airborn:

Somehow the words topography, architecture, sacredness, containment, relationships, cosmology seem to be stewing. The development of a sacred architecture which explains its unique topography---an architecture which reveals and becomes a description of a structured entity, showing the relations among its components (the people directly involved, those indirectly affected, and the world around it).

At the same time exploring this idea of containers---we package everything (milk, breath strips, computer hard drives, flowers) and have all kinds of methods of holding these packages together (scotch tape, metal hinges, curled ribbons). What is the perfect container for sacred architecture—and how should it be fastened?

Although it has not been completely formulated, and still seems to be in the form of a vague cloud, I hope that you can understand my interest in sacred architecture, mapping its relationships to the world of today, the need to understand what type of container should hold it and devising a method to keep its sacredness contained within.

i got a note from an old man today...
it made me smile when he showed me his xmas tree named "imit":

playing in the snow, a cat braving the car trip, my sun-kissed xmas tree, amazingly tall things of this world:

the wonderment of first-time ice-skating:

california, here i come - flowers on trees, karmannghias, and brother await:

an architect must be:

i want a mini-running-robot: QRIO

my great find for the day: introversion3.0

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my Architect : a son's journey

louis I. kahn, born on my birthday, found in the subways of new yourk, penniless and nameless...is this what the future behold for us architects-to-be....is it then better that we contain our ideas and die with a name in our pocketbook of twenty-dollar bills...

...of course not, us pisces would die of the explosion that passion and desire continuously burns inside---even if it means losing everything this world holds dear...

i have to find where in d.c. this movie is playing.

skylights

bus ride

july 5 moma

home again home again jiggety jog

So, it has finally happened---I’m an animator!---oh yeah, baby---(shoo-be-do! Just excited as I stayed till the teensy-wee hours of bedtime hours, moving cameras and targets in my 3d city. Although still elemental, and not ready for l.o.t.r. which came out even as my eyes were growing weary in front of the object of my affection (my 19” lcd monitor, of course). Anyhow, waking up was not such a chore this morning, despite the frigid temperatures and dreary greyness outside, as I was so hippity-hoppy with the thought maybe my 40 second movie has finished creating itself…but alas, it was sleepy as well from the 6 hours of rendering…2 more hours, then the computator can rest till arrive to make the final adjustments, only to go through the excruciatingly long process again this evening. Rest well, computator, till tonight we meet again.

Soon I will be an animation god just like Doug Chiag himself. Link over to the mini-quiktime-trailer here: Robota

Awesome...never thought I'd actually use that word...but nonetheless, heavenly awesome.

topography:
1. detailed, precise description of a place or region
2. graphic representation of the surface features of a place or region on a map, indicating their relative positions and deviations
3. a description of a structured entity, showing the relations among its components; In the topography of the economy, several areas are revealed.
4. the surface features of a place or region, the surfaces features of an object, the topography of a crystal, the surveying of the features of a place or region
5. the study or description of an anatomical region or part

a book of particular interest to me:
Booklounge: You Are Here . Personal Geographies and Other Maps of the Imagination

explanations of the book:
Wired Article: Atlas of the Mind

"Literature - art wed to thought, attained without the stain of reality - seems to me to be the goal toward which every human effort ought to strive, if that effort were really human and not an animal superfluity. I think that to say a thing is to retain its virtue and throw out its terror. Fields are greener in the saying than they are in their own verdure. Flowers, if they are described with phrases that could define them in the air of imagination, will have colors of a permanence that cellular life does not permit.

To move is to live, to speak is to survive. There is nothing real in life that is not real because someone described it well. Critics from small houses usually point out that such and such a poem, finely rhymed, doesn't, in the last analysis, mean anything more than it's a nice day. But to say that it's a nice day is difficult, and the nice day itself passes. So we have to save the nice day in a flordi, prolix memory and thus constellate the fields or the heavens of empty and ephemeral exteriority with new flowers or new stars.

Everything is what we are, and everything will be for those who follow us in the diversity of time in accordance with how intensely we imagined it, that is, how immensely we had put it in our bodies with our imagination and really been it. I don't believe that history is anything more, in its grand, faded panorama, than a flow of interpretations, a confused consensus of distracted testimonies. The novelist is all of us, and we narrate when we see, because seeing is as complex as everything else.

