paint. saliva. Tongue. ASS.

ahhhhhhhhhhh.
one more application.
I am SO close.

Next to do: Monologues.
I must learn these monologues like they are extensions of my tongue.
How exciting!
Oh how my tongue will hopefully lick the auditioners,
Tickling them with my saliva,
Moving them into feeling
Me.

I don't want to be scared of what I want.
I want to have so much love and vulnerability in me
That I can paint my auditioners a story.
I want to paint with my voice and my saliva.

I am going to Austin for New Year's.
Usually as extravagant as my New Year's is at the restaurant,
It never fails to end with a kiss from my dad
On my forehead,
A kiss from my mom,
On my cheek,
A kiss from Rusty,
On my other cheek.
I wouldn't mind some actual ass this year.

love love love Love you dragon sistas.
have a splendid new year's.

application before audition

I got so wrapped up in monologue and plays that I temporarily erased the whole “apply to the school” thing. Ha. I have spent the two days manically putting together my applications. I forgot how stressful it is. Online application. Transcripts. Letter of recommendations. Personal Statement. Resume. Blah blah blah blah

I sat in the same place on my bed and would not let myself get up until I finished. I am pretty much done except for one, which I am “forgetting” about till tomorrow. I am sort of freaking out because I asked Joyce and Steve Ross to write me recommendations and emailed them eleven days ago – still no answer. My mom said that maybe they are just taking a break and that I should wait till the new year. BITE ME. I want to go to drama school! And I need need need a recommendation!!!! I have a letter for each of them explaining where I want to apply and why and what the recommendation has asked to include and then posted envelopes – I just need their address. Their letters keep staring at me!

California emailed and called. At least my summer-saulting came to a halt. I sent him a birthday gift – yea – me, I hate it when I’m nice. He thanked me. He told me how stressed he is and how he might be considering coming back to school here. I told him to think it through and that I know everyone would love to have him back, but it should be a decision that he really puts a lot of thought and feel into. And yes, I am dying to see him. But of course – pussy that I am – I decide not to say YES COME BACK BECAUSE I MISS YOU.

The whole time I was on the phone with him I wanted to tell him how insane my mind feels with these monologues and how excited and scared I am to apply to these schools. I’m such a novice that hopefully my ignorance will only be a blessing in this application process, but it is so emotional that I’m so thankful for my mom being with me. I could not seem to tell him, cause I can’t seem to break down emotionally with him. I mean I know we are not together or whatever, I like it better this way, but I crave him immensely – but I just know, that whatever emotions are in my mind he cannot handle. Or he cannot help me with. Or at least yet.

It makes me wonder. What do people do when they are in this part of their life? When you want something badly – you are working towards it – you are all for it – and it is somewhat lonely. But, the sick part is you love the loneliness because you can think about and work towards what you want in your life. For once, you don’t have to entertain fake moments of happiness and you can do what you want. It is just weird. Just weird. I’m not complaining. I just want to scream out to all the schools TEACH ME THE ART OF EXPRESSION BECAUSE IT IS THE ONLY LANGUAGE I CAN UNDERSTAND.

nothin really

hm. hm. hm. i have my heart set on staying in tonight. maybe going to B&N to browse books. maybe renting a movie (doubtful unless someone else's home is involved). but i'm stuck in a naples bubble of south street reggae and paddy's--and it's making me cringe a little. a lot.

it's chilly outside. the spider web has been back up. the kitchen is mostly clean, but not completely. i found myself starting this post with absolutely nothing to say. i'm in pjs. i'm a lil' turd. i think i'm going to read myself into a nap. kick salad out of my luscious bed and curl up in me covers and her fur coat, left all over my covers.

Play Moments

EVERY YEAR HUNDREDS OF CHILDREN ARE CRUSEHD BENEATH THE WHEELS OF UNWARY DRIVERS IN THEIR OWN DRIVEWAYS. CHILDREN DEPEND ON YOU TO WATCH THEM. – Paula Vogel, How I Learned to Drive.

“Oh, I’m sorry I mentioned it. Only it seems to me that once in your life before you die, you ought to see a country where they don’t talk English and don’t even want to.”- Thorton Wilder, Our Town

"Sir, I love you more than worlds weild the matter,
Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty,
Beyond what can be valued, rich and rare,
No less than life with grace, health, beauty, honor,
As much as child e'er loved,
A love that makes breath poor and speech unable.
Beyond all manner of so much I love you."
- Shakespeare, King Lear

"A girl with her skirt up can outrun a Man with his pants down." - Paula Vogel, How I learned to Drive

"Rude am I in my speech,
And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace."
- Shakespeare, Othello

Merry Christmas

Ajna. I am an extension of you. I am searching wildly through Atlas Shrugged and starting to scour Tennessee Williams (the author of the play my mom did, This Property is Condemned) for girl monologues. The problem with doing that is they aren't really online, so you do need to rock a bookstore. But I think that (in googling the play and him) that you'll find something. I just have a feeling about that. Something I didn't realize about Atlas Shrugged or the Fountainhead (until now when I'm really looking) is that the women, Dagny and Dominique respectively, do not have soliloquies. Every other character rants and raves about selfishness for pages at a time and these women do not. They say a few words and then Rand explodes with describing silences and looks and expressions and explanations for their lack of words. Which works for you, since that is how you are, as a person, but for what you need...not as much. I'm writing one part that I think you'd like...not so sure about/expecting it to work for your class.
Atlas Shrugged page 812 in Chapter 11 Utopia of Greed:


"She felt, not the words she had then addressed to the city, but that untranslated sensation from which the words had come: You, whom I have always loved and never found, you whom I expected to see at the end of the rails beyond the horizon--
Aloud she said, 'I want you to know this. I started my life with a single absolute: that the world was mine to shape in the image of my highest values and never to be given up to a lesser standard, no matter how long or hard the struggle'--you whose presence I had always felt in the streets of the city, the wordless voice within her was saying, and whose world I had wanted to build--'Now I know that I was fighting for this valley'--it is my love for you that kept me moving--It was this valley that I saw as possible and would exchange for nothing less and would not give up to a mindless evil'--my love and my hope to reach you and my wish to be worthy of you on the day when I would stand before you face to face--'I am going back to fight this valley--to release it from its underground, to regain for it its full and rightful realm, to let the earth belong to you in fact, as it does in spirit--and to meet you again on the day when I'm able to deliver to you the whole of the world--or, if I fail, to remain in exile from this valley to the end of my life'--but what is left of my life will still be yours and I will go on in your name, even though it is a name I'm never to pronounce, I will go on serving you, even though I'm never to win, I will go on, to be worthy of you on the day when I would have met you, even though I won't--'I will fight for it, even if I have to fight against you, even if you damn me as a traitor. . . even if I am never to see you again."

ok. aj, i'm going crazy. i'm going to bed. i've thought about meeting stan. and thought about not doing so. i'm going with the 2nd one. my bed is to louscious to give up. love you. merry christmas. keep me posted on the hunt.

The Golden State

The bus told me that dragons should come to the Lone Star capital,
---- Busboy told me that I should come to Austin.
On the eve of the beginning of the decade.
-----On New Year’s Eve 2010.
The bus said that dragons and buses would collide
-----He said that we would kiss.
Creating fireworks.
----He said the kiss would create fireworks.
Kabooom kabooom he said.
----He said they would sound like kaboom kaboom.
Bus doors and Fire-filled nostrils will battle.
----This is me saying I would rather battle Busboy then be in fireworks.
Beware dear sky. For fire will fill your blue.
----This is me cautioning the sky incase I say fuck it and kiss.

My metaphors are eating me up alive.
Thankyou thankyou for Macbeth!

I do not know if I am freaking out for no reason at all, but California and Texas have not spoken since California visited India. I do not know if he is still in India, I got an e-mail a week and a half ago telling me about India – but after that nothing. I texted. Asking if he has gotten back safely and got no answer. God, I’m hoping more than anything that he is being a little shit and just isn’t answering and is either at home – safe – or has extended his stay in India. If he hadn’t gone to India my mind wouldn’t be summersaulting itself nauseous. I don’t care if he does not want to talk or has too much work. I just want to know that he did not get his big mouth into any shit in a third world country. And all I do know is that if I went somewhere and did not respond to California – he would summersault himself silly. As I am.

Bus doors only open for Dragons

Here you are darling, drink me. I’m all yours.
I hope my silence.words.noise.wine. words fill your stomach as well.
I am thirsty and hungry as well.
dragons Feed Me.

I have turned my head upside down and shook out everything I have ever learned and am by the second filing it with Shakespeare, Chekhov, Vogel, Labute, Mammet…..any thing that contains words. But, only a certain type of words. Words that can transform from ink to voice. Oh alchemy can only begin to pretend to perform this.
Yet, as an actress.
I shall.

Monologue oh Monologue,
Where are you?
I am searching deep within the web of society,
And still I cannot find you.
I am in necessity of you.
For four of you!
Two Classical – Two Contemporary
My tongue has ripped itself out of my mouth,
It refuses to return empty handed.
For my voice has no voice,
Without thou words.
Monologue(S). I am dumb.
Cure me.

Time. It takes time. Ajna.
I have read so much, it is kind of freaky.
I have talked to myself so much, it is kind of awesome.
I have clicked into acting school mode, it is kind of orgasmic.
Time. It takes time.

Busboy called me. How timing loves perfection. My frantic mind needed to smile and laugh at unimportantness, so it did, for more than hour. It enjoyed the unimportantness of buses that shut doors in your face. And then I realized that maybe it is ok that buses and dragons are friends. Maybe this unimportant ludicrous talking could amount to something simple – not every guy has to be this monumental Strawberry. The simplicity and lack of proximity makes the bus and the dragon giggle like little school kids at the sound of a honking truck.

