All the world cares about is money, because money talks, and people love to talk. It's the fuel for thought, the motor, your mouth and brain the engine, revved by others lives. Can't you find something else to discuss, first of all, and of greater importance such as Israel right now, if you needed a recommendation. The worlds a stage on which we play, artfully, unaware of the show you are not only in the audience of but a key role in. Your lines dictate your view on ones character while altering the view of another's. Who are you whether you're but the groundskeeper or main antagonist in your own show to call a scene where you please? Are you the director?
If not, who is?
Slim's hand tired, tearing at the page with pen so anxious to spit out her thoughts on the matter. Sitting back, paying attention to the short film playing in front of her, Slim attempted to pick up where her mind dipped off earlier in the plot, to no avail.
Deciding to dwell in her stewing impatience longer, Slim silently bid adieu to giving-a-shit pastimes, and took on a new mission. Brainwashing, swirls and gangs aside, Slim needed a medium to vent and PUSH against convention. Where Instagram had become convention's pet, Slim sought a new outlet of artistic development where she may drag the bones of conventional carcasses to the attention of those feeble minded stereotypes (who itch and bitch and squirm their greater abled selves INTO the stereotypes because convention says stereotypes are cool!)
I want to make you squirm and anticipate and beg to be taught how to forget what you've been taught prior because passion like this doesn't come from what you're told it comes from what you aren't.
Get a pen and pad and begin taking notes because shots are being fired and were writing history here kiddos.
Monday, August 4, 2014
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Inside The Swirl
The Ides of March- 2012
I've lost myself. Who I am. not in a depressing way but it is a sad thought. because I've forgotten how to write and read for fun, how to be normal and when I say normal I'm not going according to other people but by me. By my own standards I'm being weird in a bad way because I don't know how to carry a regular conversation without making a face, I get frustrated or mad or upset so easily and don't care about school. Or to invest my time well. Now I look at myself and can't see where I've gone off my path but it's okay because little adventures on the side can take you unexpected places, this
April 11. 2013.
Money is just a means.
How do I stop apologizing for myself? Well first I think I should figure out the root cause of these feelings that stir me to apologize for being myself??? Why do I feel bad about myself???
Why do I blame myself, everything that I am on that one event? Why are you so scarred baby girl? no need to blame anything. that right there?? that's straight up blame- asking if I started blaming myself for all that I am today on breaking up with ---. Because to be deeply brutally honest that can't be the change in me. it was a means of change, the catalyst. reflecting on that period in my life was an extremely self absorbed period with no self reflection (which combined is LETHAL!!!!) the poison intoxicates your thoughts, conscious AND sub conscious infiltrating my intentions as well. when you wake up from that reverie of having someone do that substantial thinking for you as --- did, you're going to experience a cleansing of mind. when it comes down to it maybe it's me.
May 8. 2013.
releasing positive vibes
May 20. 2013.
stress & money what else is new? apparently a lack of originality doesn't only show itself in the faces of American personality but in the face of life's curveballs. so predictable I should be struck out for not hitting them head on.
something great happened today which frustrates me to no end. got my phone taken away. now the frustration should be greatly obvious but why is it amazing?
because every time I go without my iphone for an extended period of time I feel a certain pressure lift off my chest. are my tweets good enough? spunky enough?? fun and interesting enough?? twitters taking over my life- actually in general social media. it is usually one form or the other, I find, thats why I despite the entire existence of the concept but my current monster to tackle is twitter.
this provided me though with a light clear mind of such pressures and im in the mood to write + be inspired. so I decided to look Cara Delevingne up on youtube! oh! I was completely -pleasantly- surprised by videos of her. Most often than not, WATCHING people move and speak when you've only ever seen pictures of is disturbing and shattering of the image you once held in your mind of them. BUT- she is eloquent, punky, crazy funky cool. I use these words a lot, but for Cara they are a perfect fit. What I've gathered about Cara Delevigne:
1. she uses disposable cameras because she's no good at keping digital ones. her photographs probably come out awesome. awesome in a way that is not mad eye genius but captivating. She probably has the kind of daily life that could come out genius looking to the camera's eye although it would be set up (in a not STAGED way?)
