer park before a series of government-run nuclear crises blew it to smithereens, along with most of the civilized world. The town's inhabitants had, for the most part, all been living there since before the nuclear blow-out; a time when the husk of the scrap city had been only slightly more of a glamorous shit hole. 

The house d'la Archambault boasted two crossed pre-war rakes completely in tact on a painted piece of sheet metal that served as a door. Behind the door, the madam was feverishly scrubbing a mismatched set of chipped shot glasses and tea cups with gaping fissures. She had announced earlier in the week that cactus liquor would be served along with jackrabbit meat to welcome back an old member of the trailer wastes, Andrew the Mime. With the excitement that Andrew's arrival was stirring up, coupled with townsfolk eagerness for jackrabbit meat and spirits, she would need every glass on hand, and then some. The madam was among a very select few people who was able to maintain something that resembled a livelihood in the wastes. Her house served as a point of respite, offering varied services to weary men and women, often times free of charge. The madam was a good woman, who carried herself with an unmatched air of dignity.

About a year ago, the madam had to make an especially tearful goodbye to Andrew the mime. He had gone off on some sort of mission that he gave away very little of, even to her. The children in the area had pried Andrew endlessly for more information, but he would not tell them what drew him from the wastes. His abrupt and mysterious leaving was the only event in the town's history that was more mysterious than his abrupt and mysterious return. He had sent a carrier pigeon (another animal to unexpectedly survive the nuclear blasts) on ahead of him with the news. The note was intercepted by the madam, who cradled it with an especially kind and delicate touch.

“ !! “ exclaimed Andrew with a fervid wave as he approached the wastes. He let out a silent belly laugh when he realized that it wasn’t just the madam waiting to greet him, but the entire town. The children ran up to him and grabbed at his tattered striped shirt. He patted the heads of the scraggle-haired children and produced enough balloon animals for each and every one of them. The children had not seen balloons since before the blasts and let out cheers of unparalleled delight. He motioned a goodbye to them and pivoted around twice to let them know he would be back to tell them his wonderful tales later on. As Andrew beelined to the madam, the adult onlookers seemed to understand that they too would have to wait until the party that night for the stories of his journey. 

Andrew took the madam by the hand and her milky eyes filled up with tears. He led her inside the empty tavern house d’la Archambault. “Madam,” he spoke. “I have been to see a doctor outside the wastes. He has put a device in my throat that has opened up my vocal passage. I want to tell you in words how exceedingly beautiful you look this afternoon, but even with this wonderful device, I'm afraid I cannot.” He planted a tender kiss upon her hand. These were the first words that the madam’s lover had ever uttered. Her blind eyes pinched out a river of tears as she closed them.

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Bedtime Story - An Albatross in Albuquerque

The sky was the dusty pink of a baby's fingernails; clean, quiet, yet vibrant. The ballooniers were preparing themselves for the Horizon Ball which was taking place on that very eve, 12/12/12. Some of the merry-makers wore pins to commemorate the late Ravi Shankar, who had passed only that afternoon. Ravi himself was loosely affiliated with the colorful band of balloning gypsies who filled the sky on important days. He would  often play his sitar for them as they sipped tea on colorful rugs after a  long battle. The gypsies referred to themselves as sky pirates and were fiercely competitive when they did battle, often times shooting down balloons high enough off the ground to seriously injure or kill their opponents.  It was not a crime amongst them to do so, so long as all the rules of battle had been properly observed. They kept no official calender, rather they met each other at one of three meeting places when it 'felt right', hoping that the others would also have deemed the date significant and already be waiting there to do battle. This date, 12/12/12 seemed an obvious choice for a meeting, but it was by no means uncommon for a pirate to be wrong and wait all afternoon for naught. Today the pirates' guesses had been correct and all three of the battlefields were filled with balloon baskets and gear, cannons, large tents patterned in stripes and flowers and animals of all sorts, with the exception only of those cold weather beasts who would fare poorly in the Albuquerque heat.

