everything illuminated

2010-01-07T17:12:00.000-07:00

Why do I always want to know how people die?

2009-12-08T16:51:00.002-07:00

Sometimes I just need to write about it.

I’ve been in love three times.

The first love was new. Everything was so perfect. Our first kiss in his muddy cult-de-sac still makes my heart beat fast, because then it just seemed like every component of love I’d ever envisioned [or not] was connecting in one defined moment of fulfillment. Every song about love rang true, and my young heart exploded with an excitement that This Was It, finally. We danced in puddles and slept in blueberry fields. We exchanged glances from across a world and understood without a doubt that we would never find anything so flawless. We sat under bleachers and accepted our fate as soulmates. The world was muted; nothing mattered but love.
Sometimes I still wish it was that easy. I fought so hard against the idea that it could continue to be ‘all I needed’ and in the end, that fighting lead to what I’m pretty sure is Love-slapping-me-in-the-face. I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t pushed so hard for space even when all I wanted to do was give into my feelings. I guess stubbornness and pride got in the way of a boy that gave me his heart for so long, even when I chose to ignore it. What if I was there now, drinking late-afternoon coffee and reading books out loud with him at a cozy cabin in Tahoe? Would it still be the same?
I guess I don’t get the choice to know.

The second love was on fire. It was brief but fierce, hard to control, and ultimately scorched my heart to embers. Maybe it was that South Pacific Breeze, or my quest for finding things I fear and indulging in them, but I gave my heart so hard I’m surprised there was anything left when this Love failed me. I ignored all common sense, closed my eyes and took the ride. My beliefs and my mind and my comprehension were challenged, and, for some reason that made me love him even more.
But I was a kid, and he wasn’t—or maybe it was the other way around. We both needed something, and for a while, it was each other. It was learning and inspiring and becoming. It was skinny dipping with sharks. And when it was over, it almost seemed like I’d imagined the entire thing. All that was left was a few books, a lonely tattoo, and my sudden hatred for all that was love. I still think about him sometimes, and I know he does the same. We hardly ever talk, but he constantly inspires.
He was the only one that has ever scaled a barbed wire fence to eat popcorn with me.

The third love was the best. Or the worst, depending. I know I’m still young, but I feel like being alive for 23 years has at least taught me a thing or two. That’s why when Love Three came along I knew he was Love Three by date three. I’d learnt from leaving my first love that sometimes you have to sacrifice some things for love. Sometimes you have to sacrifice everything for it.
So I did.
I gave up my persistence of independence and instead let him take me in his arms and life and show me how it was to be. I let down my walls. He was everything. And it was worth it, because for some reason I was smiling even in the lowest moments. It was perfect. I was going to spend the rest of my life with this talented, hilarious, unique and uplifting man. There was no question.
Until there was a question. Something lingered in the back of my mind. Then someone planted a seed of doubt in my mind. They asked me why I had given up that unique/independent part of myself for some boy. They challenged my dedication. They told me that now was the only time I was allowed to be selfish—I was young and needed to figure shit out for myself before making any sacrifices for someone else. The seed grew into a secret uncertainty of this relationship and what I was giving up to be with the love of my life. Every disagreement was magnified, every flaw of his stood out ten times as it had when I was veiled with love. All of a sudden, it wasn’t perfect. I was selfish. I didn’t want to give up what I had just yet.
And then it was over, and somehow I though ‘I’m free… finally.’ I was allowed the opportunity to go on and keep being myself.
But now, after 6 months, I still can’t help feeling like I was most free when I was with him. I was free to love as hard as I wanted and be accepted, truly, for every part of me, including my shortcomings. I was free to tell someone exactly how I felt about them, and how they made me feel about myself, and bask in the loveliness of not needing anything else.