2. her accent surprised me. not sure why I thought she was Australian but she's British. hmm... further evidence of my curbed judgement...
well that's all I remember DISTINCTLY five minutes later
what I'm looking for now are role models- people I want to take specific aspects of and model myself after that.
people who have a spark that resonates with my spirit.
this inspirational character hunt is not limited- I have to keep in mind- to celebrities. but maybe a public figure with substantial significance besides in pop culture?
the urgency with which I started to write about an hour ago has been misplaced. :( maybe a brief current state of the union? i HATE brevity in place of analyzation of emotion and thought in depth!! UGH!! why must my patience tank's status be on constant low?
real question I pose to myself- is it worth simply recording events in my life only to leave them as unprobed thoughts? and ideas? as potential thought bombs??!!? IS IT??? no ones come back from the future to answer my question so I assume we never find out. I guess play it safe and record away...
I've lost myself. Who I am. not in a depressing way but it is a sad thought. because I've forgotten how to write and read for fun, how to be normal and when I say normal I'm not going according to other people but by me. By my own standards I'm being weird in a bad way because I don't know how to carry a regular conversation without making a face, I get frustrated or mad or upset so easily and don't care about school. Or to invest my time well. Now I look at myself and can't see where I've gone off my path but it's okay because little adventures on the side can take you unexpected places, this
April 11. 2013.
Money is just a means.
How do I stop apologizing for myself? Well first I think I should figure out the root cause of these feelings that stir me to apologize for being myself??? Why do I feel bad about myself???
Why do I blame myself, everything that I am on that one event? Why are you so scarred baby girl? no need to blame anything. that right there?? that's straight up blame- asking if I started blaming myself for all that I am today on breaking up with ---. Because to be deeply brutally honest that can't be the change in me. it was a means of change, the catalyst. reflecting on that period in my life was an extremely self absorbed period with no self reflection (which combined is LETHAL!!!!) the poison intoxicates your thoughts, conscious AND sub conscious infiltrating my intentions as well. when you wake up from that reverie of having someone do that substantial thinking for you as --- did, you're going to experience a cleansing of mind. when it comes down to it maybe it's me.
May 8. 2013.
releasing positive vibes
May 20. 2013.
stress & money what else is new? apparently a lack of originality doesn't only show itself in the faces of American personality but in the face of life's curveballs. so predictable I should be struck out for not hitting them head on.
something great happened today which frustrates me to no end. got my phone taken away. now the frustration should be greatly obvious but why is it amazing?
because every time I go without my iphone for an extended period of time I feel a certain pressure lift off my chest. are my tweets good enough? spunky enough?? fun and interesting enough?? twitters taking over my life- actually in general social media. it is usually one form or the other, I find, thats why I despite the entire existence of the concept but my current monster to tackle is twitter.
this provided me though with a light clear mind of such pressures and im in the mood to write + be inspired. so I decided to look Cara Delevingne up on youtube! oh! I was completely -pleasantly- surprised by videos of her. Most often than not, WATCHING people move and speak when you've only ever seen pictures of is disturbing and shattering of the image you once held in your mind of them. BUT- she is eloquent, punky, crazy funky cool. I use these words a lot, but for Cara they are a perfect fit. What I've gathered about Cara Delevigne:
1. she uses disposable cameras because she's no good at keping digital ones. her photographs probably come out awesome. awesome in a way that is not mad eye genius but captivating. She probably has the kind of daily life that could come out genius looking to the camera's eye although it would be set up (in a not STAGED way?)