The bus told me that dragons should come to the Lone Star capital,
On the eve of the beginning of the decade.
The bus said that dragons and buses would collide
Creating firewords.
Kabooom kabooom he said.
Bus doors and Fire-filled nostrils will battle.
Beware dear sky. For fire will fill your blue.

I love you for inhaling my words of FLW.
I know it was intense. I swear my fingers shocked its fellow keyboard at moments.
Although – it was heavily alluded to his writings, so it must have been hard to follow I LOVE that you still did. The more eyes on my words only gives them more power to morph into a voice.
love you both.
beaucoup. beaucoup.

silence. words. noise. wine.

breath. i just finished FLW. I couldn't handle it all at once--I've been snagging pieces every night till now. i read the two posts that appeared in my absence. I've listened to Tyler's drone on TV while sipping my tea while reading your words while my mind hasn't stopped.

today is just one of those days. I'm not exhilarated nor exhausted. I'm calm. I'm silent. Passive, observant. Thinking a lot about a lot.

Trying to breath and escape my self-imposed Guilt. I read this article about feeling guilty yesterday which nailed me (and I think everyone I know, really). Is guilt something learned? When and how did it swallow me--and how do I get out? That is something I want to start facing and owning and crawling/climbing/leaping/bounding/walking my way out of. In time. in my guilty time.

God I am thirsty and anxious. I keep fooling myself or tricking myself into thinking that it will feel better, I will feel better, once I have more of my wine. The problem is, I am realizing...today...is that maybe I'm holding the wrong glass. I'm thirsty for something I don't have right now---so drinking more and more from this bottle of cheap and convenient wine I have will continue to leave me thirsty because what I really need is Water. (or Tea).

The Jolly Cricket is my wine. Cory is my wine. Jared is my wine. Even Chessie and Sarah are my wine. Aaron, I don't know what he is. You, ajna, you are not wine. I am very aware that I do not have you here to sip at my leisure. I thirst for you. Alana, darling, you are like a mirage. I don't dare let myself thirst for you.

Procrustean Bed

Procrustean Bed

A host who adjusted his guests to their bed. Procrustes, whose name means "he who stretches", was arguably the most interesting of Theseus's challenges on the way to becoming a hero. He kept a house by the side of the road where he offered hospitality to passing strangers, who were invited in for a pleasant meal and a night's rest in his very special bed. Procrustes described it as having the unique property that its length exactly matched whomsoever lay down upon it. What Procrustes didn't volunteer was the method by which this "one-size-fits-all" was achieved, namely as soon as the guest lay down Procrustes went to work upon him, stretching him on the rack if he was too short for the bed and chopping off his legs if he was too long. Theseus turned the tables on Procrustes, fatally adjusting him to fit his own bed.

In Practice Theory, Steve Ross drew a bed with a person on it, with his hands and legs cut off the body laying on the ground. The idea of the Procrustean bed (Greek Mythology) as said above, is this notion of there being One Bed that All Must Fit. Conformity?

My oh my, conformity KILLS.

I could have sworn they taught Greek Mythology in school, but maybe they just forgot to mention Procrustes. He seems like such a powerful idea – making everyone fit a bed. It makes sense doesn’t it? If you do not fit the bed – we will make you! Or, you can look at it differently, we can construct our own bed that fits us? I could construct a bed for a 5’-3” Indian girl. But, what I cannot seem to wholly comprehend is why must your whole body fit on the bed?

There are no rules that say everyone must fit on a bed were they to sleep on one. Their head to toe must all be comfortably fitted to a mattress. What if I like my head hanging off so the blood can rush to my head and the rest of my body can lay still? Or what if I like my feet hanging off because they sweat too much and I like that they have their own airy space? Or what if I like the middle of my bed to be like a big bump so the curve in my back can be filled? Or what if I want a big hole cut out of my mattress because my butt is so big that I like that it can have its own little cut-out? I just do not know WHY we have to fit on a bed?

Sometimes I feel as if we are all cursed with notions of our “everyday” that haunt us in our intellectuality. Isn’t that why everyone is in awe with art – because it takes these “everyday” notions and questions them. However, what also confuses me is why only in art must these notions be questioned? I know this post is me pondering mankind’s existence – and yes, I am sober – but I just do not understand where these notions came from and why they are “correct.” Or why they are so distilled within our mind that we do not understand they hinder us.

I am scared that our world is in disguise, Procrustes where art thou?

The Cherry Orchard by Chekhov

Here is a excerpt from a play I've been reading:

Trofimov: Where's the sense in being proud when you consider that Man, as a species, is not very well constructed physiologically, and, in the vast majority of cases is coarse, stupid, and profoundly unhappy, too? We ought to stop all this self-admiration. We ought to - just work.

Gayev: You'll die just the same, whatever you do.

Trofimov: Who knows? And anyway, what does it mean to die? It may be that Man is possessed of hundred senses, and only five that are known to us perish in death, while the remaining ninety-five live on afterwards.

----

Trofimov: Just now a young fellow was telling me that some great philosopher or other...advises people to jump off the roofs. You just jump off, he says, and that settles the whole problem. Fancy that.

Dear Weather&Climate,

S - T - U - D - Y = p - a - i - n

Dearest Weather&Climate,

I hate you.
I do not care about you.
I cannot lie anymore.
I was never in love with you.

I do not care to know how water from the sky falls on me.
Stop making me want to know why?
Science will kill us all with its incessant reasoning.
Let me love the unknown!
Let me feel your water.

I do not care to know how or why the sky screams with anger sometimes.
In fact, I think I understood it better before this class.
I like listening to it rumble,
Reminds me of when I am angry.
Why oh why Weather&Climate did you coin "thunder?"
Thunder is anger!
Once again, Science, stop making up words!
You are confusing little ones as myself.

I do not care to know how or why you have lamps up in the sky.
In fact, that is none of my business.
I must say, I am not a fan of you using your lamps to electrocute humans -
But, hey, I can't blame you -
I would love to electrocute humans sometimes.

Dearest voice, mind, and body far far up above me,
I sincerely apologize on behalf of
ManKind and its silly need To Know Everything.
I sincerely apologize for
Condensing your deep emotions into a clusterfuck of a "TEXTBOOK."
Incredibly incredibly inconsiderate of us.
But, dearest voice, mind, and body far far up above me,
You must know that ManKind Need to Know Things,
Because They cannot understand the Language of Nature.

So do forgive us,
We're deaf and dumb to your voice,
And I'm asking you as a sole soul -
teach me your A,B,C's.
Teach me how to ride your wind.
Teach me how to shake the earth.
Teach me how to electrocute the deaf and dumb!

Excuse me,
But I must relinquish myself to the Known,
to the Textbook,
and to the Number 2 Pencil.

ManKind is Making Me STUDY.
P- A - I - N.

dreams

so i'll have to come thru and edit or add to this post. because i don't have enough time to say everything i want to right now.

basically, everything seems to be connected today so far. the coincidences and dreams. so i'm laying out just what i don't want to forget (to tie together). Last night i went to the beach with Jared again and watched meteors. in my dream last night, i was walking home and there were those spider webs everywhere...and there were even people trapped in them. i thought i could manage, but i barely got to my house--pulling the webs down with me and using the door to cut all the strands connected to me. then there was a little mouse in my room. i got him to go outside through the back sliding glass door. right after i closed it--i noticed the giant snake lounging against the door. the mouse didn't notice him and went about his way and the snake bit and swallowed him within five minutes. i watched like it was the discovery channel. then the snake got inside because the doors were screwy. he went into my room and i shut the door and closed him in there. then my mom wanted to leave the house, but i warned her about all the webs everywhere. she just opened the door and showed me this method, with your hands, to get the webs out of the way easily and safely, as if it were nothing. i fight my way with her and somehow end up meeting brandon (a guy from work) and some girl. we are in scrubs, but are supposed to be lifeguards later...but i want to do soemthing else first, so (laura? my cohost) lets the YMCA know we'll be late. apparently everyone will be late for one reason or another, so they say they aren't opening the pool till 7 (instead of 5). we were taking a boat and the metro at some point--but this is where i forget the dream. right now.

other things--the spider web above the front door-- it was super huge yesterday and dipped lower and almost blocked the way to get in. i know i caught it and broke it last night--forgot and didn't see it till it was too late. i also took down 2 webs yesterday in my dance to the compost. i've been taking fewer trips because the webs are everywhere. anyway--i was a web destroyer yesterday. this morning - no web above the front door. at all. this is the first time (at least!) since my post about it.

while i was walking sally, there was a huge bin of dried leaves in my neighbors yard...so after i walked her, i got my bin and filled it up with her leaves cause i've been low on dried leaves. then she got home, so we talked a while--she is the one whose friend is the top model guy in new york. now i'm home, writing! but i've got to get ready! i have 5 minutes.

hello hello

Ohh I’ve missed this virtual space where all my emotions cluster and tell a story! I hope you both are doing well – I miss both of you very much. These are my last few days in Austin, and as much as I am sad to leave everyone, I’m beyond excited to start a whole new lifestyle.

I just went to Half-Price books and bought “Practical Handbook for Actors.” Kevin told me everything that was wrong with me as an actress and said this book should fix some of it. ha. I love his interest in me as an actress. I love how he is so disgustingly honest with me, it is the most pure form of respect I have yet to swallow. And I’m addicted.

I am both excited and petrified to act. Absolutely terrified. Am I am mother-fucking nut? These questions keep charging at me as if I’m some target for them – and I’ve decided to stop dodging them like a fool and instead become a dartboard. “Charge,” I tell them – “Charge at me and see if you can nail me in the center!” – “I dare you!” Sly little fuckers charge their little hearts out and keep missing – missing my center. So basically, now all I have to do is walk straight into my fear and realize that I can find its epicenter and crush it, while it cannot find me.