I tried making it better. I admitted fault, apologized ceaselessly, and tried explaining what had happened and where I had gone wrong. I was persistent, charming, honest and bold. But something had changed. Not just in me, but in him. There was a hard shell around him now that I couldn’t penetrate…a deep seeded hatred that fully encompassed a once passionate and perfect person. He had indulged in the anti-existence. And it’s my fault. I made the perfect man completely suck.
I know he doesn’t think he sucks. From what I can tell, he’s convinced himself that he’s never been happier. Maybe he thinks ‘fitting in’ will be the answer to finding another girl that loves him more than I did, or finding one that won’t make him hurt as bad as I did. It makes me sad, and I don’t really know what to do. I think about him every day, every night, every time I think of something funny or beautiful or dream of traveling somewhere exotic. I assumed that we would end up together, but every day it seems like we are walking towards different oceans in different worlds and will never be able to find our way back. How do I let go? And is it possible to stop blaming myself?

------

My advice to you is stop being selfish and start loving as hard as you can. Don't listen to anyone else, and for the love of God, if you meet someone that is your perfect compliment, bring him with you wherever you go.

This is getting over you.

Missed Connections

2009-12-08T13:12:00.003-07:00

There's a boy I have a crush on, and he showed me these awesome illustrations that are based on Craigslist's Missed Connections. Such a rad concept! Look at the entire series here, and check out the artist's website: Sophie Blackall-- her Maps are awezommggs.

fish....

2009-12-07T11:15:00.002-07:00

A while back an old friend/lover wrote the following. I came across it, and later found that it was written just for me.>>>

i often wonder about you..

..and if what inspired you still inspires you. you turned your travels and adventures into words like fluids freezing into solid and by that same principal you always seemed to form the shape of whatever contains you. you were like a hero a to me and i like somewhat of a novice to the colours of life and i could not hold a candle to your love for cluttered rooms and large sheets of fabric woven with sunny days. this is not a letter of love yet a love of love to one of my favorite spirits that could never sit still. as time has taken its toll we are now no more than stories we can hardly remember and pictures that do not show our faces. but somehow you taught a fish how to swim.

so i wonder about you and where you are. i wonder if the sheer magnatude of the world and its bold displays of greens and blues still enchant you. do you still write sacred words to yourself on every notebook reminding you to keep your spirits bold and ever curious? are you somewhere happily? near or far?

and its in this mystery that i find some sort of happiness and smug sense that i do not really wonder anymore. in the same curious sensation that brought our traveling paths together we have forever vanished from each other's universe and i sincerely doubt we will ever cross again. i just want to know what became of you. i want to know if you still walk the world like i do forever seeking a lonlier path and forever seeking what you are affraid of. this is not a love letter but a love of love. it is not a letter of a fleeting love or a romance somehow meant to be but of a friend that i greatly respect.. one who has great respect for me.

i write this from 7200 miles away. but away from what? home? you once helped me to realize that home is where the heart is; burried deep inside of you, and in that sense i am home and will always be home as long as i remember who i am. happy, i am, and i write scribbled words into whatever form of paper i can scrounge at this rooftop so far away. this is where i go to say goodbye to the day and where i go to lift myself into the teeming sounds of istanbul below. and the question still bugs me.. do you still feel this? do you still quote Rumi to elder shop keepers? do you still draw on bathroom mirrors? or has the world gotten to you too like it has so many others? if so then maybe that is all that you are to me, a ghost of an inspiration who too has become chained to the world.

in that sense i am sad..

you really loved the world..

<<

these just work today.

2009-12-03T17:01:00.004-07:00

Listen >> >> >> >> The xx – Basic Space

2009-11-04T18:43:00.001-07:00

On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning

One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.

Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.

Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.

But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.

"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.

"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"

"Not really."

"Your favorite type, then?"

"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."

"Strange."

"Yeah. Strange."

"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"

"Nah. Just passed her on the street."

She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.

Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.

After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.

Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.

Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.

How can I approach her? What should I say?

"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"

Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.

"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"

No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?

Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."

No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.

We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.

I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.

Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.

Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"

Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.

One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.

"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."

"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."

They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.

As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?

And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"

"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."

And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.

The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.

One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.

They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.

Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.

One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:

She is the 100% perfect girl for me.

He is the 100% perfect boy for me.

But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.

A sad story, don't you think?

Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.

Saying goodbye is hard to do...

2009-09-30T17:48:00.002-06:00

All I want to do is say Hi.

<3

2009-09-24T00:22:00.002-06:00

Hey blog. I’m sorry about neglecting you. It’s been a while, I know—it’s just that, well, there’s kind of this other blog. It’s not about you! You were great. But, I needed a blog that was a little more upbeat, ya know? One to keep my spirits up.