2. her accent surprised me. not sure why I thought she was Australian but she's British. hmm... further evidence of my curbed judgement...
well that's all I remember DISTINCTLY five minutes later
what I'm looking for now are role models- people I want to take specific aspects of and model myself after that.
people who have a spark that resonates with my spirit.
this inspirational character hunt is not limited- I have to keep in mind- to celebrities. but maybe a public figure with substantial significance besides in pop culture?
the urgency with which I started to write about an hour ago has been misplaced. :( maybe a brief current state of the union? i HATE brevity in place of analyzation of emotion and thought in depth!! UGH!! why must my patience tank's status be on constant low?
real question I pose to myself- is it worth simply recording events in my life only to leave them as unprobed thoughts? and ideas? as potential thought bombs??!!? IS IT??? no ones come back from the future to answer my question so I assume we never find out. I guess play it safe and record away...
When You Let(s) [Her] Go
Slim pulled the door shut in passenger and said, "let's go."
The car sped away down the long abandoned road, past abandoned shacks with abandoned plants, the life literally being sucked out the earth by the sun.
Feet up on the dashboard, chin to chest, Slim kept her gaze from wandering too long. Where were the caretakers of these properties?
Barry must be feeling the same way as these cacti. Standing still watching Slim make off on her own journey. But she's lonely looking for herself out there, Barry consoled himself thoughtfully.
Barry knew it in the way her eyes didn't shine when she sat shaking a still developing Polaroid (which she recently learned might or might not make the picture blurry, thanks Outkast)
Barry knew it in the way she thoughtlessly kissed, with her lips, with some tongue, without her heart. Without her grip in the hair tugging and twirling the short strands of boyish cuts between her fingernails, slightly less stubby since she stopped biting. Only slightly.
Barry knew it in the way she broke his heart.
Slim felt it in the way her hands shook at the thought of it, and heaven knows she's miserable now.
She has no job, but she's a worker of her heart. Slim tapped the window with her index knuckle, "get gas here."
She walked away letting someone else take care of fuel. Slim kicked around in the dirt and then sat under the vaccuuming sky, scorching her with its heat. From beneath, the cracked ground, hot to the touch. From above, the blistering sun beamed not proudly, boastfully on Slim's face, flushed rosy with color.
Around her, mountains of dry soil, she did not understand how they stood as many years for the world without melting or cracking under its massive pressure. Between the pressures of peers and fears alone Slim felt crush galore.
To her left, Slim turned, to observe the stem of an infant succulent.
New life. Stemming from the old, and dried out, burned, and teased with breezes, again, new life.
Eyes back up, to the burning orb amongst the rest of our constellations attendance. Burn my eyes, Slim thought, and it's vision into the past where I no longer am welcome. Welcome me, with clarity. Of here. And now. And with her wish, Slim willed the infant succulent to infinity. Whatever it's own little infinity may be.
The car sped away down the long abandoned road, past abandoned shacks with abandoned plants, the life literally being sucked out the earth by the sun.
Feet up on the dashboard, chin to chest, Slim kept her gaze from wandering too long. Where were the caretakers of these properties?
Barry must be feeling the same way as these cacti. Standing still watching Slim make off on her own journey. But she's lonely looking for herself out there, Barry consoled himself thoughtfully.
Barry knew it in the way her eyes didn't shine when she sat shaking a still developing Polaroid (which she recently learned might or might not make the picture blurry, thanks Outkast)
Barry knew it in the way she thoughtlessly kissed, with her lips, with some tongue, without her heart. Without her grip in the hair tugging and twirling the short strands of boyish cuts between her fingernails, slightly less stubby since she stopped biting. Only slightly.
Barry knew it in the way she broke his heart.
Slim felt it in the way her hands shook at the thought of it, and heaven knows she's miserable now.
She has no job, but she's a worker of her heart. Slim tapped the window with her index knuckle, "get gas here."
She walked away letting someone else take care of fuel. Slim kicked around in the dirt and then sat under the vaccuuming sky, scorching her with its heat. From beneath, the cracked ground, hot to the touch. From above, the blistering sun beamed not proudly, boastfully on Slim's face, flushed rosy with color.