The albatross, Jean-Phillip was taking a smoke break when his master approached him. She put a hand on his back and another on her hip. Letting out a sigh she spoke, 'You ready for today my respected companion?'

'Respectfully at your service' said the albatross with a heavily Frenched accent. And with a sly look to the woman, 'provided of course, you have zee baguette for me? Just zee crust! of coursssssssssssse... You know how I work on an empty stomach.' He looked up at her with birdie little eyes that could have passed for a puppy’s. The woman tapped at her bag a few times signaling that his dinner was at hand. She slipped down a pair of shiny green goggles from her forehead and began walking toward her basket. Jean-Phillip flapped up to her shoulder and they began to prepare their balloon.

Companion animals like Jean-Phillip were sometimes offered as payment from gypsies to other gypsies who had bested them in battle. There was some shame involved in offering up a companion animal payment, as they were more often than not a gypsy's closest companion. It was a clear giveaway that you were on your last few dimes and could not make payment in gold, silver or trinkets. The woman, Marie had inherited Jean when he was just 14. Now he was 52 and they had become very close friends, a feat that was not necessarily easy with an albatross such as Jean-Phillip. He was moody, required endless cigarette breaks and French bread crusts, complained at length about the heat of the desert and insisted on being shown the highest levels of respect at all times. Marie was easygoing and happy to oblige Jean-Phillip’s eccentricities. In return, he was fiercely loyal to her and they had won many battles together. He would scout out the balloons’ locations and defensive structures of their fire cages as Marie readied the water canons to shoot their fires out. It was much easier with a scout, although Marie had a deadly aim. Today the pirates would not be firing to shoot each other down and win trinkets, but rather to celebrate the coming of the new era. 

Ladies wore nylon gowns and embroidered boots and the gentlemen wore vests adorned in porcupine quills, beads and leatherwork. Tonight they would all light up their balloons and dance them around one another, ushering in a new age. After the sun had long set, they would all land their balloons safely, dance and drink around blazing fires and learn to play the sitar; they would, after all need new players in the new era. And Jean-Phillip would of course have zee French baguette.

Monday, November 26, 2012

A Life of Puropse





We sat huddled in the green room around a space heater, rehearsing some last-minute lines. I was distracted from the task at hand by my nerves; I didn’t have a clue how my co-workers were going to react to our performance. Would I be able to show my face at work again? I never had any trouble acting before, but this show has my name on it. As I drew the curtain I held my breath for a minute and then marched onstage.
What I didn’t expect was their laughter. Through the entire show, we were showered with applause, cheers, and laughs from the audience. We were told the lines felt effortless and that the themes were engaging and thought-provoking. The clown make-up lent legitimacy to the show’s absurdity. They were surprised by the show’s polish.
The positive energy that radiated from the audience members was an accolade to the hours that we poured into our creation. We spent two solid months writing and re-writing the script, making set pieces, searching for costumes, choreographing, practicing vocal and instrumental pieces, designing programs, and launching a website. And for just that one performance, our investment was returned to us ten-fold.
There is certainly a wide margin for improvement, but for our first self-produced show, I'd say it was pretty darn good. We had a blast and learned so much from the experience.
The feeling of walking off the stage was a post-wank euphoria.

So here are the videos; the second is the actual performance, the first is just a rehearsal of the opening dance and beginning of the show taken in our basement. Unfortunately, those parts were cut off in the final video but I wanted to include them.





Wednesday, November 14, 2012

PenWren Theater

COME ONE, COME ALL!!

To a show of unprecedented silliness! The PenWren players proudly present...

"A Life of Purpose"

 

11/21, 7 PM Sharp

Rendezvous' Jewel Box Theater




Eric, Almendra and I live together. We decided about two months ago that we were going to write a theatrical production and perform it. That time is finally here and we humbly proffer you our invitations. Bring your friends! Bring your enemies! Bring your Aunt Tom!




Check out our website, and we'll see you there!




 
Yes, they are inverted. 
I struggle with the future.

