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.