Anyways, excuse the fear monologue – its my inner voice jumping at my fingers and keyboard. I love you both – Alana good luck on your paper and hope to see you on Monday? Sabrina – Congratulations! Call me and tell me everything about New York. Like I said, I think you should go with NYC – and be honest with 310 – see what they say. xoxoxoxo

Practice Theory: The bay leaf

This is my last/definitive post for Practice Theory. He emailed us this article he wrote on More-than-ness. I forwarded it to both of you, it is a bit lengthy, but each word is worth it. it is about a life with more-than-ness....an example being how a simple bay leaf can change the whole pot of soup. I tied this post into things he said in class too - he talked about the Procrustean bed - it is greek mythology that explains how if you do not "fit on the bed," life will cut you up so you do. Cutting your hands, feet, legs, whatever - just to make sure you fit on the bed. I also tie in this movie called the Cruise, into the post. It is about this man, who's job is a tour guide on those double-decker buses in New York - he is crazy and I love it. He hates the grid and calls it a "real estate broker's wet dream instead of our own portraitures." It is lovely. Anyways, hope you guys enjoy this:


“Use the subset of higher authority to become more you.” To become More-Than-Ness?

I might have been a blind child, or lets say highly highly selective in what I took in. A frightening tendency of mine, however I always thought education meant – listen to what is said, take in what you find interesting and pertinent to your beliefs, and move on. I thought grades were just another form of attendance. Oh how high school slapped me fiercely across the face! If you look closely the hand mark might still be there– Apparently, I am not the one who knows best for me.

Education treats the brain as a sponge so there can be a rat race to who can soak up the most and drip the least. Gloating in the bloating mind and body – sometimes, all I do is slip on taboo-ed drops of water.

Regurgitation treats the brain as a tape recorder, so that everything is exactly what it is told to be and all one must do is press – Rewind – Play. It is so simple. Only, I’m afraid my mind is either illiterate and cannot find the buttons “Rewind” and “Play,” or my tape player might be broken – either way, my memory is absolutely dreadful. I am the Regurgitation Loser.

Sometimes I feel as if the more-than-ness in life is the true alchemist. It is what transforms this rat race into an exploration of the sponge, allowing the moments of life to determine its saturation state. It is what transforms this recording of regurgitation into a tape recorder without any buttons, allowing regurgitation to bask in the “romance of being.” More-than-ness is the reason why people live? For would we all live if our lives consisted of “getting what you paid for?” That would suck.

We are all pregnant with expectations. Extremely over due, we bumper - car with exploded belly buttons never understanding that expectations and “need to know” is what keeps us arms distance from life. Is more-than-ness a little needle that pops us of our hot air, allowing us to touch life? Other than changing one’s world view – what is the next scariest thing – to be so close to life that it seems like death? Isn’t that when miracles happen?

More-than-ness is where there isn’t “supposed to be” more? Where the grid suddenly morphs into our own portraiture? Oh is more-than-ness hiding in between the lines of a real-estate broker’s wet dream and our own portraiture! Sly little thing, it is telling us of the world we live and the world we are in!

“It’s when an architect realizes natural light is free.”

It is when a person realizes life is free. Mind is free. Thoughts are free. Voice is free. Everything is free except for what you choose to pay for. That is how you get more than what you paid for – you do not see the price tags. And when you do not see the price tags the bed cannot cut you up - because you already think you fit. What if you like your legs hanging off the bed? What if you enjoy the pull of gravity that sinks them towards the floor, while the rest of your body rests on softness? Who ever said your whole body must fit on a bed. That is the grid speaking for the wet dream, not the portrait.

We live in a world where a Cruise director points to us super-soaked spongy bumper cars saying, “Sun, up on your left.” We tilt, our head, look, squint, see spots – then nuzzle our eyes back into our tunnel. What if we looked at the sun and thought we could touch it? If it can touch us from 93 million miles away – how can we not touch it? I always loved how I thought the sun was smaller than my hand – embarrassed at that statement, my parents taught me of how the sun is far away and that is why it seems smaller.

I don’t agree with that. The real estate broker and the portrait are the greatest illusionists alive – they make the sun touchable and untouchable. This is when, “ you release your grip of control and let nature take its course.” We might not think we can touch the sun, however, what if another hundred million miles away no one can see us because we are in the light of the sun. They would think we could touch the sun.

So why don’t we?
I just wonder if we did.
It might just be too much more-than-ness than we can handle…

--

This is my definitive post.
I do not think you are a cruise director Steve Ross, I think you are the bay leaf in the soup.

aldjf;adlsfjaldj

Dearest Bri,

I'm in the middle of writing for Practice Theory, and will respond to your lovely desperation - which I ALWAYS find myself bathing in as soon as I get rejected from a RTF film I love you and you are spectacular - it is not about the confidence anymore, it is about the belief.

Anyways, thought you girls might enjoy this quote:

"It is true that historical origins of applied science lay in western man's exaggerated feeling of estrangement from nature, and that in many ways his technology is still an attack upon the world. Psychoanalysis galore have pointed out the degree to which objective, rigorous, analytical, and parsimonious spirit of science is an expression of hostility, an attempt to render the physical perfectly sterile. No one but us objects here! Everything is scrubbed clean of mystery until it is quite dead, and the universe is explained away as "nothing but" mechanism and fortuitous arrangements of blind energy." - Alan Watts

I love Practice Theory and both of you!

CONGRATULATIONS ALANA - YOU'VE GRADUATED. Fuck you UT.

half-ass rejection.

i've never had the talk where an agent has looked at me point-blank and told me that it's all in my head and that i'm not made to be a model, that i can't do this. everyone seems to acknowledge my ability and potential to do this. they just aren't picking me. this half-ass rejection is numbing me. i just want to scream at them!

DON'T YOU GET IT? I'M AWESOME! YOU WANT ME! I HAVE EVERYTHING I NEED AND EVERYTHING IT TAKES AND, TRUST ME, YOU WILL NOT BE DISAPPOINTED!

Obviously, as you kids know, I don't lack the self-confidence or assurance for this business. I'm just frustrated with the pickle I keep finding myself in. That place where people see me and talk to me and get all worked up about me and tell me all the things I want to hear...and then, for some reason or another, convince themselves otherwise. They must replay the seen over in their minds...she wasn't that sweet, well, she doesn't have enough experience maybe?---something keeps stopping people once I walk out the door. Time away takes their faith and excitement. And it keeps happening over and over. Wilhelmina. Front. MC2. Code. Fusion. Boss. 6 agencies! 6 have told me they wanted me, only to back out.

Its like I have a delayed shadow that follows me to all these places that disenchants them, makes them forget that inexplicable spark that made them promise me those things that time steels back.

So i'm in it again. I'm going back to Miami next week to rekindle old sparks and start new ones. I poured this frustration out on the local agent here and so I'm meeting with her Monday to pick out photos for comp cards (that I'm paying for) that she will start getting out to her clients. Next week I'm calling back the agencies in NY and putting people on the spot to get a yes or a no. I hate limbo. I can't do it in relationships and so I don't know why I've let it happen in my work. (or lack there of...at this point.)

Madness

by Rilke (translated by C.F. MacIntyre)

SHE must ever brood: I am ... I am ...
Who are you then, Marie?

I am a queen! I am a queen!

On your knee there! On your knee!

She must ever weep: I was ... I was ...
Who were you then, Marie?
A no one's child--I can't say how--
but alone, in poverty.

And how could such a child become
a princess to whom one kneels?
Because all things are different now
from what a beggar feels.

So, things have raised you to such heights,
but you can't tell how or when?
One night, one night, all in one night,
they changed towards me then.
I walked in the street and suddenly
it was stretched with trembling strings.
Marie became melody, melody ...
and danced to their musicking.
The people cowered fearfully,
as if rooted by their feet.
It's only a queen who dares to dance,
yes, dance in a city street!


we are dancers. we are queens.

muffin man

i traded pleasure Zor pleasure.

3 cds Zor 10 vegan chai-tea cupcakes (i did the recipe i posted. they taste good but stick to the little paper things).

jared is like a little boy and i played along with the game. until we both got hurt--slapped with $32 parking tickets at the beach. Ugh. I tried to pay it but they haven't even entered the violation in the computer yet.

we rendezvoused at the beach. Arrived at the same time. I wore my black Zrench beret and black biker sweater Zor the occasion. He wore glasses that made him look like a smaller, blonder version oZ dustin. A Zrighteningly good and Zamiliar costume. Little did he know.

I brought a basket that could have held a turkey adorned with autumn apples, pumpkins, and squashes. It instead held the precious cupcakes we kept calling muZZins. He brought a brieZcase.

Silently, he unlatched it. handed me an envelope with three CDs inside, sealed with a heart. He explained the contents of the CDs, possible scenarios to listen to the music, I didn't really pay attention. (I'm too automatic in bringing up the onscreen keyboard now...i don't even realize i'm doing it now...so I guess this post will be normal, with f's, like many of my other ones, since it take more conscious effort to stop myself from the onscreen keyboard than to do the Zs)

A pink and Gold silk fabric was tucked underneath the CDs. He unfolded this to reveal---a muffin tin. The perfect holding container for the cupcakes. We put the vegan chai tea cupcakes in the muffin briefcase, gently layered saran wrap, silk, and closed the case.

Muffin Man then whipped out a 1/4 filled bottle of red wine and we ventured to the beach. There, we laid on a small sail boat (it a trampoline fabric surface) and chatted, looking up at the coincidental full moon. We talked about how it looked like a monster growling, a skull with laser-beam eyes, shaggy from scooby-doo, a retarded koi fish, and ying-yang. We talked about how he lived in New York and Minneapolis, how he got trapped in Naples again and is just waiting to get released again from this city.

Then a cop came. He asked me if my car had recently been broken into because of it's current condition. Nope, no sir. My car is just a fucking piece of shit all on it's own. We walked out with 2 parking tickets.