Horoscope

Leaves scatter and dance in the great belly of the wind. Nature is waddling along like a fat, naked princess whose gusty, gastric riptides churn we, the tumbling leaves over one another as she pushes down through her toes with rumbling force and launches herself into the sky. The year is 2012 and she is zooming through the atmosphere on her way to meet Mercury. She will meet him with furied eyes and brandished sword. Her rage is that of Venus, whose tame and beautiful creatures have grown restless in their cages. Nature must control the rage of the feminine as it re-claims the respect lost by the hands of a cruel and blinded Mercury. She will strike off only his appendages, which will re-grow in a matter of centuries. Now is the time of Venus; a time of great love and prosperity for all, but the world will again require Mercury's strength and courage, when he can again see clearly and learn to share the sky with mother Venus.

This week I went to a photo shoot with about 25 other women. We were photographed naked and wore day of the dead make up. It was just enough of a mask for us to hide behind, but I don't think I have never felt such pride in my own body or femininity. Growing up, I learned to become a 'tomboy' when I felt weak as a girl. Being more like a boy helped me feel more empowered. Now I am a woman, and I see that it's ok to be rough around the edges, but I can also be proud of what is feminine about me. As we were being photographed, the energy of the other women was feeding into me and I realized that we were all helping one another feel strong, beautiful and cared for. It was incredible therapy I didn't realize I needed. I will post again with a link to Almendra Sandoval's photographs when they are ready for publication and with her permission.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

HURNK!

Been practicing this accordion piece for an upcoming show that I will be putting on with my brother and his girlfriend. It is really Eric's brainchild, but all three of us are helping to create and produce it. We've got a date set for the end of November. I am both terrified and excited about it. ><!!
がんばります~!


Thursday, September 27, 2012

Bakin' and Shakin'

So my past few days off I found myself with a little time on my hands.
I found these great animal cookie cutters so I made some treats for the neighbors...



 I also found some wonderful frames, so I framed some things up...

































And recorded another song...




Monday, September 3, 2012

Bumbershoots and chicken boots

Today marked my 7th of an 8 day week.
When the alarm strikes 4:30, I tell it to go get fucked.
And when it strikes 5 I admit defeat.
Dragging around swollen club feet that are tired from standing.
The pantyhose required by skirt days make them look even more like they belong to an 80 year old.

Checking people in, checking people out.
Answering telephones.
Here are your room keys, sorry but you can't have three, the wifi information is with them.
That sounds like a very nice vacation you're having.
Oh, sorry your girlfriend is in jail. Here's a map I printed to the border on google maps.
You oughtta bring her flowers. 
You're welcome.
It's just around the corner.

Let's give this guy on the phone a better reservation.
He's very polite, and it sucks that mean people always get what they want.

See you later guys, I'm headed out.
Head whirring quickly like a dryer with nothing in it.
That's how the end of the day usually comes to me.

Tickets from a nice man to a 3-day music/ comedy festival.
He was finished using them and headed home.
Bumbershoot, that's the name.
I don't give a fuck about Bumbershoot.
I can't personally wait till I'm not checking out masses of red eyed children whose credit cards keep declining.
But then I enter the festival gates, find myself tangled in a cloud of the children's laughing gas
and remember that I love them all.
What a wonderful afternoon; meeting new friends, swaying to the beat, having a cold beer.
I ate two deep fried Reeses cups for dinner with whip cream on them.
Then I caught the bus home.
Work again tomorrow.



In other news, I am teaching myself how to play the accordion.
I am looking into the mirror to see the buttons, but you can pretend I am looking deeply into your lovely face.




Sunday, August 19, 2012

From the pink armchair


 

Today I got up at 4:30 to be in to work by 7.
People going on cruises were mean to me as they checked out of the hotel.
I forgot my lunch.