I have at this moment so many fundamental thoughts, so many truly metaphysical things to say, that I suddenly get tired and decide not to write anymore, not to think any more, but to allow the fever of speaking to make me sleepy, and with my eyes closed, like a cat, I play with everything I could have said."

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, [276]

5th grader drawings interpreting Radiohead songs

sorry, i kinda went quiz crazy today, as you will see for yourself---that's what i get for trying to keep myself otherwise entertained while simultaneously procrastinating.

congratulations. you are the kiss my ass happy bunny. You don't care about anyone or anything. You must be so proud.
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Kewl! A dc metro map that allows me to Smartrip my way to nearby bloggers...one shall not feel so lost in this cyberworld afterall...people say that the internet gives us anew sense of connectivity....I disagree--an overwhleming feeling of roaming in random space, which has no limits, no boundaries leaves me feeling as if I were a tourist---surrounded by millions of passer-byers yet no interaction, no friendly hello, just excuse me's and excuse you's. Onto El Mapo!

i know what i want for x-mas!

here’s the run down:
I didn’t hear anything all week.
I started to get worried, thinking –
Maybe people don’t like me.
So then I got depressed.
& my face was a smile turned upside round.
I went away for the weekend.
And began to think maybe this was how things are to be.
Monday came and went.
Tuesday came and my 180 rotated smile grew longer.
Tuesday dusk approached.
One week…one whole week…sigh.
Gosh darnit what did I do wrong.
Off to the building museum to see j.snow.
To be inspired, to be lifted to another place.
To think even of the midwest, barren yet limitless in possibility.

So I see a familiar face…one from a week ago.
He wonders if you are back from your excursion.
And informs me that dialogue shall continue.
Between he and I, not you!
Overload at work and hectic schedule indeed.
But an email shall be written and he will not forget me.

So although it is news, it is not for sure.
And I’m not sure which is worse-
Uncertainty or despair.

Art 2003-: Constellations

connectivity...between people and time and distance and love and stories and hand and mind and place and being. "invisible cities" by italo calivino leads to this interesting discovery of words transformed into picture diagram and thought. now to build my own 3 dimensional city.

what is a companion to you? i am curious to discover what everyone thinks in the matter of companionship...is it that my expectations are too high? although not my intent, i wonder if i am asking too much. perhaps, as i have been told and know in my heart, i am looking for my happiness in the wrong places...or is it merely the cold weather shutting down my senses for winter hibernation?? good conversations cause inner discussions...not a bad thing...just a reality check...afterall, we cannot live in dreams forever.

The sun sets in the middle of the day it seems lately. Apartment/roommate searching has got me down. Who is there in this world to relate to? At times it feels as though I am an island unto myself…an island which floats and hovers 1” above dry land…and yet I cannot find the gumption to step off…or rather no one wants to step on. Although the sky is nice right now, I cannot go out and play and that has me in the bums.

Why don’t people care about other people anymore---if anything at all, this is what has me back in melancholy all over again…either that, or it’s the whole cyclical thing coming back for it’s yearly doldroms.

looking hi and lo for a roommate...i'm placing all my faith in craigslist this time on the basis that only kewl people know about craigslist. so i'm cris-crossing my fingers that something good will come of it.

one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish

"I want to see things, that's the only approach I can rely on...that's why I draw. Things reveal themselves to me only when I draw them." (Carlo Scarpa)

offloaded twice from metro...once for smokey car and another for non-stopping train makes not for happy wednesday morning...on the bright side--it's pay day...oh yeah.

it's fall time again...meaning it is blogging season once again---either that or i'm just in a ditch, trying desperately to figure out if it is time to get a new 8-7 job...or i should rather just stiffen my upper lip, straighten my shoulders out and stick it out another 8 months of hell...not to give the impresssion that my job is bad...it's fantastic, the projects are not merely mediocre, my responsilities are more than i probably should have...the exception:the one person who gets under your skin, and crawls in on the metro ride to work and doesn't crawl out till an hour or so after you've fallen asleep. eesh....25 more minutes till the nightly healing process can begin again...

i got a cup of jai today...

