Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller
This was the first book I read. I read it one go, sitting on the couch and I cried and cried and cried. It is a beautiful love story that got me hooked onto books forever.
God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy
Spectacular. I fell in love when I read this in India. It is a story set in India about twins and their life and how things work there, that sounds annoyingly vague, however she manages to describe the vague with such subtlety and emotion that I have never digested writing such as hers. Most people either love it or hate it, it focuses alot on the moments - which of course, I cannot resist.
Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates
The book was far far better than the movie, even though I do adore the Titanic duo. It is such a powerful book that even if you do know the story by having watched the movie, it is most definitely worth reading the book.
Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk
The book is as good as the movie - I have yet to see that come true elsewhere. His style of writing is lovely and gory.
The Awakening by Kate Chopin
Set in the late 1800's it is about a woman and her unorthodox views and her struggle and enjoyment throughout her life. It is once again very subtle, however it has stuck with me for years.
Train to Pakistan by Kushwant Singh
A very well known Indian novel about the Partition and all the political and social events surrounding it. It is set in a tiny tiny town and has a love story within it. It is short and sweet. Anyone who is a reader in India has read it, and they are proud of the story.
Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami
A japanese novel that is described on Wikipedia as "a real page-turner as well as an insistently metaphysical mind bender." I read it in India and could not stop copying quotes from it.
Marcovaldo by Italo Calvino
A series of short stories about Marcovaldo. Wonderful. Read it in Practice Theory and everyone in class had a different view point, however mine was that he emphasized every bit of nature left in our concrete world.
Dirt: The Ecstatic Skin of the Earth by William Bryant Logan
Read it in Practice Theory. Poetically written, Logan speaks of the skin we stand on and how little we know of it! An eye-opener.
The Alchemist by Paul Coelho
An inspirational book that swims in the bookstores of India. Everyone has read it there and what he writes is so inspirational I find myself re-reading the Author's Note - which, yes don't skit that part, it is the best part -read!
As You Like It by Shakespeare
So far, I think this is my favorite. A comedy, it is so much fun to read. Make sure to get the "No Fear Shakespeare" version, where one page is Shakespeare and the other side is a "translation." I totally got over not being able to understand it on my own, the fact is we are not taught or even challenged to try to figure out what Shakespeare is saying sometimes, so it is nice to read the translation - you understand it so much more and over time you can understand his pattern of words and translate it yourself.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Darfur, Two Minutes of Silence Please
This is a response to a PBS Frontline: "On Our Watch," video I watched online for my government class. I am ashamed at myself for knowing close to nothing about this and I have already scolded my eyes and ears for closing so often! Genocide! It is scary, it is all about how this has been an issue and the UN has done nothing about it except pretend to worry about it. They pass resolutions while making toasts: People are Dying and You Are Not doing anything about it? When does the line between political behavior and death get blurred. I just don't get it. That is why while the UN scratches its ass, I will be making movies so I can help spread the voice of all those who have a story to tell, whether it be not the story everyone wants to hear. Anyways, here it is:
Before I begin to splash my ink wildly upon this page, I feel it only politically polite to make a toast: on a Responsibility to protect. For are not the promise of clanking wine glasses the solution to blood-ridden lives?
Darfur, Sedan is a space where genocide in the 21st century may be safely viewed from our computer and television screens. Commencing this madness in 2003, Darfur has unknowingly tumbled into the newest episode of Nazi vs. Jews, Tutsis vs. Hutus, and the Bosnian massacre. Only this time, the episode has a new name, “Janjaweed, the Devils on Horseback Have Killed 499,808 More Lives than Seats in the United Nations.” As most genocides and atrocities begin, the Darfur killings were not of crucial importance or value to the world, mainly due to the silence of the Sudan government. Playing a vital role in a dead-boned civilization, the Sudan government needed not shout as loud as many of its citizens might have during their death, the government instead used its economic partners as blinders to the world. Holding hands with China, its main supplier and Russia, who as well was hushing the ghosts of its own massacre, the three held the fort down on knowingly allowing genocide to blossom.
Three powerful governments, Sudan, China, and Russia played this game of hide and seek. Maybe if we hide, they will not see the blood. While the three Musketeers played their game, men of action such as Kapila were on the path of getting Darfur noticed. Years of writings on this dire issue to the UN did close to nothing for Kapila, forcing him to brand the word “genocide,” on BBC radio. Playing a role in the UN, the U.S. government did no such thing beyond lift a finger during Clinton’s term and clank glasses during Bush’s term. Over time, the U.S. government along with the pressure of the largest anti-genocide rally in May 2006 made its voice heard in the UN. Insisting on passing resolutions to favor Darfur, in 2006 Resolution 1706 was passed: boosting African troops from 7,000 to 20,000, however with only one loophole. China would not agree to the passing of this resolution, unless if it agreed to the terms that the troops could only go in if Sedan agreed, and of course as shameful governments do, Sudan disagreed.
It took three years to get to this point of passing a resolution. That truly did nothing to open eyes at incessant rapes, eye gouging, and family mass killing. However, as a couple of years passed and as hundreds of thousands of heads were cut off and as China was globally embarrassed by being the first nation to host “The Genocide Olympics” on July 14, 2008 the prosecutor at the International Criminal Court filed ten charges against Sudan’s President Omar al-Bashir. He was not only an instrumental part to this orchestra of red chaos, but also the composer. As of now, President Obama has stated that along with the UN he will create “a path for long-term peace and stability in the Sudan.” A statement that hopefully all the Sudanese people may swallow and digest.
Before I begin to splash my ink wildly upon this page, I feel it only politically polite to make a toast: on a Responsibility to protect. For are not the promise of clanking wine glasses the solution to blood-ridden lives?
Darfur, Sedan is a space where genocide in the 21st century may be safely viewed from our computer and television screens. Commencing this madness in 2003, Darfur has unknowingly tumbled into the newest episode of Nazi vs. Jews, Tutsis vs. Hutus, and the Bosnian massacre. Only this time, the episode has a new name, “Janjaweed, the Devils on Horseback Have Killed 499,808 More Lives than Seats in the United Nations.” As most genocides and atrocities begin, the Darfur killings were not of crucial importance or value to the world, mainly due to the silence of the Sudan government. Playing a vital role in a dead-boned civilization, the Sudan government needed not shout as loud as many of its citizens might have during their death, the government instead used its economic partners as blinders to the world. Holding hands with China, its main supplier and Russia, who as well was hushing the ghosts of its own massacre, the three held the fort down on knowingly allowing genocide to blossom.
Three powerful governments, Sudan, China, and Russia played this game of hide and seek. Maybe if we hide, they will not see the blood. While the three Musketeers played their game, men of action such as Kapila were on the path of getting Darfur noticed. Years of writings on this dire issue to the UN did close to nothing for Kapila, forcing him to brand the word “genocide,” on BBC radio. Playing a role in the UN, the U.S. government did no such thing beyond lift a finger during Clinton’s term and clank glasses during Bush’s term. Over time, the U.S. government along with the pressure of the largest anti-genocide rally in May 2006 made its voice heard in the UN. Insisting on passing resolutions to favor Darfur, in 2006 Resolution 1706 was passed: boosting African troops from 7,000 to 20,000, however with only one loophole. China would not agree to the passing of this resolution, unless if it agreed to the terms that the troops could only go in if Sedan agreed, and of course as shameful governments do, Sudan disagreed.
It took three years to get to this point of passing a resolution. That truly did nothing to open eyes at incessant rapes, eye gouging, and family mass killing. However, as a couple of years passed and as hundreds of thousands of heads were cut off and as China was globally embarrassed by being the first nation to host “The Genocide Olympics” on July 14, 2008 the prosecutor at the International Criminal Court filed ten charges against Sudan’s President Omar al-Bashir. He was not only an instrumental part to this orchestra of red chaos, but also the composer. As of now, President Obama has stated that along with the UN he will create “a path for long-term peace and stability in the Sudan.” A statement that hopefully all the Sudanese people may swallow and digest.
Me....Selfish? Really? No! (Part II)
You are wholly right darling and I apologize. So thank you for calling me out simply and openly. I needed to hear it and I appreciate that you did not lash out on me with the phone but listened (as much as possible!) to my woes and swallowed your hurt till you could express it to me in the most perfect way. I ate, slept, and breathed my own drama while you did yours. Mine was unhealthy and yours was not--and thank you for not letting my sickness creep into your mind or emotions.