Around her, mountains of dry soil, she did not understand how they stood as many years for the world without melting or cracking under its massive pressure. Between the pressures of peers and fears alone Slim felt crush galore.
To her left, Slim turned, to observe the stem of an infant succulent.
New life. Stemming from the old, and dried out, burned, and teased with breezes, again, new life.
Eyes back up, to the burning orb amongst the rest of our constellations attendance. Burn my eyes, Slim thought, and it's vision into the past where I no longer am welcome. Welcome me, with clarity. Of here. And now. And with her wish, Slim willed the infant succulent to infinity. Whatever it's own little infinity may be.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Run for Cover
These are the goods right before 2 am. It's the shadow of the sun playfully licking the last trace of the horizon before slipping under, as I do my covers. There are no traces of light either, the shadows that played the day away are resting in the comfort of darkness.
Darkness is totally comfortable and frightening. I wouldn't be able to see you if you were two feet away. How scary and great? I don't want to see you and the darkness at 2 am sure helped a friend out right there.
But where it keeps you out of sight darkness brings you to mind. The nights, I used to lay dreaming about you, I now spend praying the darkness erases my memories of.
Rolling over to my left side, my sleepier side, I catch scent of a memory and decide then and there.
I will clean my sheets of you, my dreams of you will be gentle cycled away, the swirling of wash a soothing lullaby into sweet dreams of what lay ahead.
What's funny is I don't know what lay ahead. The darkness is sure of that if anything. But if I am sure of anything it's that the future itself is as uncertain as the darkness. Frightening. Intangible. Unforeseen... and in the hands of something intangible itself.
Darkness is totally comfortable and frightening. I wouldn't be able to see you if you were two feet away. How scary and great? I don't want to see you and the darkness at 2 am sure helped a friend out right there.
But where it keeps you out of sight darkness brings you to mind. The nights, I used to lay dreaming about you, I now spend praying the darkness erases my memories of.
Rolling over to my left side, my sleepier side, I catch scent of a memory and decide then and there.
I will clean my sheets of you, my dreams of you will be gentle cycled away, the swirling of wash a soothing lullaby into sweet dreams of what lay ahead.
What's funny is I don't know what lay ahead. The darkness is sure of that if anything. But if I am sure of anything it's that the future itself is as uncertain as the darkness. Frightening. Intangible. Unforeseen... and in the hands of something intangible itself.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Orange you glad to know me?
Lets hear it for YOU, Leandra! You know, you sparked the fire of interest in me for busy-ness and business. How about a round of applause for those who inspire by perspiring and never retiring to bed before a days work was done, as you do? How about the fact that I've never been granted an opportunity to instruct you on posing before my camera but you're no less a role model to me? Shellnah model that humorous caption for the audience again and take a bow.
It's not only you, rest assured Mrs. Cohen.
There are others on the mental pedestal I built with my own hands- look at the healing blisters and scraped flesh! I like exclamation points btw.
I just like business and the air of being actively involved in the pursuit of it. The internal feeling of fulfillment is comparable to spring dawning on the frozen patches of garden in your heart. Maybe those are just the sprouting passion fruits peaking just above ground at what's to come: something so DELICIOUS is ripening sweetly- from just a seed of thought!
Almost two years I been at it and gosh has it been one hella ride.
Just to formally announce my absence as something other than nothing. It IS something.
Keep your eyes peeled, this is all leading to one big "orange you glad" I'm back punch line with a Big Bang on the side, to go.
It's not only you, rest assured Mrs. Cohen.
There are others on the mental pedestal I built with my own hands- look at the healing blisters and scraped flesh! I like exclamation points btw.
I just like business and the air of being actively involved in the pursuit of it. The internal feeling of fulfillment is comparable to spring dawning on the frozen patches of garden in your heart. Maybe those are just the sprouting passion fruits peaking just above ground at what's to come: something so DELICIOUS is ripening sweetly- from just a seed of thought!
Almost two years I been at it and gosh has it been one hella ride.