We waved and split from the rendezvous. I don't really know what to make of it exactly. I think I'm too honest for him and Cory. I don't think he knows what happened and didn't happen with me and his best friend and I don't know what his intentions are with me. I thoroughly enjoy his childlike fascination and excitement about life (a quality I admired in James)---the same thing I know will keep me an arms distance away.

I've been listening to the CDs today. They keep fucking up in my CD player. I don't know how I feel about the Hives.

Countdown: 9 days

Ahhhh!!!

I love Love hearing both your voices.
Seriously, just made my day.
For your sake and mine I'm going to refrain from writing.
Because I'm building models.
And we all know how happy that makes me.

9 more days till Architecture is DONE!
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

love you both and both your voices.

...so what's next?

so that question pretty much has been my life lately. and i think it defines all of our lives though.

Aj--are you going to Houston fo sho next semester?

Al--what's your poa? The invite to come hur is still open...but, as the question suggests, i don't know what the fuck i'm doing either or what's my next move.

I still have yet to hear back from Code and Fusion in New York about whether they want me or not. David Bosman from Boss had replied to me last week (and I wrote back last night) saying he had talked to Sarah Doukas from Storm (a London agency--Sarah is the one who discovered Kate Moss) about photos of me from a shoot in New York he talked to me about setting up. Things look up, but everything always seems to fall apart. If I don't hear back by Wednesday, I'm going to call them all up and find out where I stand...I hope I don't have to though!

This question was also floating around last night with Aaron. I haven't posted anything about him, but I ran into him last Sunday night and have seen him every day since. He dated Annie in high school long distance for a little over a year, but I don't know. Basically, we just clicked. It was shockingly easy, refreshing, and comfortable with him. We have the same ideas and logic about relationships and, simply put, wanted to spend all the time we had together because we don't know if everything will ever line up again.

But last night we got to the '...so what's next?' question. The answer we pretty much settled on was 'lets see.' I fell asleep numerous times during the conversation. I did that thing I do where I fall asleep while talking. x5. haha. I think I will always be happy to hear from him regardless of who else I may be with or what happens next. It's been fun and magic and cutesy and sexy and utterly what I needed after Logan and Cory. Someone that shamelessly adored me but didn't cling one bit.

Other than Aaron, hostessing and work drama has been dominating my life. Philbert is too much to handle (my dramatic black gay co-host dating a confused, desperate, hot bisexual waiter at the restaurant).My other friends came back in town so I saw Chessie a lot which was fun. Alex Detrano and I bonded quite a bit, still absolutely adore him.

I volunteered at the garden yesterday which was nice. It's weird because the restaurant I work at is going to start buying from the Garden, so the guys in charge of the garden were eating with the Chef the other day and I chatted with them. So now the Chef definitely knows who I am and is super excited to go to the garden 'open house' Saturday with me and talked about this and that. It's like I'm on board and his mascot for the Jolly Cricket (the restaurant) but my interest and efforts were completely independent of the place. The owners also now know exactly who I am and met my sister. It's a small, small world here in Naples. Somehow, against all odds though, I continue to meet new people. It blows my mind that I don't know them all already. haha.

I think I'm going to run out to B&N and snuggle up with Omnivores Dilemma. I lost it, so I'll be reading in-store till closing :)

Love you BOTH! it feels crazy good to feel like i'm talking to 2 of you.

Hi.

I love you both so much.

I have a lengthy draft of word vomit saved for this blog in response to all the harsh (yes harsh, whether true or not) words sent my way, but I haven't been able to say anything that I wanted to post and I'm just tired of not saying anything on here.

So -

Why I haven't posted yet:

I feel like the only thing going on in my life is some struggle to figure out whats going on between me and a BOY. And while I allow this to consume my energy, I still believe its lame. So I haven't wanted to talk about it. I didn't want that pitifulness immortalized in words.

So here are some short updates.

I said fuck you to Jeff, which is apparently a BIG no-no. (oops.) I was angry. To him this means - i don't care about and totally disrespect you - I don't feel that way, but ever since then he's been incredibly distant. Sometimes I don't know how I genuinely do not realize or think about the things I'm saying or doing, and their potential to be hurtful. I still live in my own little bubble.

I have a crush on Andrei. (who saw that coming? I didn't.)

I am graduating this weekend. (Sat. the 5th) before exams. fuck you UT. I can't even be excited about graduating. thanks.

I still work at manju's and need to find something else.

I showed you (Sabrina) off to my family who was asking about you this Thanksgiving. They loved your photos and hope you are doing well.

This Thanksgiving marks the day that I realized I not only like Guiness, but it also shot to the top of the list of my favorite beers.

Mary Jane and I are on good terms again.

Chris found Lily-Pod in our couch. Send me your address so she can play beautiful music in your ears? Oh and its full, can I perhaps delete some things and put some music on there for ya?

Sabrina I am sorry you haven't felt my eyes on your words. For a while I was reading this blog every day and I was quite up to date on everything that had been posted.

I love that you love food. Not enough people appreciate food. You are not a hippo. Hippo's don't love and admire food, they just eat. When was the last time you had some nasty fast food burger from some corporate "restaurant" and thought it was delicious? You are a gem.

You are proof that women can be slender and beautiful and normal; they can have a love affair with food. They can take fat pictures of themselves and share them with the world because people are not what we eat, or what we look like, the things we say- we are so much more than that. You are a girl (a woman), who I have no doubt in my mind will be successful in everything that you aspire to.

Show the world that our fucked up and sick stereotypes don't have to exist. The world needs strong spirited people to share a spirit with. When did everyone start hating themselves so much? When did we decide that everyone else's opinion matters so much that we forget our own, that we hide it in shame? Bring back the healthy model. The model who loves her body, her mind and soul and wont disrespect those things for fame. -ohgod now i'm ranting.

Its raining outside. Its cold. I have a paper to revise. I have a room to clean. I have a mind to sweep. I have a soul to shape, a place to take, a city to shake, a life to make. Please (alana) let me be.

Hippo-in-disguise Caught Red Handed

From a true Hippo to a Hippo-in-disguise:

I forbid you to costume yourself as a Hippo!
I must say, it is quite unfair to a true Hippo.

A true Hippo, as myself, has a little love on her tummy.
A little sweetness that the button on her pants tries its absolute best to contain.
A little cushion when her chins have kids!

From a true Hippo to a Hippo-in-disguise:

Rip off your costume for my sake and yours!
Stop parading around like a Hippo you fool!
For, if I remember correctly, you were a model – not a Hippo!

Start acting like one.

From a true Hippo to a Hippo-in-disguise:

Food is the love of your life.
Kiss its feet and wave good-bye.
For sometimes the hardest thing to do is understand when lovers need to separate.

Separation does not equal forever.
Tell Food, “I love you, and will see you soon, when I am a Hippo!”

From a true Hippo to a Hippo-in-disguise:

My fat Hippo heart hurts to know a Tape Measure has become your new love.
The Camera is your new love,
A Tape Measures is only good for sex.

From a true Hippo to a Hippo-in-disguise:

Truth be told my dearest masquerading Hippo –
You are either a Hippo or a Model.
Rock it.

blue cheese crumbles

i made coconut macaroons and tried to dip them in white chocolate but, somehow, burnt the white chocolate so it was chocolate colored. twice. i don't know how i missed the melting phase. the problem was that the burnt crispy white and brown chocolate was discerningly delicious. i dumped it in the compost and kept picking it back out. i ate too much white chocolate. and with the 2nd batch, i just sprinkled it on and around the macaroons like crumbled blue cheese.

this entire post was z- and eph- less.

Ajna I Want You

.

baby, sweetie, hun, hottie, babycakes, cutie, cutiepie, pumpkin, sexy, darling, love.

Hippo goes to IHOP

I was going to Paddy Murphy's last night to face the music. People are in town so I was going to meet them. I drank half a bottle of wine and had a sleepover with Ms. Chessie before I had work in the morning yesterday. I was going out again yesterday night.

Mom told me that she didn't want me drinking much. I assumed it was because she didn't want me to drink and drive. No mom, I'm not, obviously. I stayed at Chessie's yesterday precisely because I didn't want to drive.

No Brie, that wasn't Mom's concern. She didn't want me to put on five pounds, so to speak. Because then New York would change her mind on me. She would look the other way and scoff at my fat ass. My hips are still teetering the fine line between acceptable-tall model and hippopotamus.

But I think it is all in our heads. My weight was not an issue to anyone. My 35 inch hips (which magically measured at 35" with the NY's measuring tapes to 1129ShadyRestLn's honest measurement of 36"!)

It's a fine line. Mom cares enough to pull out her sharpy and make it into a fat line. I have to trust my own ability and self control to keep hippo out. Not Mom's paranoia. It's a scary fixation.




This morning Mom asked me to join her at IHOP because she was craving the pumpkin pancakes with caramel and whipped cream. We shared an order. Hm.


I've had better pancakes. These were not the pancakes she remembers and didn't shut up about. The International House of Pancakes, Naples, Florida is not on par with the one in Tampa I suppose.

Spotlights being Flooded in Darkness

OH I want to bite my mother-fucking family in the ASS.

My mother and I went to pick up my brother from the airport. She had been driving all day so I decided to drive – also, I know she has trouble seeing at night, and she had a glass of wine – and truth be told, I did not get my tolerance from her.

I asked her to watch the signs for me because One – I am driving the Beamer and Two – I don’t know where the hell I am going. The day I remember the way to the airport will be a miracle not only for me, but everyone who has to deal with me on the road.

Anyways, she can be so sweet sometimes, she chatted the whole way while all I was trying to do was hold my tears – why? Why did I want to cry? I don’t fucking know, but that most definitely did not help the whole driving an expensive vehicle late at night thing.