I want to skype with you and hear and see whatever monologue you let me be a part of. Computer back--so I can and am desperate for it ( them?). Tell me your schedule again. I know you go to NY and Chicago and one of the schools is Yale. I filled up my universe with someone else's information and allowed your precious words to slip. I hope it is not to late to re-learn. I hope you have not left already---ahhh, I am sorry.
But I am not writing an entire apology post. You get the gist and that is not why you wrote to me. You wrote to me because you want me to be apart of your world. #3 in your beloved audience. And I too want to be there. You are inexplicably toxic. Generally, toxic may have bad connotations but I like it right now. It is not negative to me but just right. It is mysterious and dangerous and sexy and vulnerable and unforgettable forever altering someone to see and experience the world from a new perspective. Yours.
You know that is such an amazing gift you have. And you realize how beautiful it is. Others see---I was going to give some analogy but realized it wouldn't really live up to what I am saying and what you know I am saying--so I will save my analogy. You get it.
And to your email to architecture---that you find yourself thoughtlessly lying about why you are in houston---don't do that anymore. It isn't necessary. Tell the truth and set yourself up to be free, to be open to critical looks and misunderstandings and refreshing enthusiasm or encouragement or connections that would not have existed if you kept your passion locked within the precious wooden walls on Polk Street and hidden space of this blog. Be selfish. People ask why you are in houston and what happened to architecture?...You are still doing architecture. You are finishing up the requirements at HCC because you are applying to acting schools for the fall and being in Houston allows you to save money, earn money, and time to study and focus on your applications and auditions--all requirements that Austin could not fullfil. Say you took acting classes as a whim but found yourself eating, sleeping, and dreaming drama while dreading architecture. That you decided to go after your lover and you always have architecture to fall back on or turn back to if your love rests. Tell whoever that you were terrified of changing courses---because leaving such a smart, dependable, interesting, and respectable future for the cliche, whimsical idea of acting would be looked at harshly or critically or as if you are throwing your life away---but you chose to fuck it. Because life without love and passion sucks. And if you have the ability, means, freedom, and drive to go after it---why the fuck would you stay in architecture. Architecture isn't bad, it's just not you.
I have a photoshoot with an iphone in a bit. I need to pluck my stash and eyebrows and haul my shit in the car to meet my photographer and camera (the iphone) at the beach. Any instant click moments I find irresistible, I will have her send you immediately. And I'll text you to set up a skype date. I am free today, tonight. Tell me a time and I will drop plans or carefully sculpt them around our date.
bri
I want to skype with you and hear and see whatever monologue you let me be a part of. Computer back--so I can and am desperate for it ( them?). Tell me your schedule again. I know you go to NY and Chicago and one of the schools is Yale. I filled up my universe with someone else's information and allowed your precious words to slip. I hope it is not to late to re-learn. I hope you have not left already---ahhh, I am sorry.
But I am not writing an entire apology post. You get the gist and that is not why you wrote to me. You wrote to me because you want me to be apart of your world. #3 in your beloved audience. And I too want to be there. You are inexplicably toxic. Generally, toxic may have bad connotations but I like it right now. It is not negative to me but just right. It is mysterious and dangerous and sexy and vulnerable and unforgettable forever altering someone to see and experience the world from a new perspective. Yours.
You know that is such an amazing gift you have. And you realize how beautiful it is. Others see---I was going to give some analogy but realized it wouldn't really live up to what I am saying and what you know I am saying--so I will save my analogy. You get it.
And to your email to architecture---that you find yourself thoughtlessly lying about why you are in houston---don't do that anymore. It isn't necessary. Tell the truth and set yourself up to be free, to be open to critical looks and misunderstandings and refreshing enthusiasm or encouragement or connections that would not have existed if you kept your passion locked within the precious wooden walls on Polk Street and hidden space of this blog. Be selfish. People ask why you are in houston and what happened to architecture?...You are still doing architecture. You are finishing up the requirements at HCC because you are applying to acting schools for the fall and being in Houston allows you to save money, earn money, and time to study and focus on your applications and auditions--all requirements that Austin could not fullfil. Say you took acting classes as a whim but found yourself eating, sleeping, and dreaming drama while dreading architecture. That you decided to go after your lover and you always have architecture to fall back on or turn back to if your love rests. Tell whoever that you were terrified of changing courses---because leaving such a smart, dependable, interesting, and respectable future for the cliche, whimsical idea of acting would be looked at harshly or critically or as if you are throwing your life away---but you chose to fuck it. Because life without love and passion sucks. And if you have the ability, means, freedom, and drive to go after it---why the fuck would you stay in architecture. Architecture isn't bad, it's just not you.
I have a photoshoot with an iphone in a bit. I need to pluck my stash and eyebrows and haul my shit in the car to meet my photographer and camera (the iphone) at the beach. Any instant click moments I find irresistible, I will have her send you immediately. And I'll text you to set up a skype date. I am free today, tonight. Tell me a time and I will drop plans or carefully sculpt them around our date.
bri
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
For Me
Bri, sweetheart, I am about to go to the most liberating and scary thing – go audition for drama schools. I have only dreamt of being set loose by the jaws of architecture and allowed the luxury to dabble in the art of drama. The reason I was short on the phone the other day was because I was so hurt that our conversations were your voice talking about three weeks, drugs, and a boy. When all I wanted to do was talk about ME. Me. ME. Me. And when you did ask about me, your response had to do with either food or Brandon.
As of right now, I do not care about drug boy or what sticks and bones eat – because I need you, I need your encouragement, I need your words – more so than needing them, I want them. I know what it feels like to be wrapped up in something or emotions and how they attack your tongue and that is all you can think, feel, and express – but I wish you could just feel my anxiety. I am scared. I am excited. I am petrified. I am pumped. I am ready.
To perform.
Your life means a lot to me and always will, but please dearest melting piece of irresistible cheese – step back from your sun centered life – and see what all that your words are veiling.
I know I could have picked up the phone and filled your ears with what I am feeling, but I like to write – my fingers have a lovely knack of maturely and dramatically expressing me, versus my candid temper-filled tongue.
And I have not been boiling with anger or resentment – I have been much too into Regan and Desdemona to allow my anger for you to pile up – I merely wanted the blog to express.
Love love love you
And love that you are back on the blog.
I missed sweet shits.
As of right now, I do not care about drug boy or what sticks and bones eat – because I need you, I need your encouragement, I need your words – more so than needing them, I want them. I know what it feels like to be wrapped up in something or emotions and how they attack your tongue and that is all you can think, feel, and express – but I wish you could just feel my anxiety. I am scared. I am excited. I am petrified. I am pumped. I am ready.
To perform.
Your life means a lot to me and always will, but please dearest melting piece of irresistible cheese – step back from your sun centered life – and see what all that your words are veiling.
I know I could have picked up the phone and filled your ears with what I am feeling, but I like to write – my fingers have a lovely knack of maturely and dramatically expressing me, versus my candid temper-filled tongue.
And I have not been boiling with anger or resentment – I have been much too into Regan and Desdemona to allow my anger for you to pile up – I merely wanted the blog to express.
Love love love you
And love that you are back on the blog.
I missed sweet shits.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Ahhhh.........I missed you!
My computer is back. It is super fast because there is nothing on it. Fresh, clean start. All memories erased. My external has my architectural heart, musical beats and the internet holds my face and form. Recovery will come naturally, day by day.
And so it goes with Brandon. Drama be to the wind. Light as feathers we are. I bought him Shantaram and Omnivore's Dilemma and a moleskine sketchbook. In it, I wrote him quotes and a letter. It said that I was sorry for not being decisive. That I was sorry I told him I couldn't be with him the other night but then kept waiting for him to convince me to stay. I was sorry that I let myself swallow his words only to throw them back up. I told him that I realized with clarity, without guilt and without self- doubt that I couldn't be with him and that I would not be with him. I told him that it isn't about fighting for the relationship nor giving up, but knowing when to let go--and we grabbed hold to quickly and too early. I told him that I had lied to myself because I wanted to believe his words--that 3 weeks was long enough for him to heal from years of abuse--and it took me 3 months to get my shit together when I moved here and that can't even compare to what he has set out to do for himself. I told him that he must have, on some level, known he was going to get fucked up when we left and needs to own it and try to discover what he is afraid of or why he wanted to sabotage himself--his recovery and our relationship. I told him that facing yourself and being honest with yourself and dealing with guilt is one of the most difficult things to do on earth--and that it is ok to have weaknesses. That he needs to accept and face the fact that he can't put himself in those situations because he might not be strong enough to handle them. yet. I told him that he can't see the trip as a royal fuck up with me on the one hand, and as a small exception to his sobriety on the other. It doesn't work like that. That his sober count needs to start over again and I will be there to support him and be excited when he reaches 3 weeks again--and then a month and then 2 and so on. I told him that he shouldn't want to be with me because if he is taking his recovery seriously, then he cannot handle a relationship and if he isn't taking it seriously, then he would hurt me again like that, and no one you love or care about should ever go through that.