A Form of Women by Robert Creeley

I have come far enough
from where I was not before
to have seen the things
looking in at me from through the open door

and have walked tonight
by myself
to see the moonlight
and see it as trees

and shapes more fearful
because I feared
what I did not know
but have wanted to know.

My face is my own, I thought.
But you have seen it
turn into a thousand years.
I watched you cry.

I could not touch you.
I wanted very much to
touch you
but could not.

If it is dark
when this is given to you,
have care for its content
when the moon shines.

My face is my own.
My hands are my own.
My mouth is my own
but I am not.

Moon, moon,
when you leave me alone
all the darkness is
an utter blackness,

a pit of fear,
a stench,
hands unreasonable
never to touch.

But I love you.
Do you love me.
What to say
when you see me. "

this is a highlight for my morning...pogoyoyo...cravings for edamame are pushing me to raku for noontime din-din. sweet little peas smothered with saltiness...my taste buds are wacko today, craving cinnamon honey for my apples and chai tea as fluid. pogoyoyo filled my visual taste bud craving.

for picture narrative--click me!!

a tidal basin flooded, to the tippie toes of jefferson and lincoln
winds blowing strong and water creeping up to 6 feet
seeping into basements and under the skirts of doors
metro closed…a historic day
even the soldiers changing guard at the unknown tomb were given an evening of rest…………………they turned it down
a night spent partially in the dark drove us to find sunnier, happier, unwind swept places

travelling north from dc, we ended up in a cute boutique
the beauty of isabel unbeknownst to all in the sleepless town
an island unto itself we wandered the streets we now know comfortably
stumbling across this and across that
aliens invaded rockefellar center
and the last day of summer was felt thru the trees and in the swan’s smile at the lake

happy faces all around.

archi-freaks...romped around on the red line and ended up the other evening at the n.b.m. (national bldg museum for you non dc-ers). lighted benches arranged by age and livened by memory caught my spirit up in the idea that there may be hope yet for this barren, cold city...although today the weather is very california barbie. . KBAS .

Unable to focus at work today, I am able to concentrate on much more important things that make me feel all warm inside...like S.britt

riddle: it is soon to arrive and soon to be a mass of destruction, but it looks so pretty - what am i? answer: hurricane isabela>

Words for the WTC Memorial Competition:

We are the sum of our memories. Everything we know, everything we perceive, every movement we make is shaped by them. “The truth is,” Friedrich Nietzche wrote, “that, in the process by which the human being, in thinking, reflecting, comparing, separating, and combining…inside that surrounding misty cloud a bright gleaming beam of light arises, only then, through the power of using past for living and making history out of what has happened, does a person first become a person.”

The Austrian psychiatrist Viktor Frankl made much the same point in Man’s Search for Meaning, his memoir of experiences as a concentration camp inmate. Frankl recalled trying to lift the spirits of his fellow camp inmates on an especially awful day in Dachau: “I did not only talk of the future and the veil which was drawn over it. I also mentioned the past; all its joys, and how its light shone even in the present darkness. [I quoted] a poet…who had written, Was Du erlebst, kann keine Macht der Welt Dir rauben (What you have experience, no power on earth can take from you.) Not only our experiences, but all we have done, whatever great thoughts we may have had and all we have suffered, all this is not lost, though it is past; we have brought it into being. Having been is a kind of being, and perhaps the surest kind.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“to see and yet not be seen”

The idea of a memory, is to envision something within the mind’s eye, to experience its smell, touch, taste, and yet physically it is not there. A gravesite in much the same way, is a place to see, to be with someone who in reality is no longer there. Even remaining foundations barely peeking through the grass, even mundane things as these cause the eye to allude to a time, or rather to a memory of a building that once stood tall above the ground.

How does one create a space, a place for memory to flourish? How do you contain a memory from escaping?

It is an assumption that for this reason burial sites were created. Although it may sound morbid, the idea of the “coffin” is merely an attempt to contain the smells, touches, tastes, experiences of a person inside a box. A problem with that, however, is that coffins, tombstones, gravesites, all these are so stagnant, so still, so static. The beauty of a memory, is that you are taken away, to another place, another time, another climate even—mentally and physically, one can close their eyes and not even realize that they are standing in the middle of New York City’s 42nd & Broadway about to get hit by a yellow cab.