We circle and circle until we can finally pick up my brother – go figure, day before Thanksgiving – apparently ALL Houstonians decide to fly in the night before. I’m so excited to be reunited with my family – talking and chatting – missing the exit. UGH. So my mom and brother tell me to take the other one.

Long Story Short – we all got Lost. Automatically, my mom calls her young lover for directions, while stealing the spotlight from her son who for only a moment had the chance to be the man of the family.

She steals his spotlight.
He is in the dark pretending he can see.
I am trying not to cry – again. God Ajna.
Then we FIGHT. Fight. FIGHT. Fight. FIGHT. Fight.

Result: Spotlight Stealer and Darkness Boy decided to blame the whole fiasco on Water Works.

Result of Result: Water Works goes full throttle. Eyes, nose, mouth - all three.
Tears, Snot, and FUCK YOU.

My mother asked me if I am manic-depressant.

Why yes Mother, I am.

Help. FLW's taken my mind Captive!

I do not know how to craft this paper.

I have read five years worth of Frank Lloyd Wright and I am writing in circles. Basically, all five years have to do with Organic Architecture. In every single writing he manages to find a way to talk about the Organic. Only, it is way different than in his buildings. Since he is writings, he talks about how an Organic Architecture is of life - how if people start to understand themselves as Individuals and use their heart and Mind - Organic lifestyle can come to life.

He talks about how bringing the idea of the Organic to the scale of a person is the way to begin. That way if everyone lived an organic life - democracy would not be Mobocracy - and we would not be push-button machine loving Homo Sapiens. He is basically trying to restructure civilization through his beliefs of the Organic.

I agree with all of it. I agree we are all robots - go to school - learn too much for own capacity - then live in cookie cutters. He is saying that if we learn to learn ourselves and use our intellect and heart, we can learn creativity. Learning from within as opposed to learning from everyone around us.

I don't know how to structure this damn paper. I am an advocate of all his beliefs - regardless of how harsh, I am on his side. I don't want to summarize these five years worth of writings- I was thinking of giving an overview of the Organic and then dividing the paper into six parts - one part per year. And showing how in every way possible he has managed to connect parts of our life to the Organic way it could be...is that lame? ahhh i need you.

Chai Tea

ahh..

i went to hostess at 10:30 and got off at 6. from there i was immediately going to drive 30 minutes across town to babysit till 11. yesterday i asked my manager to get me the evening off to go babysit because i've made plans to babysit for them the past 4 nights consecutively and then had to cancel because they were keeping me hostessing. but my babysitting got cancelled, so i have the evening free.

it's a wonderful feeling. i got to eat dinner with my mom and brother for the first time in a while and ate too much because i only had 3 meals today, 2 of them being smaller because they were eaten with the plan that they were each 1 out of 4 or 5, not 3. so i compensated at dinner. and now, to tide my extending lush for consuming...tea.

home made chai tea. i've been doing it quite a bit lately, but this one is slightly more simple and all the more enjoyable.

so here is how it went down: i put hot water in my kettle and then heated up some a little milk in the mug in the microwave. Added the water, pg tea bag, peppercorns, whole cloves, a spoonful of splenda, almonds, and a couple shakes of cardamom.

i particularly enjoy this tea because usually i put all this good stuff (except the tea bag) in the kettle + cinnamon, ground nutmeg, honey, and dried orange peel flakes. what usually happens is that the kettle gets this nasty layer of grime that i dread cleaning (even when i rinse, it's not enough!)

the honey we have is distinctively not a lovely honey, and all the stuff ground up just gets messy and grimy and annoying.

i just reached the almonds in the bottom of the mug. i'm going to repeat the process and resteep.

i also need to discover what makes some chai tea green cause i want to do that to mine to solely make it seem more like a real chai tea / latte.

my spice rack christmas list:
1. vanilla beans
2. whole nutmeg
3. whole cardamom
4. cinnamon sticks

yum. yum. yum.

i might throw some pumpkin into the resteeped tea just to taste that twist. love you love you dearly. and can't wait to hear your voice.

Personal Effects

I was going to post about NY but I'm too lazy and distracted. I want to hear your voice anyway. So call me and it will gush out of me in a mess of word vomit. Right now, I'm craving something. Sweet Treats seems to far so I'm thinking I'll settle on Rice Pudding in the fridge. I capitalized rice pudding, it must be important to me (God!).

To tell you the truth, I'm wholly distracted, like i said, by personal effects. the new lifetime movie with Ashton and Michelle.

Tomorrow I'm baking cookies for my neighbor (white chocolate with craisins, oats, coconut, and pumpkins spice) and flourless chocolate cake with diego. tonight i'm hanging out (?) with Dana, the boy who slipped me his number last saturday.

Can't wait to hear your voice.

Oh my.

Sabrina Darling,

Tell me tell me all about New York City!

I hope with all my wishes that an agency has chosen my beautiful mistress to be theirs!

Work has drowned me! How rude, I tell it - but of course, I'm drowning so it can't hear me.

I have been reading so much FLW that I swear I was his wife in my past life.

His words sound too familiar to be true.

Sorry for playing phone tag - sometimes my phone plays it without me knowing - sneaky little I-phone.

Love you oh so MUCH.

Back to FLW - he's talking about Mobocracy - I'm hooked - I manifest myself into his words.

It is spectacular - I time travel to 1940's - and become words.

Sometimes I refuse to become certain words and battle them with my words!

Scandalous Word Wars!

It is the affair I have always craved.

-------

Speaking of craving, I am Penny Lane from Almost Famous!

My cravings are being satisfied left and right.

Kevin and I are doing a scene from Almost Famous - we performed it in front of a RTF Class.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I'm in love with acting. I am set so free it scares the living Ajna out of me.

It was wonderful Sabrina.

The power of a fellow actor who cares as much as you do - just makes the typeface of a script lift off the page.

I became the words once again!

Practice Theory: Hammer Hammer Chirp Chirp

We watched this film called Manufactured Landscapes and it was all about China and India and how they basically deal with our trash - how all our waste is someone else's life. There are all these images that this man takes of people and their back ground is basically trash. Their whole life is based on our banana peels!! It drove me crazy to think about, basically here is my post about it:

“You know this stuff comes from somewhere, you are just disconnected from where.”

I feel as if this film is the story behind the crusts to the sandwiches we cut off. I do not know what this “stuff” is, nor do I know where “where” is, nor do I understand that I am blindly balancing on the very extent of being “disconnected.”

It is threshold anxiety come to life via film.

I did feel guilty looking at the images and thinking they were beautiful. However, I felt even more guilty when I looked at the images and all I could see was:
Trash = corpses
Rust = blood
Color = flowers
It is as if I was painting this holocaust version of the trash images – so that I could feel better about finding it intriguing.

I am also in absolute awe of the people. In the opening scene where the screen moves from worker to worker – I couldn’t help but think: Ants! Ants! Yellow Ants of the Homo Sapien Family! I never knew such a species existed.
Hats = brains
Masks = faces
Gloves = hands
It is as if I was making these people into robots – so once again, I could feel less guilty about finding it awesome to watch.

The idea that there is so much unknown on the ground that we stand that it is understatedly mind-boggling. It also has me wondering about what these people in the film consider to be the backdrop of their life:
Children pose in front of trash. Smiling bigger than I have in a while.
Women sit cross-legged in cranes. As I sit cross-legged in a materials lab watching them through a screen.
Old women pose with e-waste. I never even knew the word “waste” had siblings.
Hammering sounds like birds chirping.

Everything that I take out of my day becomes someone else’s day. I guess I always had this fantasy-like notion that all the trash in the world was “trash.” And everyone would take trash to the same place – until we as a planet made an Everest out of Waste – and would the have the biggest bonfire the world has yet to see!

But, once again those are just my words disguising themselves from reality. I enjoyed this movie and am glad that I got to see past my peripheral vision – even though I morphed metal into bones. It made me think of Dirt and how I never even acknowledged the fact that the Earth had a skin.

Well, now I have acknowledged that trash has an after life and the Earth has a skin, for Logan says: “We spend our lives hurrying away from the real, as though it were the deadly to us. It must be somewhere up there on the horizon, we think. And all the time it is in the soil right beneath our feet.”

William Bryant Logan talked about digging a hole to China. He talked about how he never understood, “Why was I so positive that when you feel through the Earth feet-first you would come out to the other side head-first?”

Now I know why.

MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

my mother just made the most perfect frosting. time stopped when i scraped the bowl and licked my finger.

India and Water II

Thoughts about India and Water.

Ajna, you're jealous to not have been born in India. I'm jealous to not have any valid physical or emotional connection to India. It's not apart my identity but it is a part of me. I think I've told you that I think I should have been born Indian, or maybe I was in a past life. There is something that pulls me in to her that I can't define or understand or explain, and I quit trying. I'm in love with her and she is a foreigner.