I told him that I care about him so so much and that I think the world of him. That, yes, I am lucky to have you in my life and I will always probably have a crush on him.
All of this I wrote last night and didn't know when I would tell him. He texted me this morning to go to breakfast before my morning shift. I picked him up, we sipped tea, I let go. He argued defensively, I responded defenselessly. He was hurt, I was hurting.
He changed his phone number to get away from his past. He texted me at work that he read what I wrote and was sorry for being defensive and he understood what I was saying and thanked me. He came to work and we blabbed about books, giggled, smiled, he was ok. More than ok. Accepted and took it better than I ever thought possible. We are friends. No more, no less.
I hope he takes it seriously. I hope he doesn't seek out another girl or risky situations to satisfy his self doubt and undermine his goals. The last 2 days he has been back. The Brandon I looked forward to seeing at work and the one I adore.
Love you Ajna. Thank you for your strength and words of wisdom darling.
And so it goes with Brandon. Drama be to the wind. Light as feathers we are. I bought him Shantaram and Omnivore's Dilemma and a moleskine sketchbook. In it, I wrote him quotes and a letter. It said that I was sorry for not being decisive. That I was sorry I told him I couldn't be with him the other night but then kept waiting for him to convince me to stay. I was sorry that I let myself swallow his words only to throw them back up. I told him that I realized with clarity, without guilt and without self- doubt that I couldn't be with him and that I would not be with him. I told him that it isn't about fighting for the relationship nor giving up, but knowing when to let go--and we grabbed hold to quickly and too early. I told him that I had lied to myself because I wanted to believe his words--that 3 weeks was long enough for him to heal from years of abuse--and it took me 3 months to get my shit together when I moved here and that can't even compare to what he has set out to do for himself. I told him that he must have, on some level, known he was going to get fucked up when we left and needs to own it and try to discover what he is afraid of or why he wanted to sabotage himself--his recovery and our relationship. I told him that facing yourself and being honest with yourself and dealing with guilt is one of the most difficult things to do on earth--and that it is ok to have weaknesses. That he needs to accept and face the fact that he can't put himself in those situations because he might not be strong enough to handle them. yet. I told him that he can't see the trip as a royal fuck up with me on the one hand, and as a small exception to his sobriety on the other. It doesn't work like that. That his sober count needs to start over again and I will be there to support him and be excited when he reaches 3 weeks again--and then a month and then 2 and so on. I told him that he shouldn't want to be with me because if he is taking his recovery seriously, then he cannot handle a relationship and if he isn't taking it seriously, then he would hurt me again like that, and no one you love or care about should ever go through that.
I told him that I care about him so so much and that I think the world of him. That, yes, I am lucky to have you in my life and I will always probably have a crush on him.
All of this I wrote last night and didn't know when I would tell him. He texted me this morning to go to breakfast before my morning shift. I picked him up, we sipped tea, I let go. He argued defensively, I responded defenselessly. He was hurt, I was hurting.
He changed his phone number to get away from his past. He texted me at work that he read what I wrote and was sorry for being defensive and he understood what I was saying and thanked me. He came to work and we blabbed about books, giggled, smiled, he was ok. More than ok. Accepted and took it better than I ever thought possible. We are friends. No more, no less.
I hope he takes it seriously. I hope he doesn't seek out another girl or risky situations to satisfy his self doubt and undermine his goals. The last 2 days he has been back. The Brandon I looked forward to seeing at work and the one I adore.
Love you Ajna. Thank you for your strength and words of wisdom darling.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
revolting honesty
My melting sun of brie,
Beware the winds of pills,
For they can be harsh.
These winds have no homes,
Nor minds of their own.
Despite honesty,
The lips that kiss pills
Are broken.
And our job it is,
To help sew them back.
Then walk away,
Without looking back.
Preserve thy safety
And go home.
p.s.
Amazon is being oh so kind,
it is painting us green!
Beware the winds of pills,
For they can be harsh.
These winds have no homes,
Nor minds of their own.
Despite honesty,
The lips that kiss pills
Are broken.
And our job it is,
To help sew them back.
Then walk away,
Without looking back.
Preserve thy safety
And go home.
p.s.
Amazon is being oh so kind,
it is painting us green!
Monday, January 18, 2010
a line
Oh innovators of the xyz,
You commence thou schooling
At the sun’s presence.
Bizarre, my footprints have been erased,
They are unseen.
Veiled in my words,
I have stepped back to my nest.
Oh fantasy,
You have fed me your food!
For my expression is no longer lead.
It is voice.
Change: to make the form of nature, content, future course, etc. of (something) different from what it is or from what it would be if left alone
Change: from lead to voice,
My line draws to speak,
"Dearest Architecture,
I will miss you."
You commence thou schooling
At the sun’s presence.
Bizarre, my footprints have been erased,
They are unseen.
Veiled in my words,
I have stepped back to my nest.
Oh fantasy,
You have fed me your food!
For my expression is no longer lead.
It is voice.
Change: to make the form of nature, content, future course, etc. of (something) different from what it is or from what it would be if left alone
Change: from lead to voice,
My line draws to speak,
"Dearest Architecture,
I will miss you."
Saturday, January 16, 2010
i serve you
"You serve the playwright, who served God, who serves the universe, who tells these babies out there what is wrong with the world."
- Stella Adler
- Stella Adler
Thursday, January 14, 2010
wine.
"I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
for I am falser than vows made in wine."
- As You Like It, Shakespeare
for I am falser than vows made in wine."
- As You Like It, Shakespeare
Monday, January 11, 2010
i have no games
dear mind games,
I found you! Aha!
Bothering Sabrina in her slumber,
Shame come across you!
How precious closed eyes
For the beauty of a superstar is!
Dare you to dishonor.
Return to me.
I must say, I miss you.
I have no games to play.
Come play with me!
Idle I am,
Characters possess me now.
Come set me free,
I am an evil sister,
Who gets paid for my hole,
And who is married to a coconut.
mind games,
the third eye can see you.
directions i shall give you:
The state is one star away.
The city is hue-stun.
The street is poke me.
The number is 5 instead of 9 in despair.
The chamber screams drama.
I found you! Aha!
Bothering Sabrina in her slumber,
Shame come across you!
How precious closed eyes
For the beauty of a superstar is!
Dare you to dishonor.
Return to me.
I must say, I miss you.
I have no games to play.
Come play with me!
Idle I am,
Characters possess me now.
Come set me free,
I am an evil sister,
Who gets paid for my hole,
And who is married to a coconut.
mind games,
the third eye can see you.
directions i shall give you:
The state is one star away.
The city is hue-stun.
The street is poke me.
The number is 5 instead of 9 in despair.
The chamber screams drama.
Classical Monologue I
Classical Monologue,
Gonneril from Shakespeare's King Lear:
Did my father strike my gentlemen
For chiding of his fool?
By day and night he wrongs me. Every hour
He flashes into one gross crime or other
That sets us all at odds. I'll not endure it.
His knights grow riotous and himself upbraids us
On every trifle. When he returns from hunting,
I will not speak with him. Say I am sick.
If you come slack of former services,
You shall do well. The fault of it I'll answer.
Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellow servants. I'll have it come to question.
If he distaste it, let him to our sister,
Whose mind and mine I know in that are one,
Not to be overruled. Idle old man
That would still manage those authorities
That he hath given away! Now by my life,
Old fools are babes again and must be used
With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abused.
Remember what I have said.
And let his knights have colder looks among you.
What grows of it, no matter. Advise your fellows so.
