Come Ooooooon

Why is it that the only description anyone can come up with these days to describe new music is "haunting vocals"? I swear if I see those words one more time, I'm boycotting whatever it is their talking about, even if it is mega-haunting and amazing and I'm probably missing out on some creepy, ghost-like melodies and lyrics. (Well, after I check out Other Lives, whose description on a certain blog which shall remain nameless sent me into this rant). Ok, that's all.

She's Just that Kind of Girl

Vampire Blood or the Blood of Christ?

Today I had a discussion with Katie and Jesse about the odd metaphor between Twilight the movie (or book) and Christianity. It is now my theory that the (supposed) christian writer Stephenie Meyer does not-so-subtly relate the tempting "otherness" of the impure human, Bella, to a typical, unchristian, impure, perhaps even "sexually charged" young female. That would make Edward (the prideful, old world vampire who "glows") the prideful christian who "glows" with love and power given to him by God. In the story, their love cannot be brought to its potential (i.e. they can't make-out, much less have sex) because Bella is from a different world than he is; she is impure, different, and not worthy to be with someone like him. Therefore, the only way they can be together is if Bella becomes a vampire too (i.e. is "converted" to christianity or, you could say, baptized) so that they become the same: pure, and part of God's world. Bella, of course, serves as an impure female temptation, just as Eve serves as an evil temptation to Adam (advertisements even feature a shiny red apple, a symbol of the forbidden fruit). Edward must spent the majority of the movie trying to deny his urges, until she rises to his level, and "they can fuck," as Jesse so poignantly pointed out.

Regardless, it was a pretty good movie, even if the theatre was filled with 12-16 year old girls, only.

Fiiiiiinally...

...got my hands on a scanner. Here's a couple b&w from a recent trip to the sea, and polaroids by Jesse.

Honey Bunch and Norman...visit reindeer farm!

Whenever I go home, I find something old that I used to play with when I was a kid (okay, sometimes teenager) that seems all new and shiny and fascinating. This time, it was my mom's old Honey Bunch and Norman books I used to read over and over again. Maybe that's how I turned out to be such a good kid? Good ol' wholesome 50's mystery adventures really cleaned me up. This time looking at them I was inspired by the cute, simplistic artwork on the cover and inside...there is one tree in particular I could see making one fine tattoo. I'll scan it as soon as I get the scanner I am planning to buy soon, courtesy of Asian Dave.

My Window Mind

Looking out the window, from inside, is like trying to look through a mirror, behind the image that stubbornly glues itself to…itself. There is no way to distinguish between the atoms, to look beyond what inhibits the eye from really seeing. That day was too warm, and too perfect, to really see clearly. But that day was no day in particular, just a memory reserved for any day like it. These are the days when nothing seems to be right with you, but right with everyone else. The people walking by the window seem to have purpose; they glace at their watches, nod to their companions, speed up to arrive someplace on time, or, better yet, leisurely stroll because they are not in a hurry to get anywhere. But even the idle strollers have purpose; they know where they are headed, in general. But you, standing behind the glass, are stuck, separated by more than just a clear wall; it is a wall of inopportunity. Even if you crack a widow, or lift it as high as it will go, it is not the same as making the decision to open the door, walk outside, and join the procession. Once again, the air outside smells sickly sweet, plump and full of the constant breathing of plants, animals, and humans, the monotonous “in/out, in/out” of every living creature. You even wonder if there is enough air out there for you, too, and think that it is safer to stay inside, where you have all the air to yourself. There is no one there to share it with, no one to tell you what to do, to ask you what you are going to do next.

But, to the contrary, there is someone doing these things. You do not see him or her, and it is not God, if that’s what you’re thinking. It is someone closer to you than God, it is your memories, the people that have passed through the window and touched you for a moment, it is the memory of things yet to pass. It is everything.

I hereby do declare today the first day of Spring

Today was by far the warmest date so far this year (according to me, but maybe not technically speaking) and I spied some cherry blossoms falling off the trees in the wind, and soft little baby leaves beginning to take their place. I will miss the blossoms when they're all gone, but am equally excited for the new greenness. So, then I wrote a cheesy poem...



The screeching halt of the train
Is the rich, low blow of a trumpet,
To me
The rustling of branches,
A choir of voices
The flapping of wings,
A round of applause

fotoshoppe

o-m-g photoshop has revolutionized my life in ways I never thought possible. Many, many hours will now be devoted (wasted) to altering pictures, etc. I really have no idea what I'm doing though...big surprise.