So how does one create a “coffin” which still breathes? Which still contains life? Not surrounded with dark, but light coming from within. Not filled with only death, but life also living inside. Not part of this world, but buried somehow between…stuck at just that precise moment where memories occur.

I wonder if people laugh the same when they are babies? or is it something that develops over time?? Of course intonation would be different, but the type of chuckle, or giggle--is it the same as when we were only 2 years old?

So, delinquency has overrun my life this past 2 weeks. Apologies. More like a 6 year old and his 9 month old brother actually. Although fun and a great refresher to this normal everyday routine, I feel burnt like toast. Not to mention my sudden illness which plagued me on Monday afternoon--->3:30 am Tuesday. Body still recovering from sudden green-ness. yux...Monday was not a happy day for me at all.

And today I feel as though I'm suffering from Angina.

My body is failing me.

And no one leaves me comments. :[

Not to mention the sky is wet with drops...drabby drab drab.

So, delinquency has overrun my life this past 2 weeks. Apologies. More like a 6 year old and his 9 month old brother actually. Although fun and a great refresher to this normal everyday routine, I feel burnt like toast. Not to mention my sudden illness which plagued me on Monday afternoon--->3:30 am Tuesday. Body still recovering from sudden green-ness. yux...Monday was not a happy day for me at all.

And today I feel as though I'm suffering from Angina.

My body is failing me.

And no one leaves me comments. :[

Not to mention the sky is wet with drops...drabby drab drab.

"Meandering the straight line..." O. Pessoa?? Can you recall -- a day in barnes&noble, becoming or attempting a moment to be inspired, but now I wonder if I applied the motto to a period of my life inescapably falling into now living by the motto...no longer do I desire to meander or wander--or do I? when will I start to run? When will I start acting like I am racing towards the finish line in a marathon I began even as a small bobbed-hair child? Questions, questions, questions, but never any answers...Never ever are there answers. Never is there inspiration so great as to move me, as to be my nike-shoe. Where are my winged feet? (to be specifically pronounced wind-ed).

A sigh...(riding the metro from a late work night) I am sitting at the front of the first metro car, we are rounding a bend and I can see light after light after light after light after light, when will this curve end. & finally the curve straightens & there beyond in the dark, a single light shines in the red-line tunnel...

Perhaps I shall be moved to run this race still.

Pizza man on his way...yummy in my tummy. Spent the day just chillin'. How often do I get to do that nowadays? Aside from last weekends Sunday bike ride to the top of the masonic temple, and thew few hours re-energizing myself at the gym, I haven't had much me time this past week. I guess unless you count all the sneezing and weary eyed coughs-not much time to just breathe.

Raindrops are falling just in time to keep me confined to my house. No basking in the sun and taking long cat-naps in the grass. Pigtails in the hair, short and cute I feel. Sickness almost shooed away, piggies in my hair, I feel like romper-room jumping and playing on the playground. From cold to warm, the sandals and skirts, time for painted nails and girliness to explode.

California weather makes me long for home, and the california-ness of it all. [sigh]

I am sick. Spring is here and I am sick. Can you imagine my utter disappointment? How sad-looks like it's just me, my pj's and the bed today. On another note, isn't this just hilarious:

up & running again.
"I had no idea of things in themselves, although all the feellings of actual life were already known to me. I had conceived nothing, but felt everything. These confused emotions which I felt one after the other, certainly did not warp the reasoning powers which I did not as yet possess; but they shaped them in me of a peculiar stamp, & gave me odd & romantic notions of human life, of which Experience & Reflection have never been able wholly to cure me...How could I become wicked, when I had nothing but examples of gentleness before my eyes, & none around me but the best people in the world?...My liveliest desire was to be loved by all who came near me...Thus I have spent my life in idle longing, without saying a word, in the presence of those whom I loved most...Our friendship so completely filled our hearts, that it was enough for us to be together to make the simplest amusements & delight...when absent from her I thought of her & missed her, when I was by her side, her caresses reached my heart - not my senses...my fear of it si greater than my fondness...It is a pity, his character was essentially good, we were made to love each other." -Rousseau, Confessions Book i

"Baby, you are so money and you don't even know it." -from one of the all time greatest movies Singles...did you know that it by Cameron Crowe?