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
That I may speak. I'll write straight to my sister
To hold my very course. Go, prepare for dinner.
----
Translation:
Did my father hit one of my attendants for scolding his fool?
He constantly offends me. Every hour he comes out with some horrible new offense that puts us all on edge. I won't stand for it. His knights are getting out of control, and he himself reprimands us about every little detail. When he comes back from hunting, I'm not going to speak to him. Tell him I'm sick. And if you are not as attentive in serving him as you used to be, that'll be good. I'll take responsibility for it.
Be as lazy and neglectful as you like around him - you and the other servants. I want it to become an issue. If he doesn't like it, he can go live with my sister. I know she feels the same way about him that I do, and she'll stand her ground. That useless old man still thinks he can wield all the power he's given away. I swear, old fools become like babies again. You can't just flatter them; you also have to discipline them when you see that they misguided. Remember what I've told you.
And make sure the servants are less friendly to his knights. Don't worry about the consequences. Tell you men as much. I want to provoke confrontations, so I can give him a piece of my mind. I'll write to my sister and tell her my plans. Now go, set up for dinner.
----
She is one of the two evil sisters. Her father has just given her all of this authorities and she wants to kick him out. Fiesty bitch. She isn't as "rude" or "obnoxious" in this monologue, but is the calm before the storm where moments of how ugly she truly can be peak out of the story. I like it because its so mean, without being directly mean. I can have this evil within me and not share it. Oh selfish me!
Gonneril from Shakespeare's King Lear:
Did my father strike my gentlemen
For chiding of his fool?
By day and night he wrongs me. Every hour
He flashes into one gross crime or other
That sets us all at odds. I'll not endure it.
His knights grow riotous and himself upbraids us
On every trifle. When he returns from hunting,
I will not speak with him. Say I am sick.
If you come slack of former services,
You shall do well. The fault of it I'll answer.
Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellow servants. I'll have it come to question.
If he distaste it, let him to our sister,
Whose mind and mine I know in that are one,
Not to be overruled. Idle old man
That would still manage those authorities
That he hath given away! Now by my life,
Old fools are babes again and must be used
With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abused.
Remember what I have said.
And let his knights have colder looks among you.
What grows of it, no matter. Advise your fellows so.
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
That I may speak. I'll write straight to my sister
To hold my very course. Go, prepare for dinner.
----
Translation:
Did my father hit one of my attendants for scolding his fool?
He constantly offends me. Every hour he comes out with some horrible new offense that puts us all on edge. I won't stand for it. His knights are getting out of control, and he himself reprimands us about every little detail. When he comes back from hunting, I'm not going to speak to him. Tell him I'm sick. And if you are not as attentive in serving him as you used to be, that'll be good. I'll take responsibility for it.
Be as lazy and neglectful as you like around him - you and the other servants. I want it to become an issue. If he doesn't like it, he can go live with my sister. I know she feels the same way about him that I do, and she'll stand her ground. That useless old man still thinks he can wield all the power he's given away. I swear, old fools become like babies again. You can't just flatter them; you also have to discipline them when you see that they misguided. Remember what I've told you.
And make sure the servants are less friendly to his knights. Don't worry about the consequences. Tell you men as much. I want to provoke confrontations, so I can give him a piece of my mind. I'll write to my sister and tell her my plans. Now go, set up for dinner.
----
She is one of the two evil sisters. Her father has just given her all of this authorities and she wants to kick him out. Fiesty bitch. She isn't as "rude" or "obnoxious" in this monologue, but is the calm before the storm where moments of how ugly she truly can be peak out of the story. I like it because its so mean, without being directly mean. I can have this evil within me and not share it. Oh selfish me!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
fret. why. grid.
I do agree with your mom that Desdemona might be somewhat contrived - however, I think it is depends also on how it is presented. I feel much weirder reading the monologue on the page than performing it. It is odd saying those things and feel weird expressing "shapes, sizes, smells, smooth skin..." - but the sick fact is that those words drew me to them. And my intuition -whether it be finely tuned at the moment is smiling at this prostitute.
The James Joyce thing sounds awesome - I know this is weird, but if your mom still has that paper I would love to read it - you know me. If not its totally cool - but I am going to get in that book - I wikepediaed it!
I did the monologue for my mom - and she said she really like it. fuck. that was scary and AWKWARD.
I am glad I did it - she said that it did not come off as weird - thank god.
Even if it is weird though, I hope it sticks with the auditioners - so I can be like yes remember me?
So, away I am with my intuition.
I enjoyed the other voice monologues - where are they from? Where did you find them? I need a back up!
Also, after my auditions - I am going to spend the next year finding monologues that I like and just memorize them so I have a bunch literally hidden within me.
Nish and Jow are coming over for dinner.
I'm excited.
I'm a bit exhausted of fretting over my auditions -
Over my confidence and lack of confidence -
Over what will happen?
Over what the fuck?
Over omg I am living with my mom!
Over - It is ok Ajna.
Steven Spielberg applied to USC three times and they never accepted him.
Daniel and Josh didn't get into architecture their first year.
I know these people have nothing to do with my -
Yet for some reason it calms me to know that they kept going for it -
Regardless what the Grid might have been telling them.
The James Joyce thing sounds awesome - I know this is weird, but if your mom still has that paper I would love to read it - you know me. If not its totally cool - but I am going to get in that book - I wikepediaed it!
I did the monologue for my mom - and she said she really like it. fuck. that was scary and AWKWARD.
I am glad I did it - she said that it did not come off as weird - thank god.
Even if it is weird though, I hope it sticks with the auditioners - so I can be like yes remember me?
So, away I am with my intuition.
I enjoyed the other voice monologues - where are they from? Where did you find them? I need a back up!
Also, after my auditions - I am going to spend the next year finding monologues that I like and just memorize them so I have a bunch literally hidden within me.
Nish and Jow are coming over for dinner.
I'm excited.
I'm a bit exhausted of fretting over my auditions -
Over my confidence and lack of confidence -
Over what will happen?
Over what the fuck?
Over omg I am living with my mom!
Over - It is ok Ajna.
Steven Spielberg applied to USC three times and they never accepted him.
Daniel and Josh didn't get into architecture their first year.
I know these people have nothing to do with my -
Yet for some reason it calms me to know that they kept going for it -
Regardless what the Grid might have been telling them.
Meals.
this post is strangly selfish and personal. i get so tempted by those descriptions of food at work and at the super market and in my cookbooks and magazines---that this post is a place for me to do the same for my own meals. to write some over zealous descriptions of what i consume so i can reassure myself that what i eat at home is, in the very least, as delicious and delectable than what i read about!
Sunday, January 10th
Meal 1: Breakfast - Sweet
Sprouted 100% Whole Wheat Cinnamon Raisin French Toast with Carmelized Banana Slices, Cinnamon-Infused Greek Yogurt topped with Sweet Fresh Nectar from the Agave Cactus Flower.
Tea:
Homemade Spiced Chai: PG Tips Black Tea infused with black peppercorns, whole cloves, ginger root, and cinnamon sticks blended to smooth perfection with almond milk and agave nectar. California raw whole almonds soften at the bottom of the mug to round it off.
Meal 2: Lunch - Savory
Grilled Portabella Cap smothered with Sweet Basil Pesto, topped with Roasted Red Pepper, Grilled Sweet Onion and Grilled Local Organic Cherry Tomatoes with melted Goat Cheese. On the side, a light salad of mixed baby greens, almond slivers, dried cranberries, and fresh parmasian-reggaino shavings tossed with balsamic vinegar and Italian cold-pressed organic olive oil.
Meal 3: Late Lunch
Hot Breakfast Burrito with Sauteed Onion, Diced Tomatoes, Scrambled Eggs, and Spiced Refried Black Beans. Topped with Fresh Cilantro, Salsa, and Lemon Juice. Yum!
Meal 4: Dinner
Grilled Wild Salmon Fillet with lemon and herbs de provedence with Baked Lentil Tangine topped with Toasted Bread Crumbs and Fresh Parmagian-Reggianno.
Sunday, January 10th
Meal 1: Breakfast - Sweet
Sprouted 100% Whole Wheat Cinnamon Raisin French Toast with Carmelized Banana Slices, Cinnamon-Infused Greek Yogurt topped with Sweet Fresh Nectar from the Agave Cactus Flower.
