12.08.2006

happiness is just a jump into the mirror away

the man in japan said, "images carry a lot of things even part of invisible things"...there are "Strange paths. surprises."...be "driven by emotions and sensuality."

11.10.2006

i've been missing because:


wall with NEW stripes, originally uploaded by estimmel.

10.15.2006

i'm tired...did i mention the weekend just ended?


IMG_8258.JPG, originally uploaded by gitdown.

10.14.2006

perception

«The view of various lines I am drawing on this blackboard calls forth just as many different feelings: the view of a broken or a continuous line produces certain effect on the nervous system itself. We get agreeable or disagreeable impressions from the lines perceived with our eyes. If we begin investigating the effect of these impressions on our ability to feel, with will come to being selective: one line tires us, the other line pleases; this system of non-interconnected lines excites us, and that rhythmic system calms us down; very soon you will see that selection goes spontaneously, and certain preferences get established, in them one would inevitably come to a conclusion that artists permanently select those lines and shapes which satisfy our senses. In this sphere of lines and shapes satisfying our senses, we again get proof of the omnipotence of harmony. What are the moments of aesthetic effect in architecture? The ones perceived with our eyes. What does our eye perceive? Surfaces, shapes, lines. So, the point is that from all parts of an architectural piece it is necessary to create a unity arising aesthetic excitation, a unity of shapes making it, spiritualizing it, attributing to it the relations and proportions between their parts which give our senses the impression of orderliness.» (Le Corbusier, 1924)

10.12.2006

sometimes people suck


sometimes people suck, originally uploaded by prettyjjbean.

oh dearest me, let me just skip a heartbeat and jump up and down to celebrate the wonderful joys of being a team-player...argh...*do you hear the blatant sarcasm just exuding from the pores of this page?*

10.08.2006

can you spell headache?

h---e---a----d----(er) a---c---(ack!)...i can't do it, my head hurts too much! *pout*

10.05.2006

ipod shuffle play an be evil


otisredding-0511, originally uploaded by raccoflickr.

otis redding's "just one more day" appeared out of no where, catching me off guard and leaving no room for escape, haunting that part of my conscience that i thought i had buried so well...

i've been missing you for so many days
i keep wanting you [lord} in so many ways
i cant get you off of my mind
but true love is so hard to find
i want yet another day
i need another day
darling, let me have another more day
and i can be anything that you want me to be, now
the sweet things you used to do to me
sometimes you used to say them to me
i can't forget those lovely days
but this is the price i am about to pay
i want another day
you can let me have just one more day
I need one more day
and I will do anything that you want me to to
i will do anything that you want me to do, now
say anything that you want me to say
buy you anything you want me to buy
and i can cherish you till the day I die
if you let me have another day
please let me have one more day
i want just one more day [lord}
and it can be anything that you want it to be

10.04.2006

disguise



"More fundamentally...lies in the intrinsically problematic nature of artistic biography itself. Which is primary, the 'work' or the 'life'? Does one explain the other? And where is the boundary between them? These are questions that Duchamp's example poses in a more acute--and surely more self-conscious--form than almost any other. Defining the artist as a 'mediumistic being' necessarily unconscious of the meaning of what he produces, Duchamp quoted approvingly the words of T.S. Eliot: 'The more perfect the artist, the more completely separate in him will be the man who suffers and the mind which creates.'"

the key to a good morning smile



i woke up sunday morning groggy and still tired..a little apprehensive as to starting off the day (tho it already be mid-morning). i was luck to discover this video for a song called "dance with me" on nouvelle vague's new album. the black and white clip is guaranteed to put a smile on anyone's face who has a heart for all things cute, silly, and romantic. for those who are not familiar with this movie, it is a scene from jean-luc godard's "bande à part" (or "band of outsiders" for the non-french speakers). godard described this movie himself as "alice in wonderland meets franz kafka"...and as most of you know, i love tumbling down any rabbit hole to see what kinds of
adventures wait for me. *smile*

9.28.2006

for me


flowers for me, originally uploaded by prettyjjbean.

just about the nicest thing anyone has written about me...now i've got warm fuzzy feelings that will last me throughout the day, which is a wonderful comfort for a thursday.

9.26.2006

dilemna

what happens one has absolutely nothing to say?

i spent the day bottled up at work...speaking hardly more than 100 words in a period of 8.5 hours. the most i talked all day was when receiving a phone call from an old friend in california who just rang to tell me of a memory that was stashed in a box of his.

perhaps that is why i feel like exploding now with words and my mind is racing with thoughts...but for some reason i can't get them out. there is no one to talk to, and my blog seems like a blank face with whom i just do not feel like conversating with tonite.

so, i don't want to talk...and yet, i somehow miss the sound of my own voice.

9.25.2006

"all that is solid melts into air"

i'm sitting here, waiting patiently (for once) for the pages to load so i can blog, and write and reflect on the day. i have time while the pages boot, to catch up on the lives of others, and it makes me happy to know that i am not the only one writing (thank you eric & isabelle). as the circle goes round and round, marking internet-time-gone-by, i turn my head to stretch my neck out which is slightly out of whack from another survived monday at work (woohoo! that makes 3 now!)...my eyesight focuses on a book which i have yet to still read. "all that is solid melts into air" by marshall berman.

i know very little what this book is actually about, but the phrase draws my mind to other places. i've just been thinking: what shall i write? what was important to me today? what did i see that struck a chord? what are the things i need remember?

the things which were so solid for me just hours ago, have now all melted into the thin, thin air.

if i did not write it here...right now...at this very moment...that last friday i witnessed a couple so in love on the subway that made my heart jump and giggle for joy, would i remember how the sparkle in her eyes died as soon as he left her two stops before she herself left me? *a pause to smile and imprint their smiling eyes and squeezed hands that was so vivid*

it is not only memorable moments which dissipate with time. i look back and remember motivations, goals, aspirations that i once considered so dear, so solid in this case...those too have melted into the thin. yes, there are certain dreams which have sustained throughout (perhaps the most strong of cases my desire to pursue a knowledge of what architecture is)...

but it would require much more careful thought to understand where and why those deviations have occurred, when was the moment they turned from a solid thing into air. did it take a long time? or was it instantaneous?

anyhow, the point of all this was: whatever i thought was important and worthwhile of the day, whatever list i was going to put here for me to remember to do, it all seems without meaning as my mind wanders towards the pillow and dreamland. i myself long to be caught up into the clouds and dream of being thin...