Around 3 it's time to catch the bus home. I watched the one that I wanted leave, but that's ok, I says, I'll take another. Guy sits next to me with some food he just bought. I don't get a good look at his face so I don't know who to yell for when I see that he has left a big jug of Arizona tea behind. I get up and try to motion for someone holding food to tell them they forgot their tea. As I sit back down, defeated, the woman sitting to my other side tells me that I have set the women's liberation front back 15 years but that my generation doesn't understand any of that. I tell her that I would have tried to return the tea to whomever left it because it's a nice thing to do, not because the forgetter of the tea was a man. She called me a maid and a servant to my male oppressors. I am still too much in polite service mode to tell her that she is a mean old bitch full of hate and that her perfume smells like fart-soaked mothballs. And that her hair is stupid.

By 5 I give up on my bus and take another, eyes welling up with tears and piss. I need a toilet. Bad. Finally I'm at the park I walk through to get home and make a break for the public restroom. A shining beacon. Thank god it's open today. As I'm washing my hands, I drop my prettiest sweater in poop and piss. I carry it home like that and my hands are getting soiled in slimy turd splatter and I'm trying to wipe away tears.

I am home now, eagerly awaiting a horrendous case of pink eye. On the upside, though, it is a very happy home I have returned to. I feel very content here and am adjusting well to the city. I have a steady-paying job that will eventually include health insurance and feel very creatively motivated. Recently, I started teaching myself guitar and have been diddling around in different art projects.

Ok, so for those who like updates, here're a few things coming out of the works.

 
Watercolor
Earrings I'd like to eventually sell...?



Lady with light / Lady without light

Some kinda bird...in fruit space...yyyep.


And lastly, my first guitar recording! I just started playing this week...so I am on a baby guitar. :P





Sunday, July 29, 2012

Burning the midnight oil

Well I'm moving again.
Seven hours and fifteen minutes from now, to be roughly exact. I should really go to bed, but am being kept awake by a nasty bout of acid reflux. I've put myself on the diet of a 90-year-old and have considered buying a pez dispenser for my tums. Until my stomach settles down, here are a few thoughts running through my late-night brain.


Ok so for one thing, yesterday I touched a slave collar. Yep, a mother fucking slave collar. It was at an antiques festival and was being sold by a guy who buys things from big estate sales in the south. He also had KKK pins, shackles, a whole bunch of Nazi regalia and other stuff that probably cursed me forever, as I was too naive to realize what I was holding UNTIL IT WAS TOO GOD DAMN LATE. Great, a nazi slave curse right before I get on a plane. No seriously, that's perfect. Just as long as I wear a life preserver to the airport, sit by an emergency exit and carry a chalice full of virgin blood in my carry on.
Other than all that crap I was just talking about, it was actually a really enjoyable sale to wander through; ended up with some lightly used paintbrushes and nice purple bottles. One of them has raised lettering that says 'sperm oil' on the front. I should probably wash that.......


In unrelated news, I've been thinking about trying to name all of the plants that I sold at the greenhouses this summer. derp derp derp. So here's what I got;


Astilbe (Bridal Veil)
Dianthis
Zinnia
Blue Fescue
Flame Grass
Bunny Tails
Roses (climbing, tea, flora bunda)
Hydrangea
Hosta
Rhubarb
Lily (Day, Hardy, Stargazer, Asiatic)
Lobelia
Snap Dragons (hanging, ground)
Clematis
Honeysuckle
Pachasandra
Myrtle
Trumpet Vine
Hens and Chicks
Butterfly Bush
Ribbon Grass
Oriental Poppy
Fern (Japanese Painted, Christmas, Ostrich, Boston)
Feather Reed Grass
Dahlia
Peony
Bleeding Heart
Grapes
Blueberry (Elliot, Bluecrop, Northland)
Hibiscus (perennial, annual)
Chrysanthemum
Foxglove
Bee Balm
Prim Rose
Salvia
Geranium (regular, ivy, Martha Washington)
Rosemary
Thyme
Terragon
Parsley
Basil
Corabell
Euchinacea
Delphinum
Columbine
Marigold
Black-eyed Susan
Lupine
Cilantro
Begonia (tuberous, millon bells)
Petunia (Wave, regular)
Pansy
Violets
Sage
Spikes
Tomato (Heirloom, grape, cherry, pear, canning)
Cucumber (gerden, slicing)
Peppers (Jalapeno, Bell, Chili)
Squash (Pumpkin, Butternut)
Broccoli
Kale
Cabbage
Carrots
Corn
Bellboy's Buttons
Bacopa
Fuscia
Bougenvillia
Spider Plant
Impatien
Kangaroo Plant


...Yay! I know there are more, but that's all I can check of my floral bingo list for tonight.