I think we both romanticize India. I don't know how far you take it...but I know that I sometimes get carried away and have to snap back into some sort of reality. In my mind, I haven't just put India on a pedestal...I've put her in the clouds...I don't know...the top of the beanstock or up a thousand rungs on a ladder, as if she is so intrinsically perfect. Untouchable. and then i remember untouchables, and other fatally beautiful flaws, and something falls down. me or her. i think it's interchangable.

but the romance is still there. she makes me swoon and seeing her scars and bruises seduces me and turns me on. the ganga is something like that. to any observer, a blemish or something undesired, that needs to be fixed or covered up or something. to a lover, something that is utterly right.

you talked about it being clean and dirty and full of life and death. yes, it is super dirty. the water is brown. but i can't help but think how it is just simply dirty because of an accumulating, long history of love. that dirtiness is something that people have adapted to and have been living with and will continue living with. they will continue to be born perfectly, healthily, in the water. i can't help but juxtapose that with water that looks clean and clear, but is completely poisoned from a short, careless, loveless last half century. those places you read about where frogs have two heads or an extra leg on their faces. Where people and animals alike are sick with tumors. all the hidden, extracted chemicals, additives, fertilizers that go somewhere are so much more extraordinarily harmful, and we pretend like it wasn't us or turn our heads, ignoring the damage, and simply exploiting a different source of water to purify for our bodies. India is aware and open about the dirtiness of the ganga, understanding and accepting that a long history of love is simply wearing her out. she is getting old, wrinkled from smiling and sunshine.

the other thing with the ganga is it is a river and i couldn't stop thinking about it's one-way nature while i showered. the water was coming out of the shower head, on me, and down through the drain. the river flows one way and constantly is washing away. remember when we talked about rivers in heymann's class? The river is associated with loss or release. A means of letting go and starting again, because nothing remains...it is all carried away downstream. i guess my mind wanders to the everglades...it's tons of grasses and trees and mucky...but the entire system is basically one slow moving river, and all that stuff is just filtered. So I can't help but think of how the ganga works as a filter, how it, above all else, has an extraordinary capacity to clean because it has been harboring human life and death for thousands of years, and the dirt, the proof it is working, is what it has to show for this.

Isn't the ganga a god? (The passage from the epic talked about it being god cum too.)ahh...the possibilities, potential, reality, will always flow.

She has carried me away! I'm floating downstream and laughing at myself for not realizing when I let go or if I was ever holding on in the first place. I can't escape the romance! I remember reading your post and thinking about how we gloss over reality. I'm worse than you.

The fact is that India is loveable. California needs to discover where his love for her is--because he has an undeniable capacity to do so--and his project will pour out.

Sebastian's Belated Birthday Dinner Day

i couldn't get my mind to stop while i showered yesterday, so obviously i ran out oZ time to post and go to pizza night, so the post waited. anyway, i need a mind to post. i've spent most oZ today churning ideas in my mind Zor dinner tonight. and snacking/picking at the bread i made the other day and these Zlourless sugarless muZZins and kettle corn i bought at the Zarmers market yesterday. and then i went to whole Zoods and sampled away. i think i'm kicking my metabolism into gear between yesterday's pizza night and today's nonstop bread (and cheese, so much cheese at wholeZoods! and tonight...)ahh. tomorrow will have to cleanse me Zor new york.

my ticket's booked. we leave tuesday morning and come back thursday night. i'm excited. i have to get my photos printed too. i want to do that today as well, so tomorrow iZ Zree to plan our routes and schedule Zor wednesday and thursday, cause those are going to be hectic! I have most oZ the pictures but Liang still hasn't sent me the ones Zrom the shoot i did with Agustin, and there is one in particular i really want Zrom that group!

So tonight I'm making a pasta tossed with butternut squash, asparagus, sweet pototoes, Zresh smoked mozzarella, and raw crunchy apples. I'm making a marinara sauce and alZredo sauce and garlic bread and i think a very small, light Zruit salad because we have blackberries, cucumber, pomegranate, banana, blueberries, and raspberries. Oh, and grilled chicken. And mom's handling the cake. I want to time dinner out right so everything is done at the right time and i'm not going insane or anything. so i'll Zigure that out in a bit :)

i think, beZore it gets pushed aside again, i'm going to re-read india and water and write about that.

compost day 1

my first day to use our compost bins. they are sitting in the back corner of our little deck. between yesterday and today between the bins and the sliding glass doors, spiderwebs exploded everywhere. i don't know why every spider in our backyard decided to congregate and fill every space between me and the bins, but they did.

Last break, in an effort to make home with my mom feel more like home with you at david, i took string and extra christmas lights and hung them up over our back deck making a nifty little canopy. it lasted 2 days before the rain pulled it down into a tangled, dangling mess. a hodgepodge web. one that i've been too lazy to clean up. i just pass the tangled mess everyday, never choosing a time to take it down. as if the initial effort and the attempt last year means something and that one day it will neatly tighten and fix itself back up.

little beautiful horny spiders took over my ugly oversized web and made little beautiful webs everywhere. between the wonder of the morning and all the gentle dew shimmering (corny but perfectly descriptive) on all the webs, i couldn't get myself to move the strings and lights over to get to the bins. it would have destroyed too many webs for me to handle. i would have felt guilty.

so i took on the challenge. bag of organic matter in hand, i tiptoed, ducked, stepped over, swung, balance-beamed (along the railing) my way to the bins and back. i think i fucked up a baby web. i can handle that.

it took me around 10 minutes to decompose to decomposable. my tea, in my absence, was screeching and spitting at me in the kitchen. the teapot threw up half the tea on the stovetop. that burned, smoked, smelled. lovely.


there's a big spiderweb over our front door. it's been there for at least a week now. if i see it in the light, i carefully walk under. at night, i duck into our door where i think it might be. she says bye to me when i leave and welcomes me home when i come back. i know i'll be disappointed the day i get up and charlotte isn't there. this particular gal i think is the reason i so painstakingly avoided the webs out back.

there are more webs in my everyday life than before. that's all.

A-lala II

Not one post?

Seriously Alana?

That is just rude.

I can sugar-coat and I can express how much I love you, but truthfully you haven't had the courage to post once?

Haven't i given and expressed enough love towards you to know that your mere presence makes me smile?

I understand that words may not be your ideal means of communication, but let us know that you fucking care.

Cause truthfully, it hurts to know that the person that Bri and I love and are desperately waiting for is too nervous to write something.

Get the fuck over it and write. Because whether you write one word or a hundred, I am starving for your voice.

This is why i don't call you every time I go out - because the thought of you coming out or hanging out with me gets me so excited that I can't stand to know that you actually will bail on me.

I'm truly sorry if that comes off as harsh Alana, but the truth is that I enjoy you too much. So stop it. Stop not being with me!

I have no teeth. Or so my dream says So.

Ok, so please don’t freak out by this, but I’ve been having crazy insane dreams and don’t know what to do with myself. Most of the time I don’t have the luxury of remembering what my dreams are, but lately I’ve been having random flashes of them during the day. Then I can’t seem to remember if that is something that actually happened or something I dreamt.

Yesterday is the only day I actually remembered. God, my dreams have become morbid:

I lived in a massive brick house – bigger than Indika – twice its size. I lived there by myself. I walked up the stairs, it was a complete dump. Oh and by the way, this whole dream was in third person – that is how I think and imagine, I Never see myself in the first person. I went up to the bathroom and looked through a small rectangular mirror with a big crack across the middle of it – my front tooth had bee knocked out. I don’t know how – but it was not there.

The sight of my tooth not being there made my mind go crazy. I started ripping out all my teeth. I could not stop. The pain felt good. I loved the feeling of ripping out my teeth and tasting the blood. It was as if I was hungry for all this painful blood. Every time I ripped out another tooth I’d get this insane rush throughout my body. Blood was drowning my face and my neck. It was trickling down my body and felt better than water ever has.

Once I was done – all my teeth were out except for one stubborn molar that I decided to give up on – I took a rag and wiped my mouth with it. I dabbed my mouth like a rich person does at the dinner table then grabbed my purse and walked out. I was on my way to breakfast with California and I couldn’t’ be late.

The reason why this is a bit weird for me is because when I was dreaming, ripping out my teeth felt as natural as brushing my hair.

India and Water - my email to California in London

His project has to do with India and water - he wanted to know my thoughts, so I e-mailed him this:

Truthfully California, I do not know where or how you want your project to go – I’m afraid that I might have a very clouded perception of what is the Ganges and what others might see. However, keeping that in mind along with my idealistic views here is what I see:

Before I can even begin speaking of spirituality and Hinduism, I will have to bow to science and logic: The Ganges is dirty. I don’t allow myself to think of how incredibly dirty that river truly is, I’m scared that if I do – I will ruin it. I’m scared that by counting the pieces of trash and pollution in the river, I’ll be turning my back on India. As much of a foreigner and American that I am – even though I deny it – the fact is that I will never know what it feels like to have been born in the Ganges, to drink from the Ganges, to bathe in the Ganges, and to die in the Ganges.

It is a life source.

The way I try to see it is as if I was an Indian born on the banks of the Ganges. I would know no other wonder in the world, especially if everyone around me told me how holy and lucky it was for me to be born in the waters of Ganga. I would be enlightened and allow the spirituality of the river’s symbol and significance become my everyday. Even if I was a brick worker or a rickshaw driver – the one thing that would get me through my day is my beliefs – and my spirituality – the Ganges.

It is easy for scientists and foreigners to question how on Earth human beings allow the water of the Ganges to touch their lips – however, the rest of the world is hung up on sanitation wipes and numbers, India is at least in touch with their hearts. The Ganges is a symbol of birth, life, and death. It is the cycle of life manifested in a river – how much more extravagant can spiritually possiby be?

After spending my summer in India, I learned some things about Indians that I never knew could exist in human beings. As wound up and obsessed they are with their beliefs - they believe with and for love. They have crazy hang-ups and superstitions that drove me insane – yet at the same time, these hang ups and superstitions always came with a moral. The problem with people such as me, and the rest of the world is we are so far disconnected with our roots that we forget life can be as simple as it is in India (a story with a moral). When you think of it - people are born, drink, live, and die in a river – what sounds so wrong or inhumane with that statement?

The rest of the world is just prude. Indians have the heart and mind and the simplicity in their life to wash themselves in water. A water that carries all of India. They don’t care if it’s dirty – for they don’t even know what clean is. Or, might I say, we don’t know what clean is.

Before you start this project California, seriously think about redefining yourself and meanings. I’m not saying that you should fly to India and bathe in the Ganges this very second – I’m saying that maybe you should think about what being dirty means to you. About what being clean means to you. About what spirituality means to you. About what poverty means to you. About what water means to you.
You have always had clear water to drink that has come out of a faucet into a glass. – No One who drinks from the Ganges even knows what that feels like.