9.24.2006

*poke*poke*


*poke*poke*, originally uploaded by prettyjjbean.

he sat behind me me on the couch, not more than 6 feet away. he was intent on his laptop. i was intent on my blog catching-up. the yellow high-lighter, and yellow post-it caught my attention, and from the silence i wanted to say hello in a cutsie, creative way. therefore...the howdy via yellow post-it. i spun aroun in my orange chair and flashed its message his way. he smiled, and emitted a small chuckle. i spun back around, and smiled and chuckled myself.

silliness is important. it is what keeps us sane. it is what keeps us smiling. it is what keeps the mood light and free, open even. if we cannot laugh at silly noises made at otherwise inopportune times, or giggle at crunchy bone-cracking, then there exists no fun, no games. without fun or games, we would live in an extremely bleak and dull world. who says that just because we are "grown up", with "real jobs", living a "mature" life that our mouths are forbidden to crack upwards.

let the funny noises ensue and allow the bone-cracking to persist. it is these moments that i will remember fondly. in turn, it will be these memories that will make me laugh once more even when i am old and grey.

make-up post #2 (for 09.23.06)


where are you going?, originally uploaded by prettyjjbean.

as an attempt to give myself a good creative project, plus have something to post on my website, i've decided to make a map that shows all the places i've been/lived/worked (him too)...this is the beginnings of that list...i'll need to wrack my brain to remember those childhood road/plane-trips. but i'm excited that it will give me a chance to talk with mom & dad about all the places we've traveled. it will also be a good opportunity for me to ponder all those places that i have yet to visit and explore. i'm getting that 4 month itch to get on a plane and go somewhere, to see something new...i know, i know...i've just moved to new york and that should be enough new....but i crave adventure requiring more than just a subway ride.

make-up post #1 (for 09.22.06)


THINK-ACT-REFLECT, originally uploaded by prettyjjbean.

the internet has been down and out, just like the L train, this weekend. thus the behind, and lack of posts. in my attempt to make it up, i thought that i would take a few little snippets from my moleskine, of thoughts and notes that were profound and important to me.

this first snip, are clips of an idea that relates to making as a way of seeing. this idea has been around along time already, however, at the time of my scribbles, it was my own little revelation of how living a life of making (architecture in this instance) was directly applicable to me.

the first diagram shows this process of think-act-reflect, in a continuous circle...and it is something which can be translated into anything you are doing (making a drawing, writing a letter, preparing a grocery list). the next line in the notes: "too much reflection without action makes me nervous...the same goes for thikning"...hehe, there is so much truth to this, all three must be acting in a balance, neither one can overpower the other.

th remainder of the notes are for those who are nerds like me...there are references to filibert de l'orme's "allegory of the architect" (whose wood engraved prints are just amazing...i was lucky to see a copy of one of the first printed books while in montreal). also, a treatise i think that was entitled "fabrique"/"fabrica" where the frontispiece shows a surgeon holding an arm and in the process of anatomical studies...there is also a note how corbusier's famous sketches/concept of the open hand looks often like there is an eye within the palm itself. his drawings of the open hand, also can be seen as a closed hand. an open hand implies receiving, whereas a closed hand implies a hand of action (think of a hand which holds a tool). it could be conceived then that this hand is not one which is merely open/closed but rather a giving hand. a hand which gives is the union of the open & closed together (recall the process of making, something which created/given by its maker).

9.21.2006

ugh...i'm such a dork

I am nerdier than 85% of all people. Are you nerdier? Click here to find out!

blog-a-day-project

this blog-a-day project is going well...i know it's only been three days into it, but i feel confident about pushing myself on this one. i never before have made writing a priority. this place just became a place to record memories or thoughts i had, or a way to encrypt a message to someone else letting them know that i was alive and well. i find by forcing myself to write, i think about the day differently. i am on a search for important things to say...picking apart at every detail around me. i look at the billboard advertisements looking for treasures, mentally record overheard conversations and definitely pay more attention to the things which strike a chord in me.

i've been told by many that i see things much differently than the average human bean. i concoct stories in my head that make what i see into what i feel. these stories often pass from my eyes thru my brain, but are never uttered by my mouth or recorded by my hand. sometimes these stories become evident in my drawings/collages, but in this area i also have been slacking as of late.

this is my own personal kick in the bum to get my creative self moving again...please help to keep me accountable.

9.20.2006

song of the day

good mood...feeling productive...slept soundly till the three alarm snooze went off this morning. i woke next to him, who was still sleeping heavily, i touched his hair and kissed his cheek and stared at him for a while before finally getting out of bed to get ready for work. i have real work now at my archi-job and it feels refreshing to come in have something important to do. i've officially hit the two week mark and survived...i almost know everyone's name, and a routine has been settled into...well almost. i've been set up with my own personal phone line. they've set up architectural desktop on my computer specifically for a project i will begin working on soon. my desk is becoming full of "stuff"...redlines, trace paper, aerial photos, starbucks coffee cups. my ipod has a home, and i've finally been given a cup for my pens and pencils. all that is lacking is "my essence"...the photo that resides at everyone's cubicle that says their name + photo of their choosing. i've adjusted my chair to it's proper spot, hopefully preventing massive back pain, but it still doesn't fit quite right.


at home my finances seem to be shaping into an order of some sort. finally i'll be able to feel like a responsible adult again, able to pay my own bills, save my own money, think of that exotic vacation that i am dead set on taking next year to somewhere...*sigh*...if all goes well, i'll actually be able to afford toys & luxuries again (new camera & mani/pedi-cures, who could ask for anything more to make this little girl happy?)...ah...reminds me, i need to find taht moleskine at lunch...

i leave you with the happy song for the day, "white shadows" by coldplay. my buttercup of an ipod has been on continual shuffle these days and for some reason as this played, my mood lightened and ears perked at the lyrics...my first song to add to the beginning of a new york soundtrack. three minutes till lunchtime...