Secrets Shhhhhhh!

1. I am in love for the first time in my life. You know how I figured this out? When you’re in love, it’s easy to be in love.

2. I miss ballet. I also miss modern. Sometimes I think I made a horrible mistake by not going to a college with a more prominent dance program. Or that I didn’t take more of an advantage of what I could do here.

3. I smoke cigarettes and have tattoos, but my parents have no idea. I find this very funny. I am the oldest child and I have always been “the good one” and I think if they found out it would absolutely crush their picture of me, and then they would loose all hope. (Ok, this actually isn’t true anymore. I recently quit smoking…day 5 baby!)

4. I do not have an addictive personality. This is good in some ways, because it prevents me from becoming dependent on things like drugs and alcohol, but bad because it means I loose interest in things quickly and go back and forth between projects. Nothing is ever finished because I move on too fast.

5. I had no idea how to converse normally with my peers until high school. I don’t think I had a real friend, someone who I could actually talk to and share mutual feelings with until I became friends with Serena. I think I was 13. But even that started off rocky too.

6. Until I was 12, I wanted to be an astronaut. My parents sent me to space camp, but I didn’t understand anything that was going on, and I got sick on all the simulators. I had a blast though (pun intended), but I realized that my dream of flying to the moon would never take flight (pun intended). Sigh.

7. Going back to number 2, I wish that I was dancing now. In general. Like, maybe not this exact moment, because I am very warm and cozy in my bed right now.

8. The first time I ever bought a CD I went to Tower Records in the Northgate Mall and spent a 100 dollar bill I had received for a birthday or something on both NSYNC and Backstreet Boys self-titled. Yeah, at the same time. If you were a tween in 1998 or so you know there was the NSYNC camp and the BB’s camp, and you HAD to choose one. I couldn’t decide…I needed to make an informed, educated decision, so I bought both. In the end I think I ended up with NSYNC, but that was only because it was “cooler” to like them.

9. It’s been awhile since I’ve been truly excited about a new “creative outlet” in my life, but now that I have gotten back into taking crappy amateur photos I feel like I’ve lit a spark, a little one. And it’s nice, because I’m not doing it for anyone but myself. I don’t have to take pictures for some crappy newspaper or have them judged by anyone in any real way. It’s really JUST for me, although I of course show them to people, just for fun I guess. I also don’t care one bit about knowing all the details of what kind of equipment I’m buying, because then I never have to actually TALK about photography with anyone, which is a HUGE relief.

10. Sometimes I feel like that guy in American Beauty who just can’t handle him self and the world because he is so damn impressed by all the beauty in the world. Like, really that guy looks like he’s going to throw up at one point, he’s so overwhelmed, and the all the beautiful images he’s stored up inside are just going to spew out of him. Well, half the time I feel like that. But, of course, nobody’s happy all the time (and that’s the way it should be). The rest of the time I am a mess, a complete nihilist…hater of society blah blah. I also have this problem where I am bored by like 80% of the people I meet (bored as in, in my mind I’m banging my head against the wall repeatedly to cause bodily injury that is more interesting than their inane babbling). The thing is, I’m usually equally bored with myself, so I’m not really being that mean. It’s nice to have a balance between hate and love though…very healthy, I think.

Love is(n't) Simple

An excerpt from a (very long) short story I am working on. It's about growing old and the misconception of the glory of youth and nobody caring about old people and yadda yadda yadda....

//He thought he may have slightly peaked the young woman’s interest, as she finally sat on the bed and stopped moving around so much. She held a pen she had found on the old man's night stand that he was having trouble putting back together, after he had attempted to refill the ink. She worked on this while he continued on.

“The song reminds me of details I never want to forget. A specific cluster of freckles. The crow’s feet creases on the sides of someone’s eyes that I loved. There is a big misconception about wrinkles, don’t you think? I don’t see the big fuss. I loved my mother’s wrinkled hands….”

He looked down at his own hands, which had endless maps of creases all over them, then looked at the young woman’s smooth hands working diligently at his pen, and began to doubt himself. Maybe there really was something wrong with one’s body failing, drifting away. Stereotypes and fears do have to come from somewhere, after all. //