A midsummer's night heat wave in the middle of spring is now upon us... how refreshing it is to go for a stroll down the block, to actually breathe in the surroundings instead of hurriedly, scurrying past, nose in my scarf, waiting for the hours to pass by quickly to reach my front door. But now, now, well, the daffodils are standing tall, tulips close behind and the greeness on the trees shades me little shoulders form the sun.

For two days now, the craving hunger for a philadelphia cheesteak sandwhich has been gurgling in my stomach. I feel like one of Pavlov's dogs salivating at the sound of a bell....the liberty bell, perhaps? Guess I've got a case of Philadelphia-on-my-mind.

Amidst all this "f***-this-sh*t-" attitude I have right now, a few happy moments crossed my path today:
1. I called my cousin Mark to leave him a happ-message-someone-is-thinking-of-you-on-your-21st-birthday voicemail...he called back genuinely said a heart felt thanks and told me "love ya."
2. The Pant Police made amends - or did he wage war? (I'm not really sure, come to think of it).

[Explanation to be pasted here in near future]

3. Getting back drawings from the plotter & knowing that every single line/idea that is going to start construction May 1st came from me. Is it so wrong to be proud?

4. The 10 minutes of sun I got as I walked to pick up wannabe sushi from the Giant Supermarket. You wonder how can sushi be so bad?? Answer: When even California rolls are just mediocre you know its wannabe sushi.

5. Learning (however a foul mood I was in) the ability to put lights into an Autocad rendering. Watch out! The 3d wiz kid ia about to pull up in her cherry red 1969 convertible Karmannghia.

6. Being able to come home to an empty house, live in MY mess, & not have to deal with anything or anybody.

7. Knowing that I'll be asleep before midnite today.

5A. Coming up with an idea for a 1 bedroom house , with only horizontal walls, or rather unidirectional series of walls:one continuous space:all made for me...& my 50 trillion cats...& don't forget the one corner for my rocking chair...the art deco rocker, of course.

[[title for this entry: f*** it, be happy]]

the ultimate guide to warblogging

My stomach is achy today...it is making it difficult to work. Are the ulcers finally coming to haunt me?

From two different completely differing vantage points, and observer and a participant, you choose:
a reporter in iraq or a man living in iraq

Some people are so keen...Observation: What are you, a friendship, not a relationship? So true, and so hurtful, and so eye/ heart opening.

Wise words from a person has 3 dates tonight [lol]:

"Purple. Well let's weigh the potential reasoning for my interpretation. Common sense tells us that purple is associated with depression. For one to be depressed stems from one simple seed, and that is the what one lacks within their offspring. When one is depressed, they seek comfort and attention. It is said to be the ultimate stress reliever of all; intimacy. The willingness to express, receive, release, accept and feel connected at that particular moment. Just a form of detaching oneself from realities of unhappiness. If you need further credibility on my reasoning, peep out the following site. It's been some time that I don't exactly recall where I came across such association with the color purple. But whatever. My color is black 24/7."

colour & you!

Could this explanation for violet be anymore Florence Jennifer? Scariness.

jennifer

"If you want to be free, you must struggle with yourself." -From my Bacci chocolate

That damned conversation about the coffee table has had my mind spinning since my eyes opened this afternoon. I even on two occassions stared at it and contemplated the space of my living room without it. I nudged it maybe three inches, then stopped to look at it again before I finally gave up the internal fight and went to the kitchen to find nourishment of other sorts.

Did I mention that yesterday the skies were an amazing 80 degrees ouring down lightning and summery showers. Today I woke to find snowflakes lightly kissing the pavement.

Listening to Dido makes me think of a certain someone in that Windy City and how he survived his first cold winter after he decided to become adventurous.

In other strange worlds,spent last night in Baltimore with my good friend Golden Boy, his roommate, mi Gerardo and new friend Big Daddy. All was superficial, not bad just surface based, till the ride back to DC in our green exploration machine. The new boy bombarded with questions spilled them forth from his mouth. Not offended, and strangely very open, we spoke our minds and hearts as best we could to make him understand. Understand what? Now I am not quite so sure. But I was suddenly overwhelmed with this deep sadness which I have not felt for so long. Sometimes we try to find the small things of everyday to make us happy, to find that smile upon our faces, to feel a slight jump in our hearts when they skip a beat. Sometimes we forget the long term happiness that we strive for because it seems so far away, or perhaps even entirely unattainable. All aI know is that somehow the new boy broke through my walls that I normally strategically place. I looked out the left window and a tear or two or five ran down my cheek. I do not know, perhaps because he broke my translucent wall that keeps me from seeing how unhappy I really am inside, because today I was bombarded with questions in my head that I have no answer to.