When I was a young boy I tried to listen

And I wanna feel like that
Little white shadows - blink and miss them
Part of a system I am

If you ever feel like something's missing
Things you never understand
Little white shadows sparkle and glisten
Part of a system, a plan

All this noise I'm waking up
All this space I'm taking up
All this sound is breaking up

Maybe you'll get what you wanted
Maybe you'll stumble upon it
Everything you ever wanted
In a permanent state

Maybe you'll know when you see it
Maybe if you say it you'll mean it
And when you find it you'll keep it
In a permanent state, a permanent state

When I was a young boy I tried to listen
Don't you wanna feel like that?
You're part of the human race
All of the stars in the outer space
Part of a system, a plan

All this noise I'm waking up
All this space I'm taking up
I cannot hear you're breaking up

Maybe you'll get what you wanted
Maybe you'll stumble upon it
Everything you ever wanted
In a permanent state

Maybe you'll know when you see it
Maybe if you say it you'll mean it
And when you find it you'll keep it
In a permanent state, a permanent state

Swimmin' on a sea of faces
The tide of the human races, oh
An answer now is what I need
See it in the new sun rise and
See it break on your horizon, oh
Come on love stay with me

9.19.2006

an attempt to fling myself into the deep, dark, temple lair




I've been missing this place of writing lately. I've had the yearning to let my fingers flow, to let my mind ramble on as it so often does, to open up and share the things that are continually getting stored and buried inside of me. I blame it on the change, on my laziness, on my "falling into a routine". I blame it on being happy and content, and for the first time in a long time, being able to let my guard down and breathe a deep breath of New York grime.


As most of you know, I've begun working my new job, decidedly finished with school, moved to a new city, settled with a new boy (well not so new I suppose, it's been 2 New Year's now since we exchanged first glances), finally found a place for most everything in the apartment (there still remain a few boxes with stragglers searching for their place to be).

I wish I could say I miss my friends, I miss my old life, I miss something...but I don't. Although I am not beaming with joy yet (the noises and the mass amounts of people are taking time to grow accustomed to), I find myself not at all longing for any of the last five years in that place I could never really call home. I leave work now, today for example, with the thought and more importantly, the knowing, that there is someone waiting for me, ready to greet me with a smile, albeit from behind a laptop screen, but there nonetheless. There is a peace in my heart, and the hurt and wounds of years long since past are finally not even on the cusp of being remembered.

*pause*

I'm reading Henry Miller's "The Rosy Crucifiction"...I've merely begun to read Part One entitled "Sexus" but have already found a thousand gems that I find solace in:

"To write, I meditated, must be an act devoid of will. The word, like the deep ocean current, has to float to the surface of its own impulse. A child has no need to write, he is innocent. A man writes to throw off the poison which he has accumulated because of his false way of life. (Note to self: This remind me of a preview we just saw recently which said: New York is the place where people go to be forgiven...this resounded with me, especially while I continued to ponder whether I truly had moved here or not to do just that - be forgiven.) He (back to the writer) is trying to recapture his innocence, yet all he succeeds in doing (by writing) is to innoculate the world with a virus of his disillusionment. No man would set a word down on paper if he had the courage to live out what he believed in. His inspiration is deflected at the source. If it is a world of truth, beauty and magic that he desires to create, why does he put millions of words between himself and the reality of that world? Why does he defer action - unless it be that, like other men, what he really desires is power, fame, success. 'Books are human actions in death,' said Balzac. Yet, having perceived the truth, he deliberately surrendered the angel to the demon which possessed him.

"A writer woos his public just as ignominously as a politician or any other mountebank; he loves to finger the great pulse, to prescribe like a physician, to win a place for himself, to be recognized as a force, to receive the full cup of adulation, even if it be deferred a thousand years. He doesn't want a new world which might be established immediately, because he knows it would never suit him. He wants an impossible world in which he is the uncrowned puppet-ruler dominated by forces utterly beyond his control. He is content to rule insiduously - in the fictive world of symbols - because the very thought of contact with rude and brutal realities frightens him. True, he has a greater grasp of reality than other men, but he makes no effort to impose that higher reality on the world by force of example. He is satisfied just to preach, to drag along in the wake of disasters and catastrophes, a death-croking prophet always without honor, always stoned, always shunned by those who, however unsuited for their tasks, are ready and willing to assume responsibility for the affairs of the world. The truly great writer does not want to write: he wants the world to be a place in which he can live the life of his imagination. The first quivering word he puts to paper is the word of the wounded angel: pain. The process of putting down words is equivalent to giving oneself a narcotic. Observing the growth of a book under his hands, the author swells with delusions of grandeur. 'I too am a conqueror - perhaps the greatest conqueror of all! My day is coming. I will enslave the world - by the magic of words...' Et cetera ad nauseum." (pages 17-18)



I am going to attempt to write everyday, from here on out, whether I have something "worthwhile" or not. I need to get back into my habits that I find a comfort for me, the writing, the drawing. I've been without a proper moleskine to draw in, and I've been without a proper mood to write in. I intend on finding the art store that sells my particular sketchbook, and to forget about trying to find something important to say. I intend to throw myself back into my imagined story life where reality makes itself real for me. I want to share my life of imagination with you so that you can tell me how silly I am, how real I am. The only way that truths or knowledge can become evident, are thru dialogue and conversation with another. And even the most enlightening conversations begin everyday with just a simple hello...In this manner of thinking, why do I continue to believe it necessary to confess some great discovery (i.e. "The world is round.")...

*pause again*

So anyhow, and anyways, here I am, just saying, "Hello."

9.18.2006

ownership

from "the new york times" on september 16, 2006:

"Who owns memory? Or, perhaps more pertinently, who selects memory? History, it was once said, is what countries try to remember and try to forget. But for humnity that is hardly an adequate formula. The horrors that people would like to forget...are often those that they should remember. for many individual memory is easier than collective memory. And Pierre Levi's suitcase? Well, in a sense, by fighting to secure his own memory, Mr. Levi-Leleu has reinforced the collective memory. He wants to recover his father's suitcase but, in the process, he has also drawn attention to all other suitcases...whose owners will never be known."