Tea:
Homemade Spiced Chai: PG Tips Black Tea infused with black peppercorns, whole cloves, ginger root, and cinnamon sticks blended to smooth perfection with almond milk and agave nectar. California raw whole almonds soften at the bottom of the mug to round it off.
Meal 2: Lunch - Savory
Grilled Portabella Cap smothered with Sweet Basil Pesto, topped with Roasted Red Pepper, Grilled Sweet Onion and Grilled Local Organic Cherry Tomatoes with melted Goat Cheese. On the side, a light salad of mixed baby greens, almond slivers, dried cranberries, and fresh parmasian-reggaino shavings tossed with balsamic vinegar and Italian cold-pressed organic olive oil.
Meal 3: Late Lunch
Hot Breakfast Burrito with Sauteed Onion, Diced Tomatoes, Scrambled Eggs, and Spiced Refried Black Beans. Topped with Fresh Cilantro, Salsa, and Lemon Juice. Yum!
Meal 4: Dinner
Grilled Wild Salmon Fillet with lemon and herbs de provedence with Baked Lentil Tangine topped with Toasted Bread Crumbs and Fresh Parmagian-Reggianno.
Come Away with Me
Oh the things to do.
I have 2 piles on my floor. They are both of clothes. Because they are on the floor, they are both woven with white dog hair. Sally rubs her back on my carpet. She rolls around and gets really in there, as if she is trying to rub her fur off. It does rub off. Then my lazy bones come home at night and strip my layers onto piles on the floor. Then dog hair clings.
I'm hanging up the piles today. Dog hair in my closet. I'll vacuum too. Dog hair in the vacuum. It fails at sucking it all up.
I want to finish my book, but that won't happen today. I still have 400 pages left, but after a 1000, it doesn't seem like much. Ayn exasperates me. Her characters feel like cardboard. They are a single sub-personality of a sub-personality of a real person. Too one dimensional to lure me anymore. But I do want to know what happens in the end. So I keep reading about the cardboard that changes the teen/20something generations forever.
Laundry. I'm down to bunchy cotton undies. I need normal underwear and thongs and boyshort underwear. The laundry room is literally across the hall from my room. The laundry machine is closer than my toilet, but somehow it is a task. Oh, will I get over it today.
My mom is taking down the christmas tree behind me. I feel like I will (and should) help her after I write this blog. She is aggravated with Sally because Salad just hovers around. And her hair sheds from her hover-mobile body, blanketing out house in dog hair in that style of those single old women you hear about that have cats and cat hair and dust everywhere. But we have Salad leaves. Dead and dying on everything. Sally is old and I feel like we are all just waiting for her to let go, wondering what we are offering her that makes her stick around. Poor girl. My honesty is sickening.
Diego got pinworms again. The primary symptom of them is that it makes your butt itch. He was scratching his ass all the time and there you go, he's got 'em. So he isn't just going through a phase of touching his body.
The freezing air has made ants come into our home. I've been watching some walk around. The freezing weather is also why I am here, writing this instead of not. I was supposed to do a photoshoot in the botanical gardens right now, but we moved it to wednesday because it will be 20 degrees warmer. No more 30s in south florida by then hopefully. Low 60s seems totally doable in little clothes after this.
Mom brought Adri home and she's sporting her new boots. Her pacing is noisy. I want to rip those boots off her so I don't have to listen to it clash with Nora's buttery voice.
The Christmas tree is calling. My tea is practically all in my belly. The dishwasher is gurgling. I spent time with my mom this morning. She gave me a back rub. We cuddled. That's what time and cold weather does I guess. New York: here I am. Take me. Snatch me. Call me. I promise, I won't lose my phone again if you do!
Adri keeps wanting to take Mom away with her. It fits the melody (the title of this post) .
I have 2 piles on my floor. They are both of clothes. Because they are on the floor, they are both woven with white dog hair. Sally rubs her back on my carpet. She rolls around and gets really in there, as if she is trying to rub her fur off. It does rub off. Then my lazy bones come home at night and strip my layers onto piles on the floor. Then dog hair clings.
I'm hanging up the piles today. Dog hair in my closet. I'll vacuum too. Dog hair in the vacuum. It fails at sucking it all up.
I want to finish my book, but that won't happen today. I still have 400 pages left, but after a 1000, it doesn't seem like much. Ayn exasperates me. Her characters feel like cardboard. They are a single sub-personality of a sub-personality of a real person. Too one dimensional to lure me anymore. But I do want to know what happens in the end. So I keep reading about the cardboard that changes the teen/20something generations forever.
Laundry. I'm down to bunchy cotton undies. I need normal underwear and thongs and boyshort underwear. The laundry room is literally across the hall from my room. The laundry machine is closer than my toilet, but somehow it is a task. Oh, will I get over it today.
My mom is taking down the christmas tree behind me. I feel like I will (and should) help her after I write this blog. She is aggravated with Sally because Salad just hovers around. And her hair sheds from her hover-mobile body, blanketing out house in dog hair in that style of those single old women you hear about that have cats and cat hair and dust everywhere. But we have Salad leaves. Dead and dying on everything. Sally is old and I feel like we are all just waiting for her to let go, wondering what we are offering her that makes her stick around. Poor girl. My honesty is sickening.
Diego got pinworms again. The primary symptom of them is that it makes your butt itch. He was scratching his ass all the time and there you go, he's got 'em. So he isn't just going through a phase of touching his body.
The freezing air has made ants come into our home. I've been watching some walk around. The freezing weather is also why I am here, writing this instead of not. I was supposed to do a photoshoot in the botanical gardens right now, but we moved it to wednesday because it will be 20 degrees warmer. No more 30s in south florida by then hopefully. Low 60s seems totally doable in little clothes after this.
Mom brought Adri home and she's sporting her new boots. Her pacing is noisy. I want to rip those boots off her so I don't have to listen to it clash with Nora's buttery voice.
The Christmas tree is calling. My tea is practically all in my belly. The dishwasher is gurgling. I spent time with my mom this morning. She gave me a back rub. We cuddled. That's what time and cold weather does I guess. New York: here I am. Take me. Snatch me. Call me. I promise, I won't lose my phone again if you do!
Adri keeps wanting to take Mom away with her. It fits the melody (the title of this post) .
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Voice Dialogue Monologues
Ok. I had mentioned voice dialogue to you before --about how people talk about themselves in the 3rd person, basically some subpersonality takes over and talks about themselves. So I'm writing a few of them because they are interesting. I guess the idea of a monologue and this character (Desdemona) immediately reminded me of this book. Also, Desdemona is the name of the grandmother in Middlesex. That's how I know that name and remember it. She is the one that got pregnant with her brother's child on the boat to America. Anyway, back to Voice Dialogue, here are a couple:
Facilitator: Judy has talked about her inability to be as spontaneous as some of her friends in California, so I thought I'd like to ask you how you feel about spontaneity--about trying new things.
Protector/Controller: It looks pretty immature to me. I don't want her doing anything that she hasn't really thought through...nothing that she'll have to repudiate later....These Californians and their spontaneity...just give them something new and they'll go after it with a passion. Then, two years later, there they are...another fad and they've made fools of themselves by giving in to it. I don't want her to look foolish! That's my biggest fear--looking foolish or, worse yet, acting immature. You have to maintain a certain maturity, a dignity, even a little cynicism in this life or people won't respect you. You know, one year they're all eating vegetables and another year they're all doing doing TM and another year it's aerobics. As far as I'm concerned, they all look like a bunch of children running after some magical prescription for the good life. There is none. And knowing that fact is maturity. I know.
My job is to keep Judy mature and wise and to never, never let her look foolish. That includes falling in love. If she misses a little fun, that's fine. fun is for children anyway. Life is serious and Judy should stay serious and responsible.
I make sure that Judy is a person that people will respect and trust. They can depend on her to be rational, like I am, and careful in all her decisions and actions. I've done wonders for her professional life.
Here is another one that's cool. A woman is recalling her dream. Her name is Agnes.
"Agnes had done a great deal of psychological work and was aware of energy patterns -- demonic energies in particular. She decided to learn more about her own demonic energies and what they represented in her life. Soon after making this decision she had the following dream:
It was early morning at the beach and I was with Tom. We went into the ocean and it was dark. We were embracing and rolling sensually in the water. Then the tide brought us back to shore. It was daylight again and we left the water. I went back to my hotel room. I knew he would follow. When I closed the door behind me I got frightened about what would happen next.