After a few thousand online comics, adorable puppy and duck photos and some blogging with you fine folks, I'm finally getting a little sleepy and excited for my venture westward. Everyone is asking me, 'Oh what's out in Seattle??' and I don't know or care. I hope to do something great that will save orphan babies from panthers and has dental. In the meantime I just want to pay my bills, sing, dance, love, act and make art. Speaking of, here's some summer art. Been meaning to upload this stuff.










Goodnight, all.

(I left this post up on my computer. I am actually in Seattle now and settling very well so far. ^^)

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Despondent



Good god damn gravy grapes.
Little dollop a mayonnaise, sittin' in the sun.
Not a single hunger pang at all. 
What a long time it's been that I have had the luxury of easy fullness.
I just want to sit and look blankly at blankness. 
I wonder if this is what rich people feel like.

I was floating around in the pool, unable to put together proper conversation.
My mother said, ‘do you know what your name means? Sea slug!’
It’s the first time I laughed today. Felt nice and strange.

I keep wondering if I am good at anything.
Should I try something and see?
Later, later. Give it a crack then. Just get a job for now.
Feel bad, you don’t have a job, you know. Remember those who need it for you. Get it? Got it! Ok. 
Guilt. That's a thought I can curl up inside of like a cat in a box.

Get out of town, do some drugs, make reckless decisions.
That'll put hair back on your chest. Balance out your job.

Remember something that doesn't feel like emptiness.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

A-capella derpa-derp

Today was a wonderful day. ^^

I had another 12 hour shift at the greenhouses I am working at for the summer, and was able to get most of my work done in the perennial houses. Now I am covered in mold and dirt and happy to be home on the couch, rubbing a belly fulla taters.

Anyway, here are a few videos I recorded... they're songs. I never sing when anyone else is in the house because it makes me too nervous. For some reason, though, I guess I don't mind posting them. Just... please be nice if you leave any comments. I'm not exceedingly confident in the singing department, even though I really, really enjoy it.


Girl With One Eye 
(Florence and the Machine)



Sukiyaki
(Kyu Sakamoto)



Friday, April 13, 2012

For Peach



This is a little picture book I made for a very special someone. Idris... you've officially lodged yourself into one of the deeper chasms of my blackened heart.
 


 pg. 1
 
Once there was a boy who lived in a very sunny place. It was warm there every day and some very special mountains were close by. Sometimes the boy would look at the mountains and feel very happy.


pg. 2
 
Not only were the mountains very beautiful... they were covered in magic beans!



 pg. 3
If someone made a special drink with the beans, that person might actually turn into a squirrel! The boy sometimes made the special drink, but he never had very much. So, he didn't know about their secret power. 


pg. 4
 
One day the boy went to his mother and said, "I'm going to go very far away. I want to see the world. When I return I will have wonderful stories to tell you." 
The boy's mother was very happy for him. She said, "Ok. Take some of these beans from the mountain with you. When you feel lonely you can make a special drink." The boy smiled.
 

pg. 5
He took the beans and went far away. Then he went farther away. Then he went so far that he was on the other side of the world. He decided that it was a good place to explore, and that he would stay there for awhile.


pg. 6
Soon, he met a girl there. He liked her very much and she liked him. They had many great adventures together.
They saw mountains, and rivers, and castles together. Once, they even rode on an elephant! They boy made the girl many of his special drinks. Every day they laughed and were thankful to know each other.


pg. 7
"Boy?" said the girl one day.
"Yes?" said the boy.
"Will you please make me a special drink? I'm very sleepy and very thirsty."
So the boy made her a drink. But the girl was still sleepy and still thirsty. So he made her another. And another. And another. He continued to make her drinks until she was no longer sleepy or thirsty. All of a sudden, the magic beans began to take effect!