8.27.2006

noooooooooo!


Nabaztag Sunday afternoon, originally uploaded by Patrick Ng.

everyone is getting them...don't worry my little nabaztag...i will come for you someday!

8.22.2006

it's been a long time...i'm sorry but i don't write when i'm unhappy...

This is a slight attempt to get out of my educative complacency...a way to figure out how to get myself motivated and back into the swing of things. I am unsure how the next couple weeks are going to turn out, if in fact they will turn into the next few months. Part of me just wants to give up and say forget it all...in fact, it is turning out not to help my job search anyways, and part of me just wants to move on to bigger and better things. I find inspiration in other places & people these days and my heart and mind are much more rewarded than ever before. I feel for the first time, a cohesion between heart, home, future, ambitions...this makes me smile in contentment...I do not know if ever there was a time before that this strange coming together has ever happened.

"To write, I meditated, must be an act devoid of will. The word, like the deap ocean current, has to float to the surface of its own impulse. A child has no need to write, he is innocent. A man writes to throw off the poison which he has accumulated because of his false way of life. He is trying to recapture his innocence, yet all he succeeds in doing (by writing) is to inoculate the world with a virus os his disillusionement. No man would set a word down on paper if he had the courage to live out what he believed in. His inspiration is deflected at the source. If it is a world of truth, beauty and magic that he desires to create, why does he put millions of words between himself and the reality of that world? Why does he defer action - unless it be that, like other men, what he really despires is power, fame, success. 'Books are human actions in death,' said Balzac. Yet, having perceived the truth, he deliberately surrendered the angel to the demon which possessed him.

A writer woos his public just as ignominously as a politician or any other mountebank; he loves to finger the great pulse, to prescribe like a physician, to win a place for himself, to be recognized as a force, to receive the full cup of adulation, even if it be deferred a thousand years. He doesn't want a new world which might be established immediately, because he knows it would never suit him. He wants an impossible world in which he is the uncrowned puppet-ruler dominated by forces utterly beyond his control. He is content to rule insiduously - in the fictive world of symbols - because the very thought of contact with rude and brutal realities frightens him. Tru, he has a greater grasp of reality than other men, but he makes no effort to impose that higher reality on the world by force of example. He is satisfied just to preach, to drag along in the wake of disasters and catastrophes, a death-croaking prophet always without honor, always stoned, always shunned by those who, however unsuited for their tasks, are ready and willing to assume responsibility for the affairs of the world. The truly great writer does not want to write: he wants the world to be a place in which he can live the life of his imagination. The first quivering word he puts to paper is the word of the wounded angel: pain. The process of putting down words is equivalent to giving oneself a narcotic. Observing the growth of a book under his hands, the author swells with delusions of grandeur. 'I too am a conqueror - perhaps the greatest conqueror of all! My day is coming. I will enslave the world - by the magic of words....' Et cetera ad nauseum." -Henry Miller, "The Rosy Crucifiction, part 1: Sexus", p.17-19

8.09.2006

all things meez-y


7.28.2006

no wonder me & her get along so well

isabelle, isabelle, my darling isabelle...

needy child
you scored 80 neediness!
OK, so it seems like you have that needy child inside, that child that needs to feel loved and wants everybody showing him they love him/her all the time, or else he feels unwanted; that child who cries when he/she is left alone in the house, the not at all independent child... sweet huh? only that freakin' kid u've got inside is screwing any chance of getting a decent lady/guy!! but in your case this needy thing only comes out from time to time, not all the time; so my advice is sending that fucking kid to foster home and be the secure adult you are supposed to be.
the needy-o-meter test

selfish song of the day

Contrary to popular opinion
The very best things in life are for free
Through a practice that I call donation
I get the things I want quite easily
I got a chip on my shoulder
And a halo on my head
I'm an angel with an attitude
And my favorite color's red
I got god on my side
Who's that? Hell, I don't know
But I practice my religion
While I'm stepping on your toes
Goodness knows
I gave more than I took
Goodness knows
I ain't no saint I ain't no crook
Looking hard, yeah you busy bee
For a simple word you charge a simple fee
It's a little too late for too little
But it's never too late for a lot
It's a little too late for too little
But it's never too late to take 'em for what they got
Feed the world a giant crust of bread
Bake a cake and give it to 'em when they're dead
Well I'll take that cake and I will eat it too
I'll get more than I need so I can share the rest with you.


"Angel With an Attitude" by the DittyBops

7.26.2006

choking

"'The only frontier we have left is the world of intangibles. Everything else is sewn up too tight'... The unreal is more powerful than the real. Because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Because it's only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on. If you can change the way people think, she said. The way they see themselves. The way they see the world. If you do that, you can change the way people live their lives. And that's the only lasting thing you can create. Besides, at some point...your memories, your stories and adventures, will be the only thins you'll have left...'My goal is to be an engine of excitement in people's lives'...'My purpose is to give people glorious stories to tell.'"

from Choke by Chuck Palahniuk p. 159-160

what once was there, will never be again, a story must be told

the death of two buildings
it is a sad thing when great things are torn down, taken away, demolished, destroyed...not too much longer than a year ago i was walking, wandering the streets of berlin and this lovely building and i had a conversation with one another. i didn't know what the building was at the moment, after six weeks of looking at maps and figuring out "the places to go", i was tired of planning ahead. i remember stopping in front of the palast de republik, looking up and thinking wow. plywood had become adequate replacements for windows of glass. the chain link fence hugged the building but at a distance of 3 meters all around...as if to say, "no way that i dare touch you, you dirty, old, falling apart building..."


*sigh*

following one link to another link to another via blog after blog, i fortuitously found a post dedicated solely to the old palast. it seems that it is bound for the land where only memories will keep it alive...demolition has begun already.