Just to formally announce my absence as something other than nothing. It IS something.
Keep your eyes peeled, this is all leading to one big "orange you glad" I'm back punch line with a Big Bang on the side, to go.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
serendipity
Bang! Bang! Bang!
you shot me in the chest. my heart bleeds, hot red and sticky, right through my favorite sweatshirt.
You look at me look at you know I know you know I'm going to kill you.
Your mouth opens again. Rays of light beam off the shards, on the tip of your tongue, that you almost speak away. I silence you with my dagger stare. the action spoke louder, and you shut your trap.
it's a trap to speak. damned if you tell me damned if you don't but I couldn't give a rats ass what consequences you faced. your two faced personality should have thought of that before you opened your mouth the first time and spoke the cutting words about me that came from behind and out the front, making this whole mess I now wear.
when that sweatshirt comes out of the dryer it is folded and shelved, driving me bananas for the five months I can't find it right in front of me. maybe it's time I buy some spectacles, what a spectacle that would be eh? actually taking care of something much needed. I'd put it on my to do list but I can't seem to find the end of that either to add anything more. onto the to do list goes shrinking my to do list.
the day I found that sweatshirt I had been listening to Debussy X planning a grand photosesh all night long until the wee hours of light that got everyone out of bed, me being one of the few unable to fall asleep due to feedback of the mind. My head throbbed and when I pulled a skirt from its hanger, a little violently Ill admit, the haphazardly placed sweatshirt spilled out of my closet, on the floor, amongst the rubble of my sins.
I picked it up, dusted it off, sniffed, and pulled it over my newly cropped hair (which gives a whole new definition to swirly). Grinning slightly, I was ready. Bring it.
you shot me in the chest. my heart bleeds, hot red and sticky, right through my favorite sweatshirt.
You look at me look at you know I know you know I'm going to kill you.
Your mouth opens again. Rays of light beam off the shards, on the tip of your tongue, that you almost speak away. I silence you with my dagger stare. the action spoke louder, and you shut your trap.
it's a trap to speak. damned if you tell me damned if you don't but I couldn't give a rats ass what consequences you faced. your two faced personality should have thought of that before you opened your mouth the first time and spoke the cutting words about me that came from behind and out the front, making this whole mess I now wear.
when that sweatshirt comes out of the dryer it is folded and shelved, driving me bananas for the five months I can't find it right in front of me. maybe it's time I buy some spectacles, what a spectacle that would be eh? actually taking care of something much needed. I'd put it on my to do list but I can't seem to find the end of that either to add anything more. onto the to do list goes shrinking my to do list.
the day I found that sweatshirt I had been listening to Debussy X planning a grand photosesh all night long until the wee hours of light that got everyone out of bed, me being one of the few unable to fall asleep due to feedback of the mind. My head throbbed and when I pulled a skirt from its hanger, a little violently Ill admit, the haphazardly placed sweatshirt spilled out of my closet, on the floor, amongst the rubble of my sins.
I picked it up, dusted it off, sniffed, and pulled it over my newly cropped hair (which gives a whole new definition to swirly). Grinning slightly, I was ready. Bring it.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Fine China
scene is set in Chinatown [to which I have never been and myself can only imagine what it looks like] under a red awning where a young girl stands. her hair, dark, is cropped just above her shoulders, and flipped. cornrows braided along the indentations of skull, reveal Casper white skin. no ghoul though is she, the season being summer, her sun has kissed her face so tenderly shading this girls face to a perfect midsummer tan. her eyes: slightly chinky with no known Asian bio lineage. hung on her body are layers of colorless drapes of black, completely hiding her figure away. she isn't sweating though, the clothing material is light, like the air void of humidity on a day as rare as raw fish. yum!
her lips purse in a grace so fiercely clutched if she spoke to me her words would probably ooze venom onto my drab blouse. I don't like this shirt clearly, anyway, so she'd be doing me a favor. thanks!