At that point, I called on an actress to help me. She went into the shower. I walked in so I could watch the shower on all three sides. She then told me that she was frightened and couldn't finish the love scene with Tom.
Then we both decided to view an image of her completing it. After we visualized the lovemaking, Tom entered the shower and, as he closed the door behind him, he became a wild beast. He had a serpent's tail, clawed bird's feet, a beak with white teeth, and claws on the ends of his wings. He devoured the actress, tearing and shredding her. He had covent feet, like Satan, and after he consumed her they both disappeared.
This dream provides us with a clear example of how our energy becomes demonic. At first, Agnes experienced Tom sensually, but her control side feared this sensuality and gradually disowned it. So she called in the actress--that part of her acts rather than experiences. But even the actress was afraid, so together they used their powers of imagination to distance themselves still further from the primary energy pattern of sensuality.[...]"
Facilitator: Judy has talked about her inability to be as spontaneous as some of her friends in California, so I thought I'd like to ask you how you feel about spontaneity--about trying new things.
Protector/Controller: It looks pretty immature to me. I don't want her doing anything that she hasn't really thought through...nothing that she'll have to repudiate later....These Californians and their spontaneity...just give them something new and they'll go after it with a passion. Then, two years later, there they are...another fad and they've made fools of themselves by giving in to it. I don't want her to look foolish! That's my biggest fear--looking foolish or, worse yet, acting immature. You have to maintain a certain maturity, a dignity, even a little cynicism in this life or people won't respect you. You know, one year they're all eating vegetables and another year they're all doing doing TM and another year it's aerobics. As far as I'm concerned, they all look like a bunch of children running after some magical prescription for the good life. There is none. And knowing that fact is maturity. I know.
My job is to keep Judy mature and wise and to never, never let her look foolish. That includes falling in love. If she misses a little fun, that's fine. fun is for children anyway. Life is serious and Judy should stay serious and responsible.
I make sure that Judy is a person that people will respect and trust. They can depend on her to be rational, like I am, and careful in all her decisions and actions. I've done wonders for her professional life.
Here is another one that's cool. A woman is recalling her dream. Her name is Agnes.
"Agnes had done a great deal of psychological work and was aware of energy patterns -- demonic energies in particular. She decided to learn more about her own demonic energies and what they represented in her life. Soon after making this decision she had the following dream:
It was early morning at the beach and I was with Tom. We went into the ocean and it was dark. We were embracing and rolling sensually in the water. Then the tide brought us back to shore. It was daylight again and we left the water. I went back to my hotel room. I knew he would follow. When I closed the door behind me I got frightened about what would happen next.
At that point, I called on an actress to help me. She went into the shower. I walked in so I could watch the shower on all three sides. She then told me that she was frightened and couldn't finish the love scene with Tom.
Then we both decided to view an image of her completing it. After we visualized the lovemaking, Tom entered the shower and, as he closed the door behind him, he became a wild beast. He had a serpent's tail, clawed bird's feet, a beak with white teeth, and claws on the ends of his wings. He devoured the actress, tearing and shredding her. He had covent feet, like Satan, and after he consumed her they both disappeared.
This dream provides us with a clear example of how our energy becomes demonic. At first, Agnes experienced Tom sensually, but her control side feared this sensuality and gradually disowned it. So she called in the actress--that part of her acts rather than experiences. But even the actress was afraid, so together they used their powers of imagination to distance themselves still further from the primary energy pattern of sensuality.[...]"
My Name Is
Spill their seed into me.
I’ve never looked at sex that way. It is lovely.
All I ever hear is, “I got fucked.”
Not that that doesn’t have its beauty, but the verb to spill?
I would say most times I have had sex, the men have spilled themselves into me.
I do not know if one can carefully handpick what seeds they want to plant in you,
But the idea of sex being this space where you can’t measure your pour
– so all you can do is spill?
Also, to travel – or orgasm?
So instead of saying that you are a nympho
You can just say you love to travel!
Ha, I love words and plays!
You can disguise anything.
Hello Drama Schools,
My name is Desdemona.
I love black, not white men.
Darkness captivates me.
You can’t see anything.
Only feel.
My name is Desdemona.
I love porcelain.
But, only to look at it.
Don’t touch me.
I might rub black on you!
My name is Desdemona.
I love the bottom half of men.
Particularly, the part that speaks for itself.
Yes, I’ve had more conversations
With that part than mouths.
Please don’t judge me.
My name is Desdemona,
I have a secret to tell you.
The bottom half of men,
Is much much more fun
Than the top half.
Cross my heart
And swear to God.
My name is Desdemona.
I love to travel.
I have been everywhere in the world,
In the past and future.
I can fly.
Meet me in my darkness.
And I’ll show you.
My name is Ajna.
I’ve never looked at sex that way. It is lovely.
All I ever hear is, “I got fucked.”
Not that that doesn’t have its beauty, but the verb to spill?
I would say most times I have had sex, the men have spilled themselves into me.
I do not know if one can carefully handpick what seeds they want to plant in you,
But the idea of sex being this space where you can’t measure your pour
– so all you can do is spill?
Also, to travel – or orgasm?
So instead of saying that you are a nympho
You can just say you love to travel!
Ha, I love words and plays!
You can disguise anything.
Hello Drama Schools,
My name is Desdemona.
I love black, not white men.
Darkness captivates me.
You can’t see anything.
Only feel.
My name is Desdemona.
I love porcelain.
But, only to look at it.
Don’t touch me.
I might rub black on you!
My name is Desdemona.
I love the bottom half of men.
Particularly, the part that speaks for itself.
Yes, I’ve had more conversations
With that part than mouths.
Please don’t judge me.
My name is Desdemona,
I have a secret to tell you.
The bottom half of men,
Is much much more fun
Than the top half.
Cross my heart
And swear to God.
My name is Desdemona.
I love to travel.
I have been everywhere in the world,
In the past and future.
I can fly.
Meet me in my darkness.
And I’ll show you.
My name is Ajna.
the perfect prostitute
Contemporary Monologue I:
Desdemona, A Play About a Handkerchief by Paula Vogel
What does honesty have to do with adultery?
Every honest man I know is an adulterer.
I remember the first time I saw my husband and I caught a glimpse of his skin and – oh I thrilled! I thought – aha – a man of different color! From another world and planet. I thought, if I marry this strange dark man , I can leave this narrow little Venice with its whispering piazzas behind – I can escape and see the world.
But underneath that exotic façade was nothing but a porcelain white Venetian.
Of course you don’t understand. But there’s something in my blood and that is a desire to know the world. I lie in the blackness of the room at the establishment…on sheets that are torn and stained by countless nights. And the men that come into that pitch-black room are men of different sizes and smells and shapes…men of smooth skin, rough skin, and scarred skin. And they spill their seed into me – a seed from a thousand lands, passed down through generations of ancestors, with genealogies that cover the surface of the globe. And I simply lie still there in the darkness, taking them all into me. I close my eyes and in the dark of my mind – oh, how I travel.
---
How do I relate this to myself? Specifically?
Every time I meet a man I find interesting I get butterflies. I get so excited. I think maybe, just maybe he will know how to be with me! I think just maybe he will understand how odd I am and I can open up with him! Oh the romanticism I find in the unknown is scary.
All but once or twice or thrice has there been a shining white porcelain man in my presence and all I can do is sit and stare. If only they could understand I am not porcelain white – I am a black hole of everythingness.
Desdemona cannot let anyone know it is she who hides in the darkness of that room waiting to travel the world – only I can let other people know I have had my fun with boys. Not saying we are the same person, only that I do understand her. Whether I convey her thoughts in my monologue, I must understand WHY she feels this need. What compels a woman of royalty to prostitute her body in and out of every man.
It is not the idea of prostitution. It is the idea of anonymous fun. As taboo as that may be – let it be. I am captured by it – by the idea of society holding you in one position during the day and going insane during the night. It is a balance – maybe that is what some people need?
Anyways, I am using this blog as an acting tool – so when/if they ask me what is your objective? I’ll say – to convince and express to my maid “Emilia” why I am a whore at night. Also, so when I go in there and I a speaking these words of taboo-ness I can understand where they are coming from.
