February 28th, 2009

I crawled straight into bed without flicking the lamp on, in fear that the light would bring me back to an unwanted feeling. This morning I woke feeling spread out, my knuckles unlocked and hair knotted. It's a bit overcast outside, but I still see the sun, and I feel good.

Anyone know where a girl can find a good junkyard?

February 25th, 2009

Washed out, and cut.

1. I'm enjoying printing on old book pages. I lick and tear, and spit on and erase the photos.

2. I made vegetarian lasagna tonight. It took about 2 1/2 hours all together, eck, but it was yum.

3. Mmm, Tindersticks in a week!

4. These plates: http://www.baileydoesntbark.com/ and these sandwhich bags: http://www.thinkofthe.com/products/lunch_bag.php are grossly pretty.

February 24th, 2009

Matt Sivel crocheted this cozy, neutral, work of art for my head and I knitted him a thick, pretty blue scarf.

I want to learn how to crochet now.

And now a poem that made me smile today:

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No:

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move,
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did and meant,
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assur'd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

- John Donne

(I like the compass part)

February 23rd, 2009

Old, old laundry.

February 22nd, 2009

In my dream last night, Gandhi was in a suit cooking dinner for me while telling stories about space.

February 21st, 2009

February 20th, 2009 (2/21/09)

by Vania Zouravliov

I have loved this image for months now.

Tonight went by too quickly.

February 19th, 2009

This is my Yahrzeit reminder

for my 3 2 1 to zero

For when I crawled out of an hospital chapel

to hug a stranger for her son

-

She was an old mother who asked "how is she?"

standing infront of those sad-soaked chairs

with me, under her chin

where I cried and let her know

"your son will be ok."

February 18th, 2009

Vegetable Curry

1 large onion
3 medium size potatoes, cut into chunks
Half a broccoli, washed and cut into florets
1 carrot, peeled and sliced
Aubergine or Green pepper (optional)
1 small tin (300ml) of processed peas
1 tbsp. curry powder
2 bay leaves
2 tbsp. tomato purée

(add mushrooms too)
Heat 3 fl. oz oil in a heavy saucepan and fry the onion for a few minutes. Add the potatoes, carrots and cauliflowers and fry for 10 minutes. Add the pepper or aubergine, if using. Add curry powder and some salt. Cook for 5 to 10 minutes. Add the tinned peas, including the juice and add the bay leaves and tomato purée. Cover with water, boil and simmer for up to 30 minutes.

Serve with rice.

Serves 2-3

February 17th, 2009

"It may be that there is a time in life when one is tired of everything and feels, perhaps correctly, as if all one does is wrong - do you think this is a feeling one must try to avoid and to banish, or is it “the sorrow for God,” which one must not fear, but cherish to see if it may bring some good? Is it “the sorrowing for God” which leads us to make “a choice that we will never regret?”
-Quoted from a letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van GoghDordrecht, 7-8 February 1877

February 16th, 2009

1. In a home that came out of an Ikea catalog, I met a 130 pound German Shepherd, and he took a piece of my heart.
2. The "Premium" outlets in Limerick scare the shit out of me.
3. Sula by Toni Morrison is exceptional.

February 15th, 2009

Our valuable lenders are thrift stores, where I see you smile after the find of a tape recorder, and the free pack of screw drivers that is included. You show me an exhausted book of Ibsen’s plays knowing my excitement to its leather cover that curls and flakes. In your room you give me a tin that you rusted and waxed yourself and it protects your written words that give me warmth and growth. We then share a moral dispute on where to eat our “Valentine” meal and if using an Applebee’s gift card is appropriate or not. We ponder the overall distaste of the manufactured date (and I just love that we do). A little bit later our meals are vegetables in bread at a Jewish deli. And right before one in the morning, I sit next to you in wonder with my lips quiet, but content.
I know you will never mind my sweaty palms or my low to high tenor. We are creating a world we can believe in and waking in an honest love.

February 14th, 2009

4/20/07

February 9th, 2009

Trite phrases and major clichés below

...but... it is kinda nice.

Who are you?
I’ll be honest; I first felt to answer this question with a title above labels, personality traits, relationships, and my favorite hobbies. Although these labels are useful to help others get a feel for what I am about and into, I feel they aren’t really showing who I am. So I sat rolling these words around in my head feeling stuck and a bit embarrassed. How on Earth do I answer such a question?
If I were to walk down the halls in school, and ask this “simple” question to others in reference to me, I would most likely get a reponse of “a student” or “a photographer”. Their answer would then be followed up with an adjective like “creative” or “nice”, or perhaps contrasting terms like “lazy” or “rude” (you never know). Although such words and labels can be useful, they can also be misleading about who I really am. I might be a creative student, but I am so much more.
I am my entire lifetime. I am all the houses I have moved into. I am the lyrics I sing and the book pages I gather. I am the apples I bite into. I am the camera shutter I open. I am my father’s absence and my mother’s passing. I am the love between myself and a boy in art school. I call myself a learner, and I call myself a traveler. I also call myself tender and childish. I am doubt, and I am hope. But, I am so much more.

February 8th, 2009

After watching Mission Hill last night with Alex, I realized I wasn't too sure on how to use the term "Kafkaesque"

Kafkaesque- "marked by a senseless, disorienting, often menacing complexity" and "marked by surreal distortion and often a sense of impending danger" -The New Yorker

"The adjective refers to anything suggestive of Kafka, especially his nightmarish type of narration, in which characters lack a clear course of action, the ability to see beyond immediate events, and the possibility of escape"

Now we know when it is appropriate.

February 6th, 2009

Caribou

Caribou

Caribou

Repent

Rep-pent

February 3rd, 2009

One should note that Joseph often cried. In fact there are no less than eight references in the Torah to him doing so. One who has suffered greatly in bad times will cry easily even in good times. The brothers, on the other hand, who had not suffered in their lives, did not even cry when the situation demanded that they should. And as Joseph even cried at the distress of others, he was worthy of attaining his high rank.
-- Rabbi Zalman Sorotzkin (1881-1966)

Oh, and I saw Antony and the Johnsons last night at the Keswick. It was mighty perdy.

(Heh, these two look silly together on the same post)

February 1st, 2009

(Alex's work)

(My work)
The Punk Rock Flea Market ...
overall went well. The place was absolutely packed all through out the day and I was told there were lines outside? It felt like it was the busiest year yet out of the times I've had a table. Phew. No space at all to move. In the beginning business was a bit slow for me, but in the end I did pretty well. Alex kicked butt this year selling most of his stuff. I didn't buy anything, which in the end was good, and I am hoarding all my money in a cigar box under my bed. I did trade prints with "Kenny G" (myspace.com/kingkmg) and got a free copy of Wuthering Heights and a poetry book called "Except" by Craig Czury in the girls bathroom.

Later by Craig Czury

your father slapped you
for what you saw writhing in trees.

You were still the young girl
who pulled the rug out from under grass
and lay spinning the monster face
of clouds--

would have opened your shirt
and slept if the eyes hadn't sucked
huge sweeps of blue into a fish mouth.

What stories you wove from smoke!

God's fist against the sky.

My body is achy and something feels a bit off.