but I haven't approached her yet. I only observe her, and never in the flesh. these are only vibes found on scene, dropped like the sounding snaps of the Polaroids she takes of the area & the people of the area. anxious, I feel, to see which she will post later.
with a subtle turn of her chin, Casper scalped girl- Cas- grins in my general direction. I turn around to see an herbal tea shop decorated in Chinese symbols that fall short of my comprehension but nowhere below my appreciation. Cas loves the language too, 是如何的酷？
••
what string of Chinese symbols translates to Girl Gang, my mind travels down the thought of, considering paying five bucks a pop on engraved rings for my cool cids. Between google translating my bargaining offers, and holding my shiny piece of technology in an old Chinese shopkeeper's face to save a couple of bucks for a cup of tea I had my eyes on, I think of gangkinds that suit my clan best. We wouldn't be pirates, although we act as loony as any band of pirates would over a treasure chest of Pirates Booty. We wouldn't be superheroes either- too lazy. Aliens... that's only me, monsters... we're not THAT mean to each other- how about Indians...
and I smile. A girl gang of Indians. We are mysterious and beautiful of kind, with our own version of tradition. My conclusion satisfies me as I pay in advance for these black on red wristbands engraved in Chinese I'm going to love so much. In broken English my new shopkeeping friend in sweatshop garment hands me a receipt.
being on my own taking pictures in The City is only a prelude to where my journey will take me, this upcoming road trip of mine so greatly anticipated. What a load of mental investment it has been since birth! I make note of The Wizard of Oz theme park in North Carolina, I must stop at along the way. It is easy preparing in this way rather than emotionally, as I should. Emotions are for pussies! Yeah!
that train of thought luckily takes leave of absence there, pregnant with a craving for my tea already. Stuffing my gift receipt in the pocket of my skirt (skirt pockets: the best surprises in life) I make off for a cup of tea, beaming in my mind brighter than today's forecast.
her lips purse in a grace so fiercely clutched if she spoke to me her words would probably ooze venom onto my drab blouse. I don't like this shirt clearly, anyway, so she'd be doing me a favor. thanks!
but I haven't approached her yet. I only observe her, and never in the flesh. these are only vibes found on scene, dropped like the sounding snaps of the Polaroids she takes of the area & the people of the area. anxious, I feel, to see which she will post later.
with a subtle turn of her chin, Casper scalped girl- Cas- grins in my general direction. I turn around to see an herbal tea shop decorated in Chinese symbols that fall short of my comprehension but nowhere below my appreciation. Cas loves the language too, 是如何的酷？
••
what string of Chinese symbols translates to Girl Gang, my mind travels down the thought of, considering paying five bucks a pop on engraved rings for my cool cids. Between google translating my bargaining offers, and holding my shiny piece of technology in an old Chinese shopkeeper's face to save a couple of bucks for a cup of tea I had my eyes on, I think of gangkinds that suit my clan best. We wouldn't be pirates, although we act as loony as any band of pirates would over a treasure chest of Pirates Booty. We wouldn't be superheroes either- too lazy. Aliens... that's only me, monsters... we're not THAT mean to each other- how about Indians...
and I smile. A girl gang of Indians. We are mysterious and beautiful of kind, with our own version of tradition. My conclusion satisfies me as I pay in advance for these black on red wristbands engraved in Chinese I'm going to love so much. In broken English my new shopkeeping friend in sweatshop garment hands me a receipt.
being on my own taking pictures in The City is only a prelude to where my journey will take me, this upcoming road trip of mine so greatly anticipated. What a load of mental investment it has been since birth! I make note of The Wizard of Oz theme park in North Carolina, I must stop at along the way. It is easy preparing in this way rather than emotionally, as I should. Emotions are for pussies! Yeah!
that train of thought luckily takes leave of absence there, pregnant with a craving for my tea already. Stuffing my gift receipt in the pocket of my skirt (skirt pockets: the best surprises in life) I make off for a cup of tea, beaming in my mind brighter than today's forecast.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)