Yet after 3 months since we last spoke, and before that even more, I’m coming back. I forgot how you used to listen to me, even at my most bitter or depressed. You let me be honest with myself. And you kept it quiet. The few who did know about you kept their distance, let us have our space. And I respect that—still do.

So hi, blog. I missed you.

Today is the end of a long and winding road of something completely beautiful. You know the story: girl goes to random ex-make out partners house 3 years after make-out, gets drunk, and is walked home by strange cute friend of ex-make out partner. Girl and boy play battleship, trade phone numbers, and wonder WTF was that. Girl wants to call boy right away because he’d enchanted her, but waits to not seem desperate. Boy does same. Girl and Boy go on a series of dates, and sooner or later are sitting on a kitchen floor in the mountains telling each other ‘I love you’ for the first time. Those are followed by thousands more, each one more concrete than the last. Girl moves to Fiji, and Boy moves to South America. Girl goes nuts and goes to him after a painful three months. Ecstasy and empty bank account. Girl and Boy explore South America and fall more in love. Girl and Boy fall asleep in each others arms at the Airport, and get an extra two hours together before everything falls apart.

The rest is too sad to talk about it, but obviously the story of Girl and Boy comes to an end. This is it.

I’m sad you gave up. RIP Boy and Girl.

'the rest is history'

Don't think all ecstacies are the same.

2009-06-18T00:16:00.003-06:00

11/2

I picture us in our new place--furnished with us. Little traces of you and me litter the room; a tripod in the corner, your socks on the floor. Our dishes sit in the sink and we sit on the bed. The smell of must pours out through the cracks and we easily replace two pillows with each others arms. We're comfortably perfect.

And I hate being weak.

This is worse than Fijian sharks; it's a commitment. But I ignore it, because all that speaks is you and those wild eyes. With you, everything just is.

Happy November. The days fall away and somehow I feel closer to you. I'm drawn to December, live for it. These days are happy torture... We are exploding.

Jam

2008-11-20T21:43:00.001-07:00

This guy's art just totally rules. jeremiah maddock from new york.

The Dance.

2008-08-19T21:42:00.003-06:00

I'm dancing the line between terror and excitement, but am finally realizing that I'm going from love to love, and then back to it again. South Pacific bound in one week with best friend and a backpack! Sadly, this blog has fallen short lately, but check back for a new Fijian one come September!

James Lipton = Cheese

2008-08-08T02:25:00.001-06:00

i love my friends.

birds.

2008-08-05T11:25:00.002-06:00

what have you done for your soul lately?

2008-07-25T16:50:00.000-06:00

I tolerate him.

.summer.junk.

2008-07-17T20:25:00.001-06:00

2008-07-16T17:58:00.001-06:00

For Some Reason, People Are Forcing Me to Talk

2008-07-01T15:52:00.002-06:00

So to you, I say this, through the words of Gibran:

And then a scholar said, "Speak of Talking."

And he answered, saying:

You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts;

And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime.

And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.

For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words many indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.

There are those among you who seek the talkative through fear of being alone.

The silence of aloneness reveals to their eyes their naked selves and they would escape.

And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand.

And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words.

In the bosom of such as these the spirit dwells in rhythmic silence.

When you meet your friend on the roadside or in the market place, let the spirit in you move your lips and direct your tongue.

Let the voice within your voice speak to the ear of his ear;

For his soul will keep the truth of your heart as the taste of the wine is remembered

When the color is forgotten and the vessel is no more.

Stories

2008-06-15T16:04:00.003-06:00

The Extrinsic

2008-06-08T08:05:00.006-06:00

Amidst mosquito coils, sweat moustaches, and the presence of never ceasing rooster crows, I find peace. By some otherworldly force, I again have stumbled on the serendipitous fortune that is only found in self sustaining, bug infested, mildew covered islands. To find homeyness in such a place is an opposition to my beliefs-- my idea of "comfort" is snow and technology, soft carpets and dense conifer trees, snuggling up in a cozy living room next to someone familiar, enjoying coffee and conversation. So what's the deal? Why is it, as I endure the electrical shock of an overused and old computer and try to retain sanity as I smoosh yet another bug from the keyboard, I feel so contented and at home?