IMG_9755

the beauty of this building was not the built entity of the palast itself, but rather the wonderful reflections of berliner dom from across the street. in reality, the domes that rest atop the baroque church are made of copper, the patina has turned to its green, but in an ugly manner that makes the church look dull and uninviting.

but in the reflection of the palast's bronze-like windows, the domed church takes on a life of its own. it becomes golden, a little mirage of heaven and not of this world where time destroys and weather copper and makes marble stain with dirt. in the relfection the building remains pristine & glorious.

i wonder if those who are tearing down the palast realize this: that in the demolition of the palast they are in fact really destroying the life of two buildings.

the images they use show the palast alone, decrepit...a ploy to hide the real wonders of the building...look closer and you might be able to have that wonderful silent conversation that i stumbled upon that day. just you and the golden domes, with the magical bronze windows as the mediator.

the death has already begun, and you can watch it here.

berliner dom

IMG_9756




creating my own personal happiness for the day

there are just some days when no matter how much people try their best to make us crack a smile and make us happy, it just doesn't work. the happiness has to come from inside ourselves. it is not meant to offend you who try so hard...the trying is much appreciated, really it is. but like those wonderful pictures of the abandoned amusement park (see here, here, & here), no fun can be had unless there are people on board (conductor & passenger alike)...i guess today as much as i tried my best, my frustrations got the better of me. no matter how many passengers hopped on board, this conductor just wasn't going anywhere. so i decided to take matters into my own hands and make a little something that will put a smile on this face...




7.21.2006

what heaven must be like...

as seen on archinect via my quite-wonderful flock news setup (it's like my own morning newspaper, save for the fact that i don't have to sift thru the sections i don't like!):

"California Coastal Records Project>>>Welcome to the California Coastal Records Project, an aerial photographic survey of the California Coastline from Oregon to Mexico. See this remarkable survey with many implications and uses."
*siiiiiiggggh* now i can visit my own personal piece of heaven (my favourite california beach of course) whenever i want...*big happy, wonderous smiles*

7.20.2006

celebrity status


my boyfriend is famous.......and i am officially not. ;( the four eyed monsters used HIS picture in episode 7.6! he was soo incredibly happy...i know he was hiding it for my sake but i could see him secretly doing cartwheels inside. see if you can spot his picture yourself!


*gulp*

you are 68% evil
You are very evil.
And you're too evil to care.

Those who love you probably also fear you. A lot.

connections to dorian gray

"Everything one does in life, even love, occurs in an express train racing toward death. To smoke opium is to get out of the train while it is still moving. It is to concern oneself with something other than life or death." -Jean Cocteau

btw...i finished the book at last! woohoo! and it occurs to me that stories that are written today have no moral to them. it seems that in previous centuries, literature and the author wrote for the purpose of "having something to say"...to express some notion to the general audience that everyone "knows" but is afraid to say out loud. a friend of mine just finished reading "pride and prejudice" by jane austen and i "the picture of dorian gray" by oscar wilde. i recall the immense sympathy that i felt for raskolnikov in doestoevsky's "crime and punishment". the modern novel, perhaps i haven't read too many novels written of our time, doesn't seem to possess the same type of power to relate the character to you, the reader.


for example, although dorian gray was a 20 something male who had a benefactor which made him forever wealthy, attending operas and smoking in opium dens, i could very much understand the voice in his head. i'm definitely not forever wealthy, nor have i ever been to an opera and much less an opium den, but i could hear the conversations of thought that made his heart & motives go tick-tock very much within my own self.


everyone is in love with the dan brown novels these days..."the davinci code" and "angels & demons". i haven't read them yet, and so maybe i'm judgments that i shouldn't, but i just can't imagine how these books can "speak" to an audience for such a long period of time. what are going to be the dorian gray's and elizabeth bennett's of our day?

maybe eric is right...in our day and age, no one wants to be reminded of morality.


7.15.2006

classic us

and i quote from her myspace page: "liz + jenn reunited at last : mayhem and french fries ensues. "

a map to add myself to...

once we drop off deposit money tomorrow and i know FOR CERTAIN this is where i'm going to be living, the first thing i'm going to due after sighing for relief from the freedom of homelessness, is to add myself to the

nyc bloggers by subway stop map.


yippee...jump for joy for i'm such the dork!


i'm here sitting in liz's new apartment, next to my darling liz. we are silent at the moment, both tip-typing away on the laptops (flashbacks to java-u!)...i owe her much loove for letting eric and i stay here with her and ruining her weekend of good sleep (she's putting herself out on the twin sized air mattress just for he & i...poor girl). anyhoo, i owe her dinner...something more rewarding than just a hug. we went out last night and had drunken ice-cream twisted, of course, and massive amounts of fries (more flashbacks to $2 canadian chinese windows). i'm going to like being in this city...

now, eveyone just keep their fingers crossed that the apartment we want will be ours by tomorrow afternoon...pray for divine intervention this time.

7.12.2006

we've been spending a lot of time on blankets & sitting with one another

a capitol fourth, er i mean third...the dusky evening hours of july 3rd were spent on the west lawn of the u.s. capitol. we were able to see the entire rehearsal minus the crowds and fireworks and torrential rain...the symphony played in our ears and small children bounced and spun around us...we got hungry because everyone else had brought picnic munchies...all i had to offer was water and a box of mentos.
the sun went down on us and it was the most beautiful piece of orange warmth setting just above the canadian embassy on our distant right. how wonderful it is to lay on a blanket, smell the green, green rass around you, look up into the sky and see one small moving dot of a plane above leaving streaks behind it...even more wonderful when you realize everyone else around you is looking at the show instead and you are the only two who see the treasure in the sky.
saturday lounging in alexandria by the water at powhatan park...we had our own little piece of grass, he went for an afternoon run along the boardwalk towards the wilson bridge...i picked wild flowers, tied them in a green stem bow, and bestowed them upon him. *smile*
we went to the spy museum this day...the afternoon was so perfect that it called for afternoon reading in the sun at the national sculpture garden fountain and then later a magnolia tree shaded nap on a bench.
at home relaxing on the couch...he's installing linux on the desktop in the background & showing me his joglog on his laptop...