 pg. 8
The girl felt very strange and looked a little worried.  "Boy?" she asked, "do you think you can still like me as a squirrel?"
"Well, I've never loved a squirrel before" said the boy. "But I think I will always like you just for who you are."
The girl looked relieved. She liked the boy just the way he was, too. She didn't mind that he often burped and farted and listened to crappy, crappy Björk. Yuck.


 pg. 9
As a squirrel, the girl became very...squirrely!
She loved to play tricks on the boy and sometimes he became very nervous. But he remained true to his word - he liked her just they way she was. And the girl liked him just the way he was. Their love grew and grew.


 pg. 10
But one day, the girl got the same feeling the boy had before. She could feel her heart pulling her to another place for more adventures. And the boy could feel his heart pulling him, too.
They had to say goodbye.
...it was very sad.


pg. 11
They promised to meet each other again one day. Before leaving for their new adventures, the girl wanted to give the boy one more surprise. It was a small book that he could read whenever he felt lonely. He knew that she would feel the same way sometimes, too.
"Here" he said, handing her a bag of magic beans. "You can make a special drink whenever you feel lonely."
The girl smiled.

Scuzzy


I was so pissed off I wanted to yank the roses off their stems and squash them. But I didn’t just want them squashed; I wanted their very essence obliterated. I thought about mashing them between my palms and then smearing the pulp across the pavement with my heel until they became an indeterminate streak among the gum splotches and the pigeon shit.

I watched a pigeon take a shit on my train platform just yesterday. It offended me far less than the roses’ sickening loveliness did. Jesus, roses can be really fucking irritating sometimes. On my worst days, I would prefer to observe the dirty, sloppy squirt from a creature that I can only assume is self-aware of its own irrevocable squalidness, than to observe a beautiful rose basking in its own delicate perfume.

Pigeons smell more like ham sandwiches than perfume. They are covered in billions of germs and their feathers aren’t particularly impressive, as the petals of a rose are. Humans watch them flock near park benches and on platforms. Occasionally we may toss out some crumbs to a gathering flock, an act that may or may not be motivated by a dim sense of pity.  Like throwing change into the cup of a beggar. And yet, pigeons seem to maintain an amiable temperament, despite our quiet judgment. They look out from beady eyes with friendly, albeit dumb curiosity. Their idiotic head bobs only add to their quasi-retarded charm.

On carefree days I give thanks to the beautiful roses, which sweeten the breeze. But on my worst days, I give special thanks to the pigeons, who offer cooing approval to my misery.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Movin' Pictcha Show!

I've been packing all day and am starting to feel like one of those baby chicks all covered in veins and goo, trying to peck its way out of the shell. I am bored and tired and lonely and hyper. Deplorable! Earlier today I dropped a suitcase on my big toe and it is was a bloody mess. I couldn't find a Band Aid anywhere so I improvised with some cotton and tape. This mess is a place! My brother said that, I think. Anyway, I'm taking a break now and thought I would post something. The following are some of the more interesting (and internet-appropriate) videos from my computer since I've been in Japan.


 Feeding the coy

Ainu ladies dancing (Hokkaido)

 
Ainu woman playing the Mukkuri (Hokkaido)

School festival - jump rope competition

Lisu village (Thailand)


New Year 2012 (Okinawa)
**This video was taken my Seishu Imai (Osaru no Oyado)

Milking goats at Green Farms (Nagano-ken)

Taiko (Pei Pei's group! - Nagano)

monitor (Australia)

Kangaroos (Australia)

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Wabi-Sabi-Sayonara


This weekend a few friends hosted a going away party for a group of the ALTs (myself included) who will be leaving in the spring. I am amazed that I haven't been hunched over a toilet all day, although it is very possible that I smell like it. It's one of those days that the shower is just too far away and there has been absolutely no reason to ditch the PJs. But who knows, it's only 4:30, I may get around to pants yet. Anyway, I kinda feel like I have been writing too much serious crap these days, but I really felt the need to give a shout out to the folks in Japan whom it is breaking my heart to leave. Honestly, you guys, I cried like a baby in a dishwasher this morning. Love you all.