My heart is complacent and purple today.

"When I lately stood with a friend before [the cathedral of] Amiens, . . . he asked me how it happens that we can no longer build such piles? I replied: 'Dear Alphonse, men in those days had convictions (Ueberzeugungen), we moderns have opinions (Meinungen) and it requires something more than an opinion to build a Gothic cathedral.'" - Heinrich Heine, Confidential Letters to August Lewald on the French Stage (letter 9), translated by C.G. Leland

What the heck am I still doing propping my eyes open with toothpicks? Nothing of great importance occurred today, while I find it important to note that the sky was wringing itself out, and the bathtub called earth was clogged. Went out at the normal 3pm lunch hour for Vace...the normal place for those days when walking outside for long periods of time is not an option. Right across the street and conveniently located next to the drive up ATM, I often times pull up in my imaginery vehicle and withdraw the necessary funds to feed my hungry stomach.

It is supposed to be 75 degrees tomorrow. Better check those weather guys for a more accurate update. Whatver. All I know is that it was frozen over solid for months, and then two days of thawing last weekend, and now the floods that Moses saw I have also lived to see...no more teasing with my skin and goosebumps. I cannot handle this constant change--my body can no longer decide to be wearing the overcoat or the tee.

Well, it appears that 20th century media war has begun. Dawn has broken in Iraq and everyone is on their tip-toes to discover what massive destruction was caused by those night shaded stealth bombers. I am tired and my eyes are soon to be closed to this day and this war.

For those of you who wondered what it was like at the anti-war protests @ d.c. -- I was surprised at the amount of young people (younger than my quarter of a century), parading their signs with such fervor. I ponder if they would actually still feel that energy after a 54 hour work week, study prep for the Architecture Exam, dirty dishes in the sink, and a loadfulx6 of laundry.

My imaginary kitty whom I shall call Spot.

Another evening spent at the National Building Museum, another evening living in inspiration and awe at the amazing things an architect can conceive, derive, and become. Click here to witness the inspiration of Santiago Calatrava for yourself.

I am going to attempt to enter the ARCHvoices Essay Competition. It is theoretically about the process of this internship/apprenticeship experience of architecture that I am supposed to be journeying on right now. Somehow, perhaps thru that most amazing movie that my boy keeps watching, you know that movie with Cruz&Cruise, I feel that cryogenics/cryonics, whichever is the proper term, is so much like this gap between school/work. The immense ravine that divides the two is much like my brain being frozen, and I am suspended in this canister, surrounded by liquid nitrogen or whatever chemicals they use, not knowing whether or not someday, in the extreme distant future, if I will ever be able to wake up whole, complete and functioning --ready for battle to become the architectural warrior that I have so longed.

Today, there were green hats, bagpipes, and girls with springs for hair dancing down King Street. The parada to celebrate a Saint who spread Christianity thru Ireland. I did not know that shamrocks became so precious as he used the green little clovers to explain the trinity concept of three-in-one. I shall be eating my Lucky Charms now with a new found wisdom every breakfast morning.

I ran across this site and it reminded me of an old man that once drove a little bug, and then an upgraded bug, and now he cruises down the 101 to the beach in his nice shiny, black, mercedes. It's all about life in the subway. I think the old man would like it.

My surrogate brother called me today...once again with sadness in his heart. I wished so badly to be alongside of him sitting on a grassy hill, basking in the warm sun together. He told me of adventures in San Luis Obispo, and my heart dropped to remember the life I spent there, so many friends, so many laughs, so many memories. [sigh] And now I feel as though I have been dropped in some foreign land, where snow and coldness resides. What the crap am I doing here? I have to remind myself of the goals I have set for myself and yet I still wonder if being here is good for me. It's the seasonal adjustment sickness proabably talking through my fingers right now. Seasonal disorder or not, it doesn't change the fact that I long for my friends and the love that surrounds me when I am with them.