Contrary to your own personal feelings about your own friends, I'll say now that I've obtained the greatest company in the world. It's like the world's most amazing, inspiring, admirable, exciting, and generally funny people have been gravitating toward me since I set foot in this joint (meaning, well, life). To leave them is to leave a piece of my heart, and with each departure emptiness seems to engulf me. It is only after the initial shock of loss that I realize what happens is quite magical. That place in my ribcage is filled with them, and I take them wherever I go. Even when I get caught up in the flowing madness that is The World Outside of the Box, I can go into myself and fondly find the ones I love (facebook helps also).

So here I am, almost two weeks deep in my latest adventure, a two week taste of the other side of the world. This side of the international date line , for some reason, makes me so happy. The culture here is so rich that if you ate it, you'd probably throw up (this also applies to some of the food...). To be cliche, I've been on an emotional rollercoaster these past few weeks; [almost] graduating from college, hitting the road with one of my best friends in hopes of rediscovering my roots and possibly uncovering my future, finding my sister in her natural habbitat: all of these events are just jostling to my head as I get ready for what should be the Greatest Thing I've Ever Done. The Fiji tickets are bought (safely stored with my mom... I know she wouldn't lose them because I know how excited she is about visiting me. P.S. why the fuck do they still make paper airplane tickets? Geeze!). I'm moving to the other hemisphere. And I'm scared as shit. Being here reminds me of Samoa, which makes me happy and sad beyond description. Fiji will be the same, I suppose, only I won't have a dynamic group of kids to be scared with. Independence is something I support and aspire to, but every time I take a step alone I hesitate with extreme force. Right now I just don't know what to think.

I guess I keep repeating this over in my head: Find out what you're afraid of and go live there.
Check.

inspiration of the week.

2008-04-03T14:52:00.002-06:00

"you make my world explode into a million different reasons to smile."

Things I like...

2008-03-14T18:34:00.001-06:00

Phone calls from old, tattooed friends.
Mathcore hybrid rides.
Suffocating blankets.
The Wonder Years.
"Yumpin ' Yimminy"
Draking and Raising.
Ferrets.

2008-03-14T18:29:00.001-06:00

2008-03-02T11:19:00.002-07:00

listen to this song.
The boyfriend said it would make me "smile ('n shit)," and he was right, it totally does.

The weekend at home was welcomed. I feel refreshed, even thought circumstances brought me here for somewhat morbid grounds. Heck I love this place, minus the eternal puddles and too-tall ceilings.

“If you’re going to go to war against the system, just do your shooting like a nice, intelligent girl- because the enemy’s there, and not because you don’t like his hairdo or goddamn neck tie.” -Salinger

some graphic design of sorts

2008-02-18T13:50:00.004-07:00

Jail Ram 08

2008-02-14T09:52:00.004-07:00

After a day of shoveling snow, hanging banners, drinking warm PBR in the office, and saying words like "stoked" a lot, Boulder Freeride and Galvanic Design threw down the most epic event to hit the CU campus. 700 people showed up, it snowed, and in general good times were had. Post-jam, fueled by an unhealthy amount of Red Bull.... well, what happens in the Campus Rail Jam Tour RV stays in the Campus Rail Jam Tour RV. But I promise, it was epic too.

the snow

the aftermath

(we took their shot ski virginity)

I can't believe I found time to write this.

2008-01-29T15:30:00.001-07:00

I'm pretty sure my head or heart is going to explode here pretty soon. The plate is full, and stuff is falling off...

2008-01-26T16:41:00.000-07:00

2008-01-19T17:52:00.000-07:00

I'm over it. Everything.