My dear friends,
What can I tell you with words? I will try my best to explain my heart, although I promise that I cannot. 

 When I see the eagles diving low into the snowy mountains, my heart pleads for me to cut out the scene from earth’s page. I want to fold it up into a small square and carry it with me. Of course, with or without my little square I’m sure it will be impossible for me to forget the captivating beauty of this place. My memory can hold onto a still frame enough for me to return here from time to time in my daydreams. What I am afraid I might forget, without my cutout, is the smell of damp winter air over still rice fields. The rustle of wind as it passes through the pampas grass. The snaps and crackles of billowing smoke from a farmer’s field curling to the sky. I watch the eagle as it glides over these things and I envy him. Why must I be compelled to leave behind all of this quiet luxury when he is not? The wabi-sabi of this place is as fragile as it is precious. I’m afraid that wabi-sabi cannot be folded and put into a pocket. No, I will not be able to take it with me.  I can only remember the glow that those precious smells and sights and sounds left in my heart.

It is the same with you, my dear friends. Yes, I will remember what I can of the places we went and the things we talked about and above all, how you have helped me grow. Those things are all wonderful and important, but it is not what I wish to reiterate right now. There will be time for nostalgia a little bit later. What I want to thank you for, before I go, are the things you are in danger of being left unaware of. I want to thank you all for your quiet luxury, your ‘wabi-sabi’. The lines that crease your face when you smile. The curiosity behind your eyes. The rising and falling pitch of your voice…. your laughter. Some of you I know well, some I do not. Some of you I know in between. All of you, though, have shared these gifts during our time together.  I’m so glad we met.



これは日本語のバーションですけど、スーパまずいかもしれません。よくがんばったんだけど、日本語やばいいいいい〜〜〜!!!!! 直すのおすすめがあったら、せひコーメンットを書いて下さいね!


親愛なる友達へ、
どのように私は言葉で教えてあげたいことを説明することができますか?心を説明するためにがんばってみたいんだけど、私の約束は、本当にできません。

雪が覆われた山の中で、ワシが 低い所までにダイビングをしている時に、私の心は地球のページからそのシーンをカットすて希って。 小さな正方形にそれを畳んで運ぶしたいと思います。もちろん、私の小さな正方形がなかったら、この場所の魅惑的な美しさを忘れてすることは不可能であると確信しています。私の記憶は空想に戻ってするためにはフレームを保持することができます 。怖いものは カットアトが持ってなかったら、まだ田んぼの上の 冬の湿った空気の匂いが忘れてしまうかもしれません 。もう、ススキを通過する風の擦れる音が忘れたら。。。 農家のフィールドから、空に煙が渦巻くのクラックルが忘れたら。。。それらものの上に滑ながら、私がワシを見てらやましくなてします。なぜ私は彼がいないときは、この静かな贅沢のすべてを残すことを強要しなければなりませんか?この場所の侘び寂びは、貴重であるとして壊れやすいものです。私は侘び寂びを、折りたたんでポケットに入れてすることはできません 。そして、取ることはできません。私はそれらの貴重な匂いや景色や音の輝きが心に残っていることです。

それはあなたのような同じです、私の親愛なる友達。もちろん、我々が行った場所や 話したことや、上記のすべてことから、どのよ
に私が成長するために助けてくれました。それらものはすべて素晴らしいと重要何ですが、今改めてしたいものではありません。少し後で郷愁のための時間があるでしょ。私はアメリカに帰る前に、あなたに感謝したいことは、たぶん知らないままになっているの危険にさらされているものです。あなたの静かな贅沢、あなたの 侘び寂びのために感謝したいと思います。 顔が笑う時のしわされたがしわです。目の後ろに好奇心です。あなたの声の立ち上がりと立ち下がりピッチですあなたの笑い声です。私はよく知っているあなた方の何人かもうあると、いくつかはよく知っていません。そしてもういくつかはその間に知っています。でも、みんなさんは、私たちの会えた時の中に、いつもそれら贈り物を共有してくれました。私たちが会ったので、本当にれしいですよ。
 

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

What is a circle sees not death

Wendy is a woman who taught me about myself without trying.
She showed me how to pick up ants, by licking my finger and pressing on them. All afternoon I had been trying to grab them between my fingers and she stood across the road, laughing joyfully.
She had a small long braid like I do now and sometimes wore feathers.