" We know today that form is always the product of an inquisitorial process of matter - the specific reaction of matter when subjected to the terrible coercion of space choking it on all sides, pressing and squeezing it out, producing the swellings that burst from its life to the exact limits of the rigorous contours of its own originality of reaction. How many times matter endowed with a too-absolute impulse is annihilated; whereas another bit of matter, which tries to do only what it can and is better adapted to the pleasure of molding itself by contracting in its own way before the tyrannical impact of sapce, is able to invent its own original form of life?" -salvador dali

[yawn]...Can you imagine? It is 8:33 in the a.m. and I am actually a living, breathing, more or less awake human bean. Aside from my new short hair looking like some small colony had an atomic bomb explode, my eyes are wide open and ready for a new day. I am alone today, however, as my shadow is off working. Perhaps I am like Peter Pan - you know like the shadow never being able to stick, yet constantly there, somewhere, in a world of it's own. [sigh] Where is my Wendy, who will sew it on for me?

I need a new sketchbook. I feel empty and without purpose. As though since I am not in the process of recording the things which my eyes see and the things which my ears her, and most of all, the grumblings and rumblings within my ribcage are being lost in this vast space before me. It is snowing again, and fresh and new all over again. Yet rather than understanding that it is new and clean, it seems like the new whiteness is merely a farce. Doesn't anyone else see it? All it really is doing is covering up the dirty snowflakes which have already died weeks ago, from yellow dog pee, and leaking car oil, and the torrid rains that nearly flooded this place. The freezing cold temperatures don't help matters at all either. Instead of melting, and washing away down the drain, the impurities remain frozen in place, frozen in time, frozen from movement, frozen from progress...I was watching this show on the tube today - they spoke of a crime committed in Wichita, Kansas where 5 persons were abducted from their homes, after being assaulted and abused in every which way, the 5 were led out into the middle of a snowy snowy white field, where they were then executed with a gunshot to the back of the head. The sound of the policeman's voice is burned into my head as he spoke of arriving at the crime scene, finding the victims' blood around their heads' soaked & melted into the clean white snow, and where it stopped flowing because it had frozen in time--like a flattened red icicle.

Someone has shot me, long ago...and I cannot wash away the blood due to winter storm conditions, all that shit...blood, sadness, guts, sin, brains, feelings, they are all frozen in the snow that is falling right now -- 6-12 inches is expected tonite.

"So...This is where it all begins, on the grass, under a tree, in the shade, overlooking the water, the people, airplanes passing overhead. I guess one could call it my new life. For the first time since arriving in this new place (not really new since I was here two years ago & once before that), I have nothing left to busy myself with & no money to spend to keep me occupied otherwise. The last month I've passed over questions like, I wonder if I should begin listening, if I should begin seeing again, if I should just begin...& so I sit and say, from this moment, it all begins.


It saddens me to see the people walking by hand in hand engrossed in casual, effortless conversation because I know that this is one thing which I do not possess...but then I also know this is what I have asked for...not the loneliness but rather the time alone. & so for this I am content.


In so many ways, this time, this place is not at all what I had planned & I welcome it because I know that it is God taking control & placing me in the setting where my character & person can be shaped & molded...& for the first time I am not figthing against it.


I do not know why exactly I've decided to at last run towards the things which sustains me instead of trying so desperately to deny its existense.


My hair is growing longer again & I wonder if this reflects the change in my heart as well. Years ago, I remember cutting my hair as some need for freedom and change...as if it was somehow weighing me down. As it comes back, I feel a certain serenity & peaceful protection. Maybe cutting my hair affects my brain cells...too much sun exposure causing me to make unwise decisions. I actually feel like writing again, like drawing again, like breathing again.


How could it be that I have failed to see all these people for so long?


(Moving to a new spot to lie on the grass & close my eyes for awhile.)




Eesh...laundry and dishes still waiting..."

I wrote this nearly 2 years ago when I began my online adventures in a place called Diaryland. It seems appropriate and a good reminder now as I begin again fresh and new. As clean and invigorating as the snow that is falling right this minute. When will this horrid weather stop. Little one's were not made for places like this.