In America – you will first use water to wash your hands and then drink it.
In India – you will drink the water first, because there is never enough water to quench your thirst.

There are so many times I wish I was born in India. (This is the idealistic part of me talking right now.) But seriously, sometimes I wish I knew what it fucking felt like to have one pair of clothes, to have one belief, to know nothing other than what and where I was born. To wholly live within the moment. We are all so educated and so aware that it has in turn hurt us instead of helping us. I’m not a pessimist – I just can’t stand when education breeds sanitation. Do not go into this project tying to make the Ganges “cleaner,” or “better,” or more “sanitary friendly,”– don’t try to do what you think “helps” the Indians - because if there is ever an attack on Earth – we’re the ones who are fucked – because we drink clear filtered water.

Foreigners think that they can “help” India – but, India does not need help. It is the one nation that is truly taking its time to develop. Everyone else in the world is so ahead of themselves that they will be dead and not even know how they died – where as in India everyone will be praying and bathing in each other’s death. That is what I define as beautiful.

Do you know what it feels like to drink water that is muddy with ashes and pollution in it? Do you know what I feels like to possess a spirituality within you that can blind yourself to muddy-ness and pollution. Indians, have no money, therefore they have faith. They could never afford clear water. So, instead they allow their thankfulness and spirituality to morph any water into drinkable water. Have you ever been so desperate or so simple in your thinking?

Sometimes I hate my body for being full of clear filtered water. Every time I saw people in India drink from some random puddle of water in the road – I got jealous. I don’t think this happens to a lot of people – but I just wanted to tell them that what they think is poverty, might just be a blessing in disguise.

How all my rambling will fit into a project – I’m not sure. Although, I do hope that you approach this subject with sensitivity and understand that India is many physical steps behind us but a hundred spiritual steps ahead of us.

Clear water does not = clean.
Muddy water does not = dirty.

Our “dirty” = Their “clean”
Their “clean” = Our “dirty”

One thing I did not bring up is the Ganges drying up. All I have with this topic is my thoughts, and from what I have observed – I think India will follow nature. If God and the laws of nature decide to dry up the Ganges, India will bow their heads with love and see what happens. They might be scared, but they have the will power and the heart to accept that certain things such as nature and spirituality are stronger than they will ever be.

Aujourd'hui

Aujourd'hui (Today)

8:30 am - study for Weather and Climate Test
11:00 am - Weather and Climate Test
12:00 pm - lunch
12:30 pm - studio - draw longitudinal section
2:00 pm - memorize lines/ go over character for shoot
3:15 pm - make list for tomorrow
3:30 pm - Practice Theory
4:45 pm - California calls.
5:00 pm - cook dinner at Seneca (witch California on phone)
6:00 pm - take picture for photography project - practice theory
7:00 pm - dinner is late
7:30 pm - at Kevin's for Shoot
- he looks at me and tells me to breathe- fifteen minutes to myself -
7:45 pm - shoot starts: My name is Lesly, ladies and gentlemen.
11:26 pm - shoot is over, My name is Ajna
11:45 pm - take my dvd player which won't work to my dad's girlfriends daughter house because she is going to Houston, so he can fix it
12:00 am - drop car off in parking spot
12:15 am - get to Seneca
12:30 am - clean room. it's a mess. feed Flar.
12:45 am - Sex, Cheese, Wine, Reading in the City

Now, I am going to write something for California - he is confused on what he should do with his project - it involves India and he asked if I could help him - of course, verbally I can't do anything, so I told him I'd write about it. I'm excited to write, but i have to get up at 8:00 am!!!! Is this insasne? I don't know what to think sometimes...I am trying to learn about theory, read FLW's writings for 10 years, make buildings, make films, be in a co-op with labor, go to acting class, go to yoga....it might be too much. Sometimes I spread myself so thin it's scary.

oh yea didn't eat dinner. ugh.

while the bread bakes

I'm kind of tired and not in a desperately good mood ( I don't quite know why ) but I have the time to blog right now because I just put in some white chocolate cranberry banana nut bread in the oven, so I have to stay up for it. I don't have high hopes of it turning out too splendid though because the batter was super thick, like in cookies, and I already cut out some of the dry stuff. I just thought it would be better a little drier than adding an ingredient after i had mixed everything else together. We'll see :) I mean, I like everything that went into it.

So, like my comment said, I'm not going to New York tomorrow. My mom couldn't get the ticket. But I haven't gotten a hold of Susan even, our neighbor, who is the one that has the IMG connection, so it's probably for the best. I also haven't gotten a hold of the guy that knows the booker at Next in Miami, so my plan b of going to Miami on Thursday might be out the window as well. I didn't tell work that I'd be available those days again yet. I still have hopes for thursday and we're hosting an overbooked private event those days, so I wasn't particularly looking forward to getting eaten alive by old people tomorrow. Plus, it's Cory's day off work.

Cory. The new boy in my life. Haha. Um, so I really think I like him. Which is a good thing, different from how I felt about Logan. He is 24 years old. Shaved brown hair (he cut it 2 weeks ago, it used to be dreads past his shoulders). Skinny. Vegan. Works in a bike shop. On parole till January for possession. Loves the beach, plays guitar, kite boards, has a water bed and hammock in his room. His house. Hhhmmm. Love it. The more I hang out with him, the more he surprises me and contradicts/surpasses my expectations (in a good way). What can I say, I adore the boy. And I get the vibe that he is as genuinely (if not more) into me as I am into him.

My bread smells delicious.

I think I'm going to wake up and go to the garden in the morning before my exercise class tomorrow. I need to get out there again, 2 days seems like I'm distancing myself. I was late paying my credit card and it over drafted because the gym charged me $60 instead of $40 (the $20 was apparently for the past and new abs and butt classes I do on Saturday). It's frustrating that I was late (my fault ) and that my account overdrafted by $4 (their fault) but I'm not as annoyed or angry or stressed as I usually got when stuff like that happens. My minimum payment is $100 more than what it used to be and I just kind of feel ok about it. I need to pay that fucking card off, so at least this will force me to do it faster.

The bread is out. I'm tired. Love.

New York City

HAVE FUN!!

I am swamped with FLW readings, Dirt: The Ecstatic Skin of the Earth, Monasteries, and Weather and Climate. I'm actually sort of panicking on HOW much I have to be working on! My FLW readings are insane, the research project I chose is crazy - although, this really big part of is enjoying sitting reading all of his writings: almost like I'd rather just do this than anything else. So hopefully, the readings will help me brew some amazing research paper.

Oh FLW, thank you for teaching me so much!

Dearest Bri, have fun in New York. I wish you all the luck and all of my love. You are beautiful and smart and everything anyone would ever desire and crave - love you love you love you.

Call me when you get back. XOXOXO

Dirt: the Ecstatic Skin of the Earth, quotes

Here are some quotes that made me smile:

"The little finger is a child, the weak member who must be protected. The second finger waits, it wears the ring, and it follows the high-standing middle finger that so frequently stands for the penis. The index finger is the one that points, turns the pages, is the one that Christ raises in teaching. The thumb, in the French Salic Law, was said to be worth half a hand. It is the symbol of human strength and ability. And among all cultures, the palm is a common ground that when exposed means peace and when concealed in a fist means war."

"Neighborliness is nature! No way. Nature is red in tooth and claw."

"For the rest of us, practically the only hole we see outside the bathroom is the refrigerator. There is no denying that it is a very clean and useful hole, but I suspect that refrigerator light is the sort they have in hell."

"We spend our lives hurrying away from the real, as though it were deadly to us, 'It must be somewhere up there on the horizon,' we think. And all the time it is in the soil, right beneath our feet."

Sabrina, you might find this interesting:
"For planting, plants that fruit above ground should generally be planted in the moon's second quarter, so that they and their fluids are drawn upward and their fruits grow into juicy ripeness. Root crops, on the other hands, are to be planted in the waning moon, so that their energy is stored underground. Peas and beans and other vining crops were meant to be sown then, too, so that they would establish firm roots before beginning their astonishingly rapid ascent and spread."

I know you don't have any reference points to these quotes - make up your own! love you BOTH.

Spinal Surgery

My review went well. Martha and I had so much done that it seemed as if we were presenting a final review. We had:

Plan
Site Plan
10 Sections – rendered shadows and light by hand
Process Work
Hybrids
1/32” model
3 1/8” section models

Seriously? We both looked at our pin up and were like “Fuck, when did we do this all?” We work in studio pretty much everyday for about 3-6 hours and this steady pattern yielded the largest crop! I wish I could have done this my past studios – the partner thing makes you go to studio and makes you work because you know someone else’s ass is on the line.

I am not in love with our project. I love it, but not in love. I love our process as a team much more. I am dazzled by Martha and her technical hands and mind. There is a traditional – ness to our project that has Martha written all over it, which I’ve slowly been trying to erase and write my name as well. Martha, is a wonderful person – yet she at times falls victim to her technical mind and body. She is fascinated by my abstract mind and lets me feed her hungry mind with ideas. She eats them all and very carefully saves the least abstract one for both of us to share. I can’t help, but go along with this. Me asking Martha to be abstract is like asking me to take Construction – not going to happen. So instead, I have been walking on the fence of abstract and concrete.

Our reviewers basically told us everything that I had been thinking and trying to express from the beginning, but Martha did not hear or did not agree with. The fact that what I wanted in our project was verbally coming from academic’s mouths, makes it much more powerful. I don’t really care who says it, I’m just glad it was said.

Our project has a spine, however instead of allowing everything to fit in its socket we have dislocated it – and right now our project walks on hands and eats with feet. The reviewers basically told us that if we have spent so much time constructing this beautiful spine then why on earth is our skull upside down? They are telling us to keep the spine, but to relieve the arms of carrying the weight of the spine and putting them back in place.