I have experienced many shapes, sizes, and smells. I have experienced rough skins, smooth skins, and scarred skins. I remember most of them. I love them for the moment – and only the moment. For, sometimes I wish there was blackness to make me only feel and not see – because it is the seeing and light, which makes a whore a whore – if there is only darkness no one would know. And no one ever admits to feeling – so Desdemona, you are the perfect prostitute
Desdemona, A Play About a Handkerchief by Paula Vogel
What does honesty have to do with adultery?
Every honest man I know is an adulterer.
I remember the first time I saw my husband and I caught a glimpse of his skin and – oh I thrilled! I thought – aha – a man of different color! From another world and planet. I thought, if I marry this strange dark man , I can leave this narrow little Venice with its whispering piazzas behind – I can escape and see the world.
But underneath that exotic façade was nothing but a porcelain white Venetian.
Of course you don’t understand. But there’s something in my blood and that is a desire to know the world. I lie in the blackness of the room at the establishment…on sheets that are torn and stained by countless nights. And the men that come into that pitch-black room are men of different sizes and smells and shapes…men of smooth skin, rough skin, and scarred skin. And they spill their seed into me – a seed from a thousand lands, passed down through generations of ancestors, with genealogies that cover the surface of the globe. And I simply lie still there in the darkness, taking them all into me. I close my eyes and in the dark of my mind – oh, how I travel.
---
How do I relate this to myself? Specifically?
Every time I meet a man I find interesting I get butterflies. I get so excited. I think maybe, just maybe he will know how to be with me! I think just maybe he will understand how odd I am and I can open up with him! Oh the romanticism I find in the unknown is scary.
All but once or twice or thrice has there been a shining white porcelain man in my presence and all I can do is sit and stare. If only they could understand I am not porcelain white – I am a black hole of everythingness.
Desdemona cannot let anyone know it is she who hides in the darkness of that room waiting to travel the world – only I can let other people know I have had my fun with boys. Not saying we are the same person, only that I do understand her. Whether I convey her thoughts in my monologue, I must understand WHY she feels this need. What compels a woman of royalty to prostitute her body in and out of every man.
It is not the idea of prostitution. It is the idea of anonymous fun. As taboo as that may be – let it be. I am captured by it – by the idea of society holding you in one position during the day and going insane during the night. It is a balance – maybe that is what some people need?
Anyways, I am using this blog as an acting tool – so when/if they ask me what is your objective? I’ll say – to convince and express to my maid “Emilia” why I am a whore at night. Also, so when I go in there and I a speaking these words of taboo-ness I can understand where they are coming from.
I have experienced many shapes, sizes, and smells. I have experienced rough skins, smooth skins, and scarred skins. I remember most of them. I love them for the moment – and only the moment. For, sometimes I wish there was blackness to make me only feel and not see – because it is the seeing and light, which makes a whore a whore – if there is only darkness no one would know. And no one ever admits to feeling – so Desdemona, you are the perfect prostitute
Thursday, January 7, 2010
fear. I Can See You.
HOW to LOVE AUDITIONING:
"Anyone who watches auditions will regularly tell you: ten percent or less - some even say one percent - of the actors they see look like they're having a good time. Surprised? They also say that actors who seem to truly enjoy auditioning are more likely to be considered and cast."
"The problem is too many actors show up for this first date with an engagement ring - recognize the AuDiTiTiOn DaNcE."
Yes, I am PetrifieD.
I figure might as well embrace it.
Yes, I am ExciteD.
I figure might as well embrace it.
I am nervous,
Yet so excited to have this chance.
I want to show the schools,
Yes - I would love to be a part of your school.
Yes - I am a hard worker.
Yes - I will be temporarily hurt if I do not make the cuts.
Yes - If i don't make it - you will see me next year!
Yes - I will have read almost every play published by that time.
Yes - I will act.
Yes - I will think productively.
It is a Dance.
I shall dance for them.
Dance the words of Desdemona and King Lear.
I'll courtesy upon my arrival,
"Hello, my name is Ajna."
I'll smile upon every time I feel it.
I'll prance upon my words,
I'll let them know - I know my stuff.
I might not know composition from construction,
BUT I do know stories.
And I most definitely Know my Character.
So why must fear prevail?
I do pray thee,
Fear, help me do well.
Become my friend!
Hold my hand,
And walk me in to my audition.
For it is only you and me,
Might as well become the best of friends.
Oh my, these auditions
"It is a business of some heat."
"Anyone who watches auditions will regularly tell you: ten percent or less - some even say one percent - of the actors they see look like they're having a good time. Surprised? They also say that actors who seem to truly enjoy auditioning are more likely to be considered and cast."
"The problem is too many actors show up for this first date with an engagement ring - recognize the AuDiTiTiOn DaNcE."
Yes, I am PetrifieD.
I figure might as well embrace it.
Yes, I am ExciteD.
I figure might as well embrace it.
I am nervous,
Yet so excited to have this chance.
I want to show the schools,
Yes - I would love to be a part of your school.
Yes - I am a hard worker.
Yes - I will be temporarily hurt if I do not make the cuts.
Yes - If i don't make it - you will see me next year!
Yes - I will have read almost every play published by that time.
Yes - I will act.
Yes - I will think productively.
It is a Dance.
I shall dance for them.
Dance the words of Desdemona and King Lear.
I'll courtesy upon my arrival,
"Hello, my name is Ajna."
I'll smile upon every time I feel it.
I'll prance upon my words,
I'll let them know - I know my stuff.
I might not know composition from construction,
BUT I do know stories.
And I most definitely Know my Character.
So why must fear prevail?
I do pray thee,
Fear, help me do well.
Become my friend!
Hold my hand,
And walk me in to my audition.
For it is only you and me,
Might as well become the best of friends.
Oh my, these auditions
"It is a business of some heat."
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Movies: To See
I thought this could be the post where we post movies to see - and why?
1. In the Name of the Father
- 1993 Daniel Day Lewis
Based on a true story about the Guildford Four and the Maguire Seven. Two sets of wrongfully convicted bomb murderers in the 1970s. English courts took them into custody for life (30 years). It was not till fifteen years later an investigator proved them innocent and they were all set free. It is splendid. Nominated for seven Oscars.
2. Mostly Martha
- 2002 German foreign film
This is the movie that "No Reservations" was based on. However, they are nothing alike except for maybe moments of the plot. Mostly Martha is beautifully filmed and the director of photography must have been a god damn genius. It is just a beautiful movie. The subtlety is the core of the movie.
3. Precious
- 2010
This is everything you don't want to see and hear, but put forth on the screen in a way that will only make you cry for the pain you can't even conceive how to feel.
4. Betty Blue
- 1986 French foreign film
Psychotic and intriguing. It is a story about passionate lovers who love each other and that is all. The man is in love with the pyschotic nature of his girl. I like it alot. It is a tad bit long, 3 hours, but it is worth it.
5. An Education
-2009 a memoir
About a girl, who does not understand the reason for her need of education? She is confused. Incredibly innocent and vulnerable, almost so much that her giggles make you want to cry for her. It is a tad slow and subtle and does not leave your mind blown away, but it crawls through your mind. The actress, Carrey Mulligan was simply so believable that you wonder if that is truly her. She was born in 1985, which only makes her 24 - but she looks so much younger, it is fantastic.
1. In the Name of the Father
- 1993 Daniel Day Lewis
Based on a true story about the Guildford Four and the Maguire Seven. Two sets of wrongfully convicted bomb murderers in the 1970s. English courts took them into custody for life (30 years). It was not till fifteen years later an investigator proved them innocent and they were all set free. It is splendid. Nominated for seven Oscars.
2. Mostly Martha
- 2002 German foreign film
This is the movie that "No Reservations" was based on. However, they are nothing alike except for maybe moments of the plot. Mostly Martha is beautifully filmed and the director of photography must have been a god damn genius. It is just a beautiful movie. The subtlety is the core of the movie.
3. Precious
- 2010
This is everything you don't want to see and hear, but put forth on the screen in a way that will only make you cry for the pain you can't even conceive how to feel.
4. Betty Blue
- 1986 French foreign film
Psychotic and intriguing. It is a story about passionate lovers who love each other and that is all. The man is in love with the pyschotic nature of his girl. I like it alot. It is a tad bit long, 3 hours, but it is worth it.