posting just to post

i've been urged that i should write something in order that my previous 4 emails get pushed down, down, down out-of-sight and swallowed up into the deep dark depths of the scroll bar. i haven't really felt like writing anything at all. perhaps it is because things just don't seem to be falling quite into place as i had dreamed of (not that i have been working extremely hard at changing that)...the only thing i can attribute it too is the phrase "resistance to change". i think that we all at one point or another resist change. in this case i mentally and emotionally welcome it. i cannot wait to leave this city, to find new places of solace since i feel i have established none here even after five years of living here. i've never really been able to call this town my home...yes, it is the place where i lay my head down to sleep at night. yes, it is where i have managed to scrape out some existence of a living. i've allowed a very small amount of people to enter into my heart and call them my friends, only to be burnt time and time again. i was so happy when i first moved here...i remember doing cartwheels in my studio apartment, the first time i have ever really lived all by myself for myself. and now, reminiscing such a moment i can't help but think, "what the hell were you thinking?" i suppose all of this may be subconsciously lingering in the recesses of my brain, contributing to my "resistance to change". i cannot wait to move and begin anew...to do cartwheels in my new apartment, which if all goes well, i'll be able to do more than just two before having to turn around the other direction.

the boy has been here with me now for a month and this in itself was change. i was fearful and scared of this by itself, not to mention the prospect of moving to new york with him, living with him, and just plain BEing with him. i am secretly happy that our july 1 apartment fell thru the cracks, it has minimized the stressed and drastic changes of getting to know each other + finding a new job + living in a new city rather to just enjoying each other's company...and for this i am very grateful. although at times i realize that he himself has picked up and changed cities and is in a sort of waiting zone...sigh...

so...i wonder just exactly how much i need to write to get that "i'm drunk" post off the top of the page...

did i mention that i bought my very own domain www.linesthatwalk.com the other day and started fiddling around...there isn't too much to see at the moment, just some tinkering that i did in flash, but hopefully soon it there will be more pretty things to see. i'm so happy that i could name it after my favourite paul klee regiment - "a line is merely a dot going for a walk" - you can see my silliness and how i made my dot go for a silly little shuffle across your screen.

i'm sorry i haven't been more blog inspiring or flickr happy...as i say, i write when i'm happy...and tho i'm happy (er, content is probably better) i am not settled and so that leads to unease and a discomfort that keeps me from writing constantly. i don't want you to worry, it's nothing to get upset about...change is in the air, that is all...

6.29.2006

while i was sleeping


while i was sleeping, originally uploaded by prettyjjbean.

see...naps CAN be productive.

6.28.2006

btw...

i'm drunk.

and....

he's dancing to le tigre's "let's run"!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

but...

i love him anyways....

boxers

if he says,

"do you want these boxers that i hate?"

what do you say????

"of course i want them dear...."

6.22.2006

i wanna go...anyone wanna be my date?

so this is one of the few video podcasts that i've been following...the story of arin & susan + the making of their movie. anyhow, it's finally coming to washington d.c. i think that the video podcasts are fairly creative and i'm extremely impressed at how they are using podcasts/myspace/blog technology to do the major promoting of their film. it's a great example of the potentialities of today in saying something and actually getting people to listen to what you have to say. anyhow...watch the videos from episode 1 till now, watch the trailer, read the story, & if you are still interested, let me know about next wednesday---

Washington, DC - avalon theatre

wednesday, june 28th @ 8:00 PM
print B&W flier | directions | Who is attending
trailer | Video Podcast



6.15.2006

aw man..why you gotta tease me like that?


aw man.., originally uploaded by prettyjjbean.

so i didn't take this picture...but it is what awaited me on my firefox browser when i went to check the daily news happenings...above this cute little green monster were the words "montreal festival city"...ack! with the following link to this article talking about all the splendors of montreal...double ack!

i mean c'mon! this is torture! i KNOOOOOW montreal is wonderful already...one slight problem...i'm not there!

congratulation flashbacks

warning: ok...so this posting is mainly because i want to celebrate with my favourite montreal girls tonite....they've worked so hard and i know must be completely exhausted but there is always room for a little shaky-shaky! i miss you guys...wish i were there so we could fall off stages together and jump out of cabs because we are about to puke...to walk home with each other and laugh at such high pitches that it is just plain annoying! congratulations, my dears! i'm so very proud of you!

the video is bad and sound not so good, but i know that it will be appreciated by those involved on that fateful night...liz is going to kill me for posting any of this at all. anyhow...no one will understand the most wonderful time that i had that night...i literally woke up the next day and remember my stomach hurting so bad from laughing all night long. i think miss liz woke up with absolutely no voice...hehehe.

anyhow, this is for you my dear gul, isabelle, and liz. i miss you all so very very much...be patient in the very beginning since the screen will be black and playing music from that night. i think we were on the stage at that point...not yet falling off it!



this video has been removed to protect the character of those involved.

6.11.2006

so happy togetheeeeeeeeeeeeeeer...la la la la lalalala la la la tralala laaaaaaaaaaaa

5.16.2006

logical inter-connections

I put dreams before life to such an extent that I manage in my verbal intercourse ( I have no other) to continue dreaming, and to continue, by means of the opinions and sentiments of others, to have, in the fluid line of individuality, an amorphous life.

Other people are channels or furrows through which the waters of the sea flow, but only as those people please. The curved course of their tendencies is marked by the flashes of the sun in the water in a way that is much more real than the dryness of those people could do it.

My rapid analyses may make me seem like a parasite in my relations with other people, but what actually happens is that I oblige them to be the parasites of my last emotion. I take possession of the shell of their individuality. I copy their footsteps in the clay of my soul, but I step down harder than they and by incorporating those footsteps into my consciousness, I have taken their steps and walked their ways for them.

Generally, out of my habit of duplicating myself and carrying out two different mental tasks at the same time, I – even as I adapt myself excessively and lucidly to their feelings – am analyzing within myself their unknown moods, making a purely objective analysis of what they are and what they think. Thus, in dreams and without giving up my uninterrupted daydreaming, I proceed, not only living the refined essence of their (at times) dead emotions, but understanding and classifying the logical inter-connections among the various forces in their spirit, which at times exist in a natural state within their souls.

And while all this is going on, nothing of their physical features, their way of dressing, or their gestures escapes me. At the same time, I live their dreams, the soul of their instincts, as well as their bodies and their attitudes. In a grand, unified dispersion, I situate myself within them, I cultivate them, and during every moment of the conversation I am a multitude of beings, conscious and unconscious, analyzed and analytic, all deployed as if on an open fan.

-Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

present state of soul


Present state of soul,
originally uploaded by Gabo Gabo.

5.10.2006

almost 9am & coming back on the train

There’re no words to say
No words to convey
This feeling inside I have for you
Deep in my heart
Save from the guards
Of intellect and reason
Leaving me at a loss
For words to express my feelings
Deep in my heart

Look at me losing control
Thinking I had a hold
But with feelings this strong
I’m no longer the master
Of my emotions

"for you" by tracy chapman

5.04.2006

the pilgrimage that i am on


originally uploaded by orkboi.

-thoughts of thesis clutter my head like butterflies in a net
-thoughts of moving to a new city and the horrible new york walk-up apartment + me having tons of books
-thoughts of another moving closer to me and how happy/anxious that makes my heart
-thoughts of two worlds colliding into one and me being left all together holding nothing but my heart
-thoughts of looking for a job excite me, yet i hate it, you know...the whole process of resume/portfolio/waiting/interviews/choosing...i wish someone would just call me tomorrow and say be here monday morning at such and such time
-thoughts of summer in the air accompanied with desires to go and sit on the grass, soak in the sun, and just be
-thoughts of my dear gul and the wonderful grateful dead photo remind me of love and friendship and how this is all we need in this world to be happy...who needs a master's or phD? i shouldn't tell myself that till next tuesday.


ok back to my pilgrimage or sorts...time tos tart the day and design away. i want my project to be beautiful. right now i am worried because my drawings are not beautiful. they are all auto-cad-ed up and not so pretty. i'm having a hard time trying to decide since this is not my thesis defense presentation, but merely a final progress review for the semester, how do i continue working without showing my normal "finished" drawings. from now until tuesday, i feel that my project needs a few layers of depth added, in meaning and in drawing...i hope that design approval will come easier than at midterms...if not, i'm about ready to tear my eyes out.

5.03.2006

my sleep pose

I am a toboggan!
Find your own pose!

Toboggan Traits and Tendencies Tobogganeers are always one step in front of their peers; they're first to buy a house, first to microdermabrate, first to spend more than a thousand dollars on a rug. Yet in their rush to get ahead of the curve, Toboggan couples sometimes find themselves racing in two entirely different directions. If they don't check in frequently to make sure they're both on the same track, they can grow impressively far apart, and it can take a great deal of painful maneuvering and many late-night talks before they reconnect once again.
Comfort Zone Toboggan is a Sun Sleeper pose. Other Sun poses a Tobogganeer might enjoy include Big C Little c, Classic Spoons, and The Heimlich.
A Note About Feeding Tobogganeers have two modes: fed and calm, and unfed and frantic. To prevent bickering and other erratic behaviors, always keep the pantry and glove box well stocked with a supply of crackers and spreadables.



4.23.2006

she said, "things that go smoosh."


bye.,
originally uploaded by okta'lonli.

10:03 in the a.m. waking up in my own bed never felt so good for some reason. the blankets seemed to conform just perfectly to my body today. i was woken last night by a phone call at 5: 25 a.m. which put a smile on my face. i know i've been distant lately and there has been much on my mind. my brain doesn't seem to have enough room lately for all that it wants to think about. school seems to be a minor factor in it all and the only steady thing that remains as a constant.

i've been trying to purge my room of useless papers. scanning things that i can throw away but would like to have some sort of digital memory of. old cards, portraits of me drawn by others, notes from long ages ago...all these things seem unnecessary baggage when thinking of moving to new york. i feel as though i am throwing away little pieces of my life, the weight and heaviness, freeing myself for a new life ahead. am i finally closing the doors to my past? do i realize that once i leave here, there will be no turning back?

words and hand-written notes are the things which i treasure. they seem to have so much more weight and impact than an email. finding an old file of an instant message doesn't seem to hold the same impression that i feel when i stumbled on the notes i've left my mother, cards from my brother, letters from a past love that say absolutely nothing (in fact, it is just a blank envelope, with a few sheets of blank white papers insde...one of my most treasured items). these gifts of writing and the thought put into them cost so much more than the rising postage stamps on their envelopes. whomever complains that mail is getting expensive doesn't realize the value of the messages and prices of love that are contained within.

last week, maybe the week before, he wrote me the first letter ever. i could imagine the way he hold his pen as he wrote, the look of careful thought as the pen found its way to the page. it is these imaginations that bring a peace to my heart.

i know that i haven't written for a long time. i often tell people, "i write when i am happy." well, i suppose this statement remains to be true. although not sad, i feel apprehension...anxiety...wondering...a tension of sorts inside me that has been growing. i do not know how to explain...maybe it is better if i just work. in that way, time will pass, and the distance will lessen, as it is time that will lessen the distance.

4.17.2006

la-la-la-land

*singing to herself*

where, oh-where has little one gone?????
where, oh-where can she beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee????

*the sound of her humming voice fades into the distant background*

4.07.2006

what flavour am i??



4.05.2006

"the big lebowski" for future reference

Walter Sobchak: Am I wrong?
The Dude: No you're not wrong.
Walter Sobchak: Am I wrong?
The Dude: You're not wrong Walter. You're just an asshole.
Walter Sobchak: All right then.

4.04.2006

focus...

pontificating cheap

a friend of mine is putting togeter a little 4"x4" 8 page publication and in his words, "since i'm the wordy, phD wanna-be, smart one" get to contribute a little piece of thought (eh-hem, "the meat"). here's a copy of my little rambling dribble:

cheap words
Cheap. Cheap seats. Cheap talk. Cheap thrills. Cheap, cheap, cheap. It is the sound a baby chick makes. It is what we label something when it falls apart. It is the word that makes a student's ears jump for joy. But why does the word cheap persist in having such negative connotation? Wouldn't one value a sloppy bundle of handpicked meadow flower randomness over store bought, expensively wrought red, red roses? Isn't a little love note written on a sliver of a paper corner more treasured than a computer typed, laser printed copy that can be recreated over and over by the mere push of a button?