Martha completely agreed with everything they said. I am excited now. This will hopefully be one of the most comprehensive projects I have ever been a part of!

Black Eye gone Bye Bye

So I just filmed this RTF project that was all about junky dealer – me and how I am in need of money – and this one guy – super junky – owes me two thousand fucking dollars. I am supposed to go get it from him, if I don’t I’m going to end up like fucking Luca Brassi.

The director is one of the sweetest people I have ever met. He was wonderful. However, he was as nervous as me – so we managed to tip toe a lot, which is kind of awkward. I never understood how vital the role of a director is. I know they are the heart of the movie, yet I never truly felt that until now.

I would not say this was my best work. Usually, after I do a scene or a RTF film I immediately beat myself up. Mentally destructive to the max. It is not healthy. In fact, it is sick. Absolutely sick. It is almost as if I get some sick pleasure out of beating myself up, so I can feel better about not doing my best. As if I justify my “not reaching my potential” by mentally abusing myself.

This is the first time that I did not slap myself across the face or give myself my own black eye. For the first time, I understood that Ajna this is still new to you. Yes, you have dreamt of the camera as the love of your life and have wished to be the manifestation of pages in a novel/story. You have dreamt of this for so long that the reality of it is scary. It is absolutely mind-boggling –ly frightening.

I have spent so much time in architecture, in my everyday, in myself that the act of telling a story has so far been in my imagination and dreams. So, the second I bring it out of my dreams and into my hands I can’t seem to handle it. And instead of learning this and accepting that everything takes time - I get mad at myself.

Well, this time, I did not.

I am happy with my performance. I know that my potential as actress is sky high – I just need to accept that hard work and diligence and faith will be a part of my journey there. Instead of crying on the phone to my mom or California, I sat down and thought of all the things that I could have done better in the scenes, all the moments that I did not fully play through and all the times that I was scared. It was wonderful. It is as simple as baking cookies for the first time.

You never know how important the consistency of the butter is until you melt the butter one time. You never know how important freezing the dough is until your cookies become crepes. There is an art to everything and learning its language takes time and experience and an open mind. It is as if every time I messed up, I immediately thought: “You suck as an actress, Ajna.” When really all these mess up are what can make me stronger - only if I let them.

I have never had formal training. I have never even had the balls to tell everyone what the biggest dream of my life is. I used to loiter around the theatre groups in high school. I used to sign up for theatre every year and then go cross it out. I used to think as I was in swim team, “Just swim till you get in college, Aj, then go for it, just go for it.” I have never had any experience, until these past two years – when really I work so much in architecture and fall asleep in acting class.

So, when I mess up – I get mad at myself? What the hell am I thinking – I should be happy that I’m actually fucking doing it! And if I mess up, so what? That is the point. In this acting book I was reading, the author is this really well-known casting director and he talks about how actors and actresses think that you’ve either got it or you don’t – he said that is true to a tiny extent – mostly its hard work. It’s working at becoming an actor/actress – it is so emotional that most people plateau with fear of what will happen next – I’d rather fail, do bad, fail, do bad, until I finally get it and do better! I want to see the film – I want to see what I did badly or what did not work and next time do better.

I’m sorry for writing a semi-novel about this, but I’m pleasantly fascinated at my lack of anger. And I’m so happy that I won’t wake up tomorrow morning with a bloody nose or a black eye, but instead an open mind to my path on becoming an actress.

I think I just gave myself my own therapy session.

all things food

any recipes or other goodies or tips i thought we could just post as a comment here. so they are all together.

Me? Self-centered?

Pat yourself on the back Sabrina. (pat, pat). Thank you. You are so wrapped up in your little world of gardening, cooking, going to exercise classes, photoshopping my face, staring at pictures of myself, writing greedily on the blog, planning my quick trip to New York, telling Phil I'll make him a red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting,
-----that----- you forgot to (a) pay your fucking credit card bill, ugh, but (b) ------------------------wait for it----------forgot what day it was.

today is November 7th. Sebastian's birthday. He is 23 years old.

He came home and I offered him to taste the oven fresh roasted potatoes I pulled out while writing the last blog. We chatted about his going to some big football game for his birthday. (Still don't say happy birthday). I then ask him what he's doing tonight. He says, going to the game. (I hadn't been listening.) Then he tells me it's his birthday. GOD I'M CLUELESS.

I texted him last night (at 12:03, he remembers) to ask about where to go dancing. He was disappointed, I could tell. And still was. Annoyed and disappointed and rightly so. The universe isn't sun-centered right now. It is Brie-centered. A big beautiful, melty, rich, mouth-watering wheel of cheese.

Again, congratulations sweetheart! You've done it. You love yourself. Oh so much.

Step 2: start loving other people almost this much.

(bow. thank you, thank you!)

Ida and Potatoes

The title of this post is an ode to the background. I'm roasting potatoes and the smell is lusciously homey. Ida is baking a cake on TV. It must be between 1:30 and 2 pm because that's when she is on. The clock on my computer says 12:36. The clock on the oven says 2:36. Neither is right. She's baking something decadent and chocolate. A cake with buttercream frosting and a white pizza with arugula. The air conditioning is off and all windows open. The weather is absolutely perfect...it continues to be every day. I love it! I think it is a bigger determinate of my mood than I ever realized because I've felt so incredibly grounded, elated, relaxed, beautiful, sure, and comfortable these last couple days. My mood has been en sync with the change in weather from hot and muggy to heaven.

I splurged yesterday, well last night a little bit. My mom and I went to Wholefoods for lunch (I needed my Organic Low Sodium Refried Black Beans by Amy--only sold there) and then again at night because they were hosting a $5 wine tasting event that benefited Autism Speaks. I saw it on the calender at lunch and we decided to check it out. After eating my wonderful south indian dosa/sombar/rosum dinner and getting Shela's mom's phone number, my mom and I tasted Pinot Noir, rich dark chocolate truffles, brie, and candied picans. There was a dj and I danced outside wholefoods with 2 drunk middle-aged women. undeniably a little weird but wonderful all the same.

That's not what I was going to talk about though! So I pulled weeds yesterday at my sister's house with Shela. This morning, before my abs and butt class, I went to her house again and shoveled and wheelbarrowed mulch. Tomorrow morning I plan on going back and weeding more. I love it. I get to spend my mornings feeling productive and being outside and finally doing something (for myself) that feels less selfish than everything else I do. And I also love feeling like I'm 'in' on something good (the selfish part of this volunteering!). I'm making myself a part of this in the beginning (they started at the end of september) and can't wait to see, literally, 'the fruits of my labor' over then next months / years.

My mom asked about it and I told her I weeded and she seemed disappointed. I think she was looking for something more substantial seeming...like planting baby arugula or do something pleasantly gardeny (I'll be weeding around the baby arugula tomorrow). But I love that I'm starting out this way. That I'm joining the project before it looks like anything. It's rows of dirt and I'm learning exactly how much work and time and love and knowledge goes into it. (Well, I've only been out there twice, but I think it makes me feel so good that I won't slow down.)

And I asked the guy who started the garden, John, about a good method to go about composting and so he told me his method. Aj, your mom wants to know about this, so copy and paste this or tell her to read this post, or whatever.

He said that he uses two large trash cans (the plastic big ones with lids that you can buy from Home Depot..I think you use these at Seneca). Drill a series of holes in them (maybe 20 or so?). The holes should be large enough to let the compost breath but small enough to keep rodents out, about 1/2" diameter? Get hay or dry leaves or something. Put the dry stuff on the bottom and then put a layer of it down over whatever food/organic matter you are composting every time. It helps reduce the smell and accelerates the decomposition process. Just keep layering compost with dry leaves/hay until you fill up the trash can. Then just leave it be and start the second one. By the time you fill up the second bin, the first one is ready to be used as fertilizer. Keeping it in the plastic trash cans allows it to be self contained and portable and make sure to get trash cans that have tops that click or latch in to keep them closed, so animals don't invade them.

Practice Theory: Bricolage - Found Object

My found object is the word. This class has given me so many found objects I hardly know what to do with myself. If fact I don’t – I sit in silence and hoard. So incredibly greedy, it’s slightly embarrassing

I have a fascination with the written word.
Actually, screw the sugar-coating:
I have an obsession with the written word.

I have enjoyed this class, so much that I do not say anything and write everything. I have written every word that has been released into the air. I have captured the words and given them a new home – my notebook.

There is no “logic” or sense to their new home – instead there is an utterly delightful chaos. The words have arranged themselves based on our discussions – and the difference in the spoken word versus the written word not only intellectually puzzles me, yet also amuses me. This chaos and nonsensical word arrangement has allowed breath in my thoughts.

Bricolage – I ripped out every page of the notebook and taped them all together in one long strip. One side has the even pages and the other side as the odd pages.
56 pages.
I then decided to line the strip with a tape measure.
143 inches (11’-11”).

It is the idea of taking a physical measurement/means to indicate a non-physical thing. The connection between the words and numbers measures our class. As broad of a statement this is, the connections made between the words and numbers are to each their own.

It is the idea of redefining a measurement. In this concrete world of ours, one inch equals one inch – universally accepted statement. However, what if one inch wasn’t always one inch? What if one inch – based on this tape measure – was a moment of monumental epiphany traps? For then one inch would feel like one hundred miles! What if measurement was defined by time? By memory? By what the word at that measurement means to you?

It is the idea of bricolaging the abstract to concrete. Or the concrete to abstract. The idea of allowing a bricolage to blur that distinction – and fully allowing one’s self to define the meaning of the measurement through the word(s).

I feel as if I’ve grown up in a place where I know what words mean and what numbers mean. I know how to count. I know my ABC’s. However, the thought of taking such “known” substances as the object of my bricolage – almost seems like I am staging some sort of revolution in my mind.