Thrills

2008-01-03T15:42:00.000-07:00

I love airports. Give me a place where thousands upon thousands of people, cultures, and classes are thrust together in a melting pot of ticket stubs and adventure and lost luggage and single servinging. This morning I saw a distraught Indian man trying to catch his flight home, a weathered, important-looking businessman who could not stop stressing the fact that he travels this route 4 times a week (I am currently eavesdropping on his conversation in the row over). I had to take my shoes off. They had to take their shoes off. I love that, everyone has to do that, even the hotshot business man. Very humbling. I always imagine where each person is going, who they’ll be seeing, what kind of bed or floor or motel or vagina they’ll be sleeping in, whether they’re excited or annoyed, who dropped them off at the airport, and if they now owe that person a favor.
The first class/economy class division on my plane is nothing, and I can’t help but wonder why anyone would pay such an extravagant amount of money for their orange juice to be served before everyone else.
I’m wondering if it’s just me, or if everyone does this: whenever I’m boarding a plane, I look at the people in the seats I walk past to my own seat and try to deduce what they will be like when our plane starts to crash. I pick out the screamer, the crier, the calm one that tries to comfort everyone, who would whip out their cell phone and who they would call. I think of each of them dead (not in the morbid sense), of me dead with them, and how we would bond on our last moments on (above) the world. That first jolt of turbulence right off the runway and my brain starts working out how these pre-defined reactions are starting. That jolt always gets me, and it’s thrilling really. My mind goes to what I’ll miss the most when I’m dead, and I have that fleeting realization I don’t really matter in the world, and all of these people really don’t either. I’m pretty calm about it anyway.
This airport business is getting me really excited about the Fiji idea that’s evolving. The plan, as of now, includes Junetime adventure to my long lost sister in Taiwan with travel associate, Carey. A plane ticket possibly to Singapore, for travel writing/photos/adventure. August comes that little group of islands a [somewhat] know and [most definitely] love for however long I can handle the absence of seasons and circumvent the tropical diseases that seem to enjoy picking on me. I want to eat indo-Fijian concoctions on street corners and touch an eel and make Roti from scratch. I want to get kava drunk and have beach fires and jam out to traditional drumming. I want to enjoy life before that 9-5 job thing envelops my being, which I tell myself is imminent as to not be let down in case my life purpose changes and I fall into that monotonous trap (though really, I hope that doesn’t happen… I just already see it happening to my friends and can’t stand the thought of it).
I’m bad at wrapping things up. There, I said it (unless it’s burritos. Ha.)

on the headphones: NMH-The King of Carrot Flowers pt. 1

family values

2007-12-29T17:37:00.000-07:00

I am: uncomfortably warm in my house.
I am: wearing a sweatshirt to conceal the permanent ink on my arms.
I am: listening to music that makes me think of bike paths and snow and dogs who carry heavy racial undertones.
I am: thinking about fale floors in samoa while I sit on my own floor- wishing with everything to be back on an island, just for a minute, so I can again be filled up with that wanderlust that consumed me last year.

I decided the other day that this will be my last Christmas in Eugene. Hold me to that, computerbot. Every time I come back here it seems a little less exciting and a lot more obligation. I remember that first trip home in November of freshman year; my stomach was jumping as that little plane landed. Off the plane, I inhaled Oregon, the soaking air that smells clean and comforting... a pseudo-tangible blanket of moisture, an exact definition of “refreshing.” I’m here, four years later, just itching to get the fuck out as soon as possible. My absence has been just long enough to see those people I knew and high school and feel little responsibility to fuel the half-hearted catch up game I’ve been so inclined to do in past visits.
I realized that when I tell stories about “home,” I’m referring to Boulder. This isn’t home anymore, and that’s weird. 18 years of my life on the same streets, at the same restaurants and houses and movie theaters and parks and back seats and beaches and fireplaces all of a sudden feel so lifeless and foreign to me. Maybe my outlook has changed, or maybe everything has changed.
My family: another amenity of my old life that has discinigrated in my absence. What was once a sacred event full of love and joy and drunken uncles and cheesy pictures is lost to a paper-tearing massive consuming revelry. Depressing. At least my Grandma got in some good accusations,I believe she beat her old record and produced one directed towards every single person in the family [she’s good at making people feel bad]. It was sad. I was told that the great thing about friends is that they’re the family that you get to choose (oh, and if you’re reading this…I didn’t hang up on you.), and I see this more in my life every day. Last night I was sitting around a warm room with a cold beer and good friends. I felt safe, overflowing with a happy contentment, and knew that these are the kind of people I want to surround myself with for the rest of my life. I’m not saying I don’t feel a deep love for my family, especially my dad and grandfather who I’ve decided win the honor of being the two Greatest Men in the Entire Universe, but I won’t sacrifice the real relationships I have for the sake of ancestral contract. Get me out of here.
My definition of family at this moment is someone who slow walks their bike home with you or kisses the pain out of your cigarette burn.