One day she showed me a picture of a Cherokee woman and said she was a princess. She said it in a strange, melancholy way. I had never seen a princess like that before.

In the winter, I sometimes knocked on her door and asked for an icicle. The ones that grew on Wendy's pitched overhang were enormous. I liked to break off their ends to dip into sugar or maple syrup. She gave me permission to eat or take whatever I could, but never helped me break them off or carry them home. Instead, she just stood outside with me and watched, smiling.

She had a collection of these incredibly realistic dolls at her house, too. Zook dolls?
Once she hosted a little party in her basement and I made one with my mom and a friend.
It was fun making my own doll, even though the bowls of eyes and hair were a little creepy. I named my doll Alexis.
Wendy never told me that I looked like a doll.
She complimented me on how many ants I caught and how many icicles I could carry, but never told me what a pretty little angel I was.

I never realized growing up how much Wendy was helping to strengthen my character. She was a woman of integrity who loved herself and exuded love for everything around her. Her energy was infectious. She didn't have to do anything but be to spread it. Sometimes I wondered if she was not also the princess in the picture... 

And then one day, Wendy died.
It was painful to have her death explained to me.
She had a brain aneurysm in the driveway and the sound of her head on the horn sirened her death to the neighborhood.
I missed her then and I think I still do. But a part of me felt like she didn't actually go anywhere.
I don't want to call it a 'soul' but I remember feeling like her radiance was spilling out into the dirt.
Like a kind of golden liquid from a vial.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Very Superstitious (writing on the blog) ♪♪

I guess I don't really have any superstitions now.

But I don't like when my feet step on a disproportionate number of sidewalk cracks.
And I feel bad when I throw away plants that aren't completely dead.
It's like I'm burying them alive or something.
Hopefully they're not too upset about it.
Plants seem to accept death pretty gracefully...

When I was young I think I probably had a few.
I remember trying to hold my breath whenever I passed by a graveyard.
My brother told me that the dead people resting there would come to haunt me if I didn't.
There was one graveyard downtown that was just massive.
Driving by it in the car was alright...
but I always had to take a breath when I rode past on my bike.
It became clear to me that the occasional haunting was a sacrifice I would have to accept for the enjoyment of a sunny day bike ride and ice cream with dad.
He always let me get waffle cones.
I really wondered about the people who strolled slowly around in the graveyard, though.
There must be a bigger bounty in that.... maybe they were getting more ice cream than me.
I never dared to test my hypothesis.

I'm 24 now and still sometimes catch myself holding my breath.
I wonder if other people do, too.

Monday, February 6, 2012

Color! (...and monochrome)

Most of these are sketches I did today... I just used the camera on my computer so the quality of the photos is about 8½ dog shits out of 10.







Sunday, January 8, 2012

Back in twenty


Anguish is something that washes over your face
as pale blue watercolor
from a loaded brush.

You gaze dully out from behind
the watery film
just the same as ever.
But now you feel tired
and let your mouth hang open
and allow the willing fly to buzz on in
and you try your damndest
to decide
whether it's better to drown yourself in cheap whiskey
or just pass the fuck out.

That last cigarette wasn't even that good.
Too damp from clammy hands and lips
but it was better than trying to find something to eat in this dump.
You hope it will eventually out itself
watching the last bits of paper burn into a ribbon of blue
up to the ceiling.

This damn place would make itself dirty
even if I didn't.
Thoughts are muttering about in your head like
old friends playing craps up on the second floor
of a dusty saloon
The lines of physical realization
blur out of importance.
You fall slowly into the sweet black arms of 
nothingness.