5. An Education
-2009 a memoir
About a girl, who does not understand the reason for her need of education? She is confused. Incredibly innocent and vulnerable, almost so much that her giggles make you want to cry for her. It is a tad slow and subtle and does not leave your mind blown away, but it crawls through your mind. The actress, Carrey Mulligan was simply so believable that you wonder if that is truly her. She was born in 1985, which only makes her 24 - but she looks so much younger, it is fantastic.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
me oh goodness my
My oh My!
Sweet Shit.
You fucked me through a photo.
Goodness.
Sweet Shit.
You fucked me good and hard.
My oh My!
Sweet Shit.
You are mouth-watering in those pictures.
Goodness.
Sweet Shit.
Vogue where are you?
I have something to show you.
Come Ms. Wintour.
Into my mailbox.
love love
kiss
Sweet Shit.
You fucked me through a photo.
Goodness.
Sweet Shit.
You fucked me good and hard.
My oh My!
Sweet Shit.
You are mouth-watering in those pictures.
Goodness.
Sweet Shit.
Vogue where are you?
I have something to show you.
Come Ms. Wintour.
Into my mailbox.
love love
kiss
Saturday, January 2, 2010
i keep forwarding
I capture moments on my iphone.
I immediately ‘forward’ moments to Husband.
Husband never says much.
Feels my moment. One after the other.
I keep forwarding.
I know he is feeling them.
I left the capital and came home today.
United Postal Service had something for me.
Return addressee: Husband.
I opened it.
It was a novel of my moments.
Each moment printed.
With a story.
My husband wrote me a story
With every moment I sent him.
Oh my tears.
My uncontrollable saturated tears,
Dropped and plopped on his story of moments.
Everywhere.
Like a cloud.
I watered my world of moments.
Dear Sun,
Do shine on my world of moments.
And on my husband.
“may fairies and gods prosper with thee husband.”
i keep forwarding.
I immediately ‘forward’ moments to Husband.
Husband never says much.
Feels my moment. One after the other.
I keep forwarding.
I know he is feeling them.
I left the capital and came home today.
United Postal Service had something for me.
Return addressee: Husband.
I opened it.
It was a novel of my moments.
Each moment printed.
With a story.
My husband wrote me a story
With every moment I sent him.
Oh my tears.
My uncontrollable saturated tears,
Dropped and plopped on his story of moments.
Everywhere.
Like a cloud.
I watered my world of moments.
Dear Sun,
Do shine on my world of moments.
And on my husband.
“may fairies and gods prosper with thee husband.”
i keep forwarding.
bliss & anxiety
yesterday (and today, just a little less so) I was super anxious. I've been going through another one of those phases where I feel so cooped up in Naples. I went dancing last night with Fidel. I love dancing. I LOVEEEEEE it. And I don't dance here. No one dances and the people and places that do have dancing--there is no soul or heart or spirit or that utter release that everyone in Austin shared. My life just seems like it's hit the pause button and I'm holding for something better to happen, for my life to begin. I'm searching for satisfaction in guys but not really searching and not really receiving. I went for a run today and ran to this place called Filafel Grill to meet Fidel for lunch (oh so many f's in that one!) and it was DELICIOUS and made me anxious to cook and devour greek/mediterranean/egyptian food again. I haven't been cooking as much and I miss it. I also bought myself another 2 cookbooks (my mom gave me a gift card to do so cause she said she couldn't pick one out) and so I've been savoring my mornings again (well, the last 3 or 4) by putting on my Nora Jones and eating a slow breakfast. I bought an almost moldy papaya from Walmart from Belize and it was perfect. So good. (Your mom taught me how to pick it out!) and even though Walmart isn't exactly known for produce, I figured that's where the Mexicans and poor people of Naples are shopping, and so that is probably the best crop of papaya in the city seeing that no one else eats it. Anyway, I've been cradling my weight down again (well, I was, but I got a little off track yesterday and we'll see today) since I was over my 'acceptable weight range'. It feels good though to bring it back down. It's like I pat myself on the back and give myself a thumbs up to see it lower, but also I think I'm feeling good about it because I'm just putting healthier things back into my body after eating a lot of heavy shit. So I'm cleansing and deguilting myself. But I splurged on sweet treats this afternoon. It felt like the right mood after my energizing run and delicious meal.
I think I've been roller-coastering between utter exuberance/bliss and bitterness/anxiousness too because this is that time when things are going to start happening again. The break is basically over (well, Monday) and I need to nail down that contract with 301 (I'm so scared they don't want me anymore because I asked for so much w/ the contract!) or go back to Miami to do the rounds again and re-enroll in school and write my independent study and sign up for my online classes and then keep working with Boss in New York. Now's the time when I'm going to start realizing whether I'm actually going anywhere or if Naples and the Jolly Cricket are trying to secure my chains and toss out the keys.
Obviously, I'm not going to let the latter happen, but at what point do I decide that it is more unhealthy for me to go after modeling here vs. sucking it up and going back to Texas or getting my ass up to NY alone w/ no job, money, etc.
Rachel came in last night from Brazil I think. Fidel talked to Susan (who Rachel is staying with) and hopefully they're coming to Happy Hour at work today. I'm SO EXCITED! It's been about 2 or more years since I saw this girl and I love her to death! And you and Cait mixed with my sexual frustration mixed with my anxiousness mixed with Rachel's bisexual history mixed with my utter love and adoration and affection for this girl has got my mind going. Haha. God. I'm going to shower. Get ready for work. (and pray Brandon is working--in the meantime!).
Love you!
I think I've been roller-coastering between utter exuberance/bliss and bitterness/anxiousness too because this is that time when things are going to start happening again. The break is basically over (well, Monday) and I need to nail down that contract with 301 (I'm so scared they don't want me anymore because I asked for so much w/ the contract!) or go back to Miami to do the rounds again and re-enroll in school and write my independent study and sign up for my online classes and then keep working with Boss in New York. Now's the time when I'm going to start realizing whether I'm actually going anywhere or if Naples and the Jolly Cricket are trying to secure my chains and toss out the keys.
Obviously, I'm not going to let the latter happen, but at what point do I decide that it is more unhealthy for me to go after modeling here vs. sucking it up and going back to Texas or getting my ass up to NY alone w/ no job, money, etc.
Rachel came in last night from Brazil I think. Fidel talked to Susan (who Rachel is staying with) and hopefully they're coming to Happy Hour at work today. I'm SO EXCITED! It's been about 2 or more years since I saw this girl and I love her to death! And you and Cait mixed with my sexual frustration mixed with my anxiousness mixed with Rachel's bisexual history mixed with my utter love and adoration and affection for this girl has got my mind going. Haha. God. I'm going to shower. Get ready for work. (and pray Brandon is working--in the meantime!).
Love you!
Friday, January 1, 2010
Welcome to the Jolly Cricket, Can I help you?
...we've been open about 2 months now...yes, we are new. Yep, they re-did everything and took out the booths...yes, they did a really great job with it...it used to be Trilogy last year, and before that it was Zoe's...
...sure Brandon, I'll shoot you first and then kill myself.
Tonight's Jolly Specials on the chalkboard I so lovingly scrawl every happy-hour:
Yesterday's Soup: Post New Year's Vomit
Potato Special: Thank fucking god we don't do these anymore
Potato Flatbread Special: I don't give a shit and usually don't have room to write this one anyway
Entree: fishies with brocollini--some combiniation of these things every fucking day
Dessert: Sir Wally of Sugarland--go fuck yourself. No one wants to eat something called Winterfruit Fantasia and most people eating at the restaurant don't know what a Semi-Fredo is.
Drink Special: Bloody Brie & Brandon
Jolly Caterpillar. Grouchy Toad. Whatever you want to call it. It's eating me alive!
I don't have a day off in the foreseeable future. Except I'm trying to get next Sunday off because I'm doing a cover shoot for Pulse Magazine--oonce-oonce--'the beat of naples'. Not too cool but people here will find it amusing. better than nothing (I'm not getting paid though and it doesn't come out till March).
Laura is a cunt. I absolutely love her and she makes hostessing bearable. Molly is new and I just want to fire her. She sucks and is uesless. Phil already got fired. Brandon-oh Brandon- I now have a crush on you. I think it's my way of adapting to the Jolly Cricket, crushing to get by and pass the time.
New Years wasn't too bad though. Annie came with her fam and they were buying me drinks all night that I sipped at their table. It was a Jolly good time.