Neato...

2007-12-21T14:00:00.000-07:00

Jan Svankmajer

Your Eyes are Like Flames Underwater

2007-12-16T21:20:00.000-07:00

...someone told me that today. I didn't know how to respond, so I smiled.

also, I'm pretty sure I wrote this song, and then forgot, and then this band Moldy Peaches stole it. then some really awesome boy played it for me.

photo: my desk collective. also, a bottle of wine, jim, and some echinaceacoldensealpropolis throat spray some hippie sold me at whole foods.

Sundaze

2007-12-09T22:36:00.000-07:00

The ground is white and I walked today. I don't care to focus on finals right now as they frankly fail to interest me, so instead I enjoyed a sunset walk on the pseudo-cobblestones of Boulder. Thought a lot about living and Fiji and where homeless people go in the winter and a boy with a mustache. Had coffee with friends and then by myself and then more alone. Loved it, and can't stop smiling.

Listen to this.
Then this.
it was my afternoon.

2007-12-05T21:09:00.001-07:00

I'm getting mind fucked by Henry James. No condom.

2007-12-02T15:29:00.000-07:00

So, I’ll start this procrastination endeavor with a little disclaimer: Though I pride myself on being a very self-determining person leaving little to the influence of others, I looked it up on dictionary.com and one definition of “blog” is:

n.

A website that displays in chronological order the postings by one or more individuals and usually has links to comments on specific postings, specifically used for emotional girls to seethe about their emotions in a supposedly anonymous, though actually very directed manner. Often updated when they are really upset about something.

I guess I use this outlet as a way to verbalize my feelings, which tend to be about boys. The obtuse 8th grade girl in me comes out via my keyboard. I’ll try to steer clear of LOL’s and OMG LYKE TOTALLLY (see this site if that’s what you’re into.)

Lately, my amazing ability to stay friends with my ex boyfriends has been revered by many, including myself. Why would I date someone that wasn’t awesome outside of a romantic relationship? I have sympathy for those that miss that element when settling for someone. You should never settle.
Last night I was happily anticipating a surprise on a very old and very loved friend, who plays one of my ex-boyfriends in real life. 99 miles and one large Americano later and I stood at his doorstep. In the 2 hours south I reflected on us: our past, where we’ve come thus far, how we’ve helped each other, and all that jam. I was content with our current situation, happy that we could be so comfortable with just being friends when the most historical landmark in our relationship was the mutually unwanted but very logical break up. Apparently, some feelings (that I though would never appear) take longer to be exposed. Long story short, my surprise did not go as planned, and whether it was due to a personal defense or the defense of his new interest, my presence was not appreciated. I had to leave. What a fun and thoughtful two hours home.
I guess I’m just wondering if it’s too hopeful to put effort into these things—to ignore hurt feelings when it’s realized maybe me and [insert name here] just aren’t meant to be anything Big, and instead enjoy a platonic relationship. Maybe people just aren’t cut out for this. I don’t really have a good history with this—drunk and spite-filled phone calls, dirty apartment abandonment… is it impossible to just be ok with the idea that, if we can share something on a deep level, we can easily share things as friends. Just because two people aren’t meant for each other shouldn’t mean that nothing else could exist. It’s stupid and immature. Now I have all these insecurities about the opposite sex, and whether there really is any point to all this if it just leads to disappointment and disillusion. I feel bad to assume that the current one is just using me for a personal vendetta on his own ex-whatever. I’m trying not to, because I actually kind of like him. I just need to keep a guard up, I guess. Whatever it is, I hope as we all get older we realize the importance of those that infuse our psyche and how valuable they are to development, joy, and all that other crap that goes along with building and growing.

2007-11-27T02:36:00.001-07:00

you taste like an old boyfriend

Locked like Human Vines

2007-11-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