Take these notions in hand for a moment and cross the boundaries into the realm of architecture. Cheap means budget conscious. It connotes other ideas of pre-fab and sustainability. Images of small habitable box houses come to mind. But it also means that after ten years stucco is falling off the side of walls, the roofs are beginning to leak, floorboards starting to creak. It means imitation and disintegration. At what point did the words quality and cheap become so far removed from one another? How can that discrepancy be reconciled?

Realizing the importance words have in the telling of our narratives is essential. The drawings we create, the buildings we make, the ideas we realize, it all begins with words. "Language is not merely a means of expression and communication; it is an instrument of experiencing, thinking, and feeling ... Our ideas and experiences are not independent of language; they are all integral parts of the same pattern, the warp and woof of the same texture. We do not first have thoughts, ideas, feelings, and then put them into a verbal framework. We think in words, by means of words. Language and experience are inextricably interwoven, and the awareness of one awakens the other." [1]

Cheapness and beauty must somehow find themselves back in the same sentence. [2]
_______________________

[1] William Chomsky, dad to Noam Chomsky (creator of generative grammar)…ooooo….aaaaahhh.
[2] If Boy George could do it in 1995 with his album Cheapness & Beauty, so can you!

oh my! oh my!

i have to get a fatboy! it's almost quite as wonderful, if not more, than a giant inflatable yellow sphere! i'm imagining naptimes galore and lazy, long afternoons of lounging, listening to wfmu...*sigh*


i've returned from the dead really...it's just taking me a little while to catch up.

3.23.2006

i'm one of those boxes, i am, i am!

3.22.2006

songs that keep repeating on the playlist today for no particular reason other than i like 'em & it's been a productive day...

note to self, when i need to get things done, play the following:
get in the car, hail social
contratempo, lali puna
life turned upside down, badly drwan boy
the love that i crave, the blow
smell memory, mum
f*ck this sh*t, belle & sebastian
black turtleneck, solvent
soul meets body, death cab for cutie
advisory committee, mirah
eyes, rogue wave
where i love you, the blow
ageless beauty, stars
take me out, franz ferdinand
intertiatic esp, the mars volta
no cities left, the dears
aptitude, novillero
imaginary ordinary, architecture in helsinki
i love you (la la la), do make say think
argument, fugazi
rippin kittin, miss kittin
hate to say i told you so, the hives
he lay in the reins, calexicao/iron&wine
dare, gorillaz
une annee sans lumiere, the arcade fire
rae, autechre
je ne t'aime plus, manu chao
retour a vega, the stills
the observer, the flaming lips
this is not a love song, nouvelle vague
rocket ride, felix da housecat
dirty trip, air
impossible, les acrobates
pannonica, thelonius monk
man i used to be, k-os
killing all the flies, mogwai
publish my love, rogue wave
drunken tune, cinematic orchestra
a dreamy day of dreaming of you, of montreal
faking the books, lali puna
the step, !!!

he gave me something beautiful to smile about today...

i was saving this post to revise/add more to the list...but i wanted to share the commercial and i am oh-so-very-tired...so here it is unfinished


i saw this commercial last night for the very first time and it made me smile so big, and my heart melt so soft. sometimes, coincidences are just too great. my fascination with kaleidoscopes and favourite songs all together into one...*sigh*...i couldn't help but become overwhelmed with this great sense of missing. mind over matter, as one of my closest friends says. it seems that mind over matter might very well be the only thing that is going to keep me going these next couple of months. i just want to sleep and sleep. motivation is a little hard to come by recently. with each day that passes, i feel much more encouraged to be back in the real world and out of this fairy tale world of school that is now trying to trap me forever. i feel more and more ready for real life to come and sweep me away.

i look back to where i was two years ago (before starting grad school) and i see a very different person. i had no real concept or idea whatsoever that i would:
still be in grad school (almost 2 years later)
live in montreal for almost 6 months
finally do the europe trip i had planned years ago (tho by myself which wasn't planned)
get friends that are girls, really really good girls
officially fall in love for the second time in my life
actually turn 28
realize and accept that every interaction leaves traces (that's it, nothing more, nothing less)
be happy...genuinely happy
become confident in me

3.16.2006

perfect for today...thesis aftermath sets in


Washington Capitol,
originally uploaded by epmd.

3.13.2006

near-sighted

"What I cannot love, I overlook. Is that real friendship?" -Anais Nin

3.11.2006

daddy took his meds last night.

thank you for yelling at me last night...i needed that.
i love you.

3.10.2006

oh! oh! oh!

happy song for the day is felix da housecat's "rocket ride"!
dance party in studio today! draw! draw! dance! dance!

mr.bill-the-most-awesome-step-brudder-of-a-boss-evah-eva-!

ok, aside from just being super-duper-kewl, and having awesome musik on his myspace page, he sends me reminders like this:

BALLET MECHANIQUE

George Antheil's (the self proclaimed "bad boy of music"- teeheehee!) 1925 masterwork, BALLET MECHANIQUE, which was never heard in its original version (for 10 percussionists, two pianists, three airplane propellers, electric bells, siren, and 16 player pianos) until 75 years after its composition, will be presented on the mezzanine of the National Gallery of Art's East Wing every day for over two weeks, starting on March 12. Performing it will be 16 computer-controlled player grand pianos and an orchestra played entirely by robots. This means it will be the fastest, most maniacal, and--thanks to the cavernous acoustics of the giant building--the loudest Ballet mécanique ever performed.

In conjunction with a huge exhibit on Dadaist art, which runs from now through May, the Music department of the National Gallery has commissioned a Ballet mécanique installation, which will be on display and performing from March 12 through March 29. The all-mechanical orchestra will be located on the mezzanine, next to the entrance to the Dada exhibit hall. At 1:00 pm (every day) and 4:00 pm (weekdays only), the orchestra will roar into action and play a 10-minute version of the piece.

In addition, the film Ballet mécanique by Fernand Léger and Dudley Murphy will be shown (without sound) continuously as part of the Dada exhibit.

Please come and experience the latest 21st-century incarnation of this long-forgotten 20-century masterpiece. For more information on the Ballet mécanique, visit http://antheil.org. To see the work of LEMUR, visit http://lemurbots.org. And for the National Gallery, visit http://www.nga.gov.