Moving On...

I like it.

This seems all too familiar.

I don't like it.

Some silence please.

Worn, Unworn...

So my heart and mind decided to try on some clothes the other day. I love it vintage, but hate it used. Usually the feeling is used, but that day it surpassed the fit of a glove. I was wandering the streets of downtown LA near the MOCA, and happened upon an exhibit called Skin + Bones. An amazing set up that presented certain techniques and strategies in which fashion paralleled architecture. I have to admit that the exhibit did lack in expressing key points, but included many interesting conceptual works from Gehry, Chalayan, Miyake, McQueen, Yamamoto, and many respected others. For once I felt some sort of reassurance that my life was, and is on the right track. There are so many avenues in life, and perhaps my introspection led me to take a few more turns up and down the alleys. In the inception I was on a mission to soul search, but I think I was wrong all along. I didn't need to find myself, but rather realize myself. Now I think I have realized more than just something. Architecture my muse, Apparel my art. I love the less beaten path.

Tawdry Talk...

I think I'll pass, if the talk is cheap.
Inner dialogue is priceless, but purchased for free.

Stupid boys in hot pants, my shoulder is cold.
Just leave your words at the dollar store...

Disconnect...

I have fallen off the face of the earth.
A beautiful perspective of debauchery.

My head is messy.
Chaotic order.

I am drawn to the view from here.
I think I'll stay for awhile...

I'm Back...

... with so much to tell, I don't even know where to begin. So I have compiled a brief list of experiences in the last month, or lack their of:

I drove across the country in solitude.

I live in downtown Los Angeles in a semi-highrise, with an amazing view... and the streets smell like a john more often than not.

I am going to FIDM for a professional degree in fashion design, and LOVE it so much that my heart for once feels more than content.

Downtown LA is quite dirty, Hollywood is glam but only a facade, and my pants are not on fire when I say I really enjoy other parts of LA.

I want to surf more, but I live too far from the beach. LA distance is measured in time. It's only 10 miles, but really 30-90 minutes.

I don't sleep much... but when I do I dream near nightmares. I hate clowns and paint.

I live on coffee, power bars, and never drink.

Will is cool. I am silly. It's movie time.

Window shopping excites me. Boys should not wear skinny jeans.

I miss my family, especially my siblings so much, it impales me and then kills me.

I left for LA, then my neice was born... it figures, my heart was meant to ache.

Emails keep my sanity withing walking distance. I walk a lot, with my keys like brass knuckles.

My sister keeps my mind from indisposal, my mood from lachrymose, and my living from demise. Oh my sister... how I love you.

Minneapolis Sculpture Garden...

I love the city. Any big city. Perhaps this is why I have become such an intermittent urbanite. Although, I have found that I am more appreciative of Minneapolis when I am not running away from it, but rather walking. I recently strolled my way through one of my favorite urban retreats. A mere moment of happy solitude, coffee in hand.

Several aesthetically pleasing installations, some permanent, some like me. Prophecy of the Ancients. This piece is one of my favorites, like I've interrupted someone's dream. Several familiar objects suspended in a mesh metal dome. Don't wake up. I never like being awaken from my dreams. I forced my boots to tip its toes between geese droppings.

Grateful for the geese. For without them I am commonly the odd wheel. I stand alone without a hand to hold. I grasp my coffeeless cup firmly. Surrounded by lovebirds personified. This silent feeling is familiar. I move on.

Hare on Bell. An odd couple, yet they seem to complement one another. A sort of formal elegance. In all my deviance, at least I wore my dress. I'm at a loss for meaningful words here. Nothing new, I suppose. The generous hare says it's time for tea, but it's been spilt by my cumbersome glances. The sun is leaving me, whispering cold goodbyes. I hear the bell ring, but it remains still. Follow me boots, I am not a sculpture. I have nothing to display.

My final glance. This time reciprocated. I love this one. Goddess with the Golden Thighs. Beautiful in all its ugliness. We'll meet again. I love this microcosm. The city is getting cold, and soon it will be contagious...

I dreamt the other night...

We sang the same song.
City streets fell silent.

You held my guitar pick.
I held my breath.

You showed me how to breathe.
I inhaled your words.

Your worn heart on your sleeve.
My stone on your shirt.

We lived in the rain.
The world fell asleep.

Puddles left with rivers.
Washed away our misery.

With each and every drop.
Your soul I could feel.

I strummed your epitaph.
You died in my sleep...

Wine, I wine...

Oh wine... we forgot the iron. My night time vice, in all my self loathing. Always punctual. Irreproachable in the bottle. Sumptuous in the glass. I drink, but the sweetness engulfs me. A temporary paradise. Sooner or later it's gone, an enchanting calamity. I'm gone. The bitterness prevails. Nothing is sweet, so I say so long... Only sporadic revelries. Small doses. Remorse no more... farewell to thee.

Love not Luv...

My Best. I love this girl. Inside, outside, all sides... always, everywhere. Te extrano, pero no para largo... Besos y una flecha a la izquierda tres.

Raw yet Refined...

A stellar experience. One of my final doses of the city, alone, in the company of strangers. I'm strange. It was perfect, a good fix. It was like I stumbled into a field of 4 leaf clovers, but better yet... Doug Martsch playing a live jam session near used boxed sets at a pre-eminent, rad music store. At the Electric Fetus, it was more than just ambient sound, but in every which way electrifying. A guitar, an amp, a couple pedals, a chair, a musical deity, and a pair of new balances.

Doug Martsch, of Built to Spill, told a 4 song story with no words. It was like he jammed with himself by starting out with an initial strum, recording it, and building upon it with complementary musical riffs and solos. The more he delved, the more the story unfolded. Like a bizarre dream on the verge of a nightmare. Layers upon layers of distinct, harmonic sound, but all from his guitar. Like the frets on the fingerboard were his mouse, and he knew photoshop better than its creators. Distorted sound, like a lucid dream. I closed my eyes to heighten my sense of hearing... I didn't want to wake up.

I wanna see it when you find out what comets, stars, and moons are all about... I wanna see their faces turn to backs of heads and slowly get smaller... I wanna see it now...

I'm Tired...

... but it's not anything that can be remedied by a nap. For once I am sick of seeing grey, and it's not due to these past morose days. Although, I could leave the weather at fault for my sulky mood. Everyone blames the weather, everyone. Even if the forecast predicts nice weather, my vision would remain hazy. Right now I plead to see things in black and white. A plea for color would be too greedy. Perhaps I will call in sick to the world for a few days, and revert to my sullen self. How am I expected to hold up these splotch silhouettes, when I myself cannot define them. How? Ok, I will be your crutch, but I have been given a broken pair of wings that I perpetually mend. This time I will use needle and thread instead of duct tape... for you and for me. My mind is indisposed, so now I will pretend to sleep. I'm tired.

Look...

So I am about to embark on something new... Another beginning of an end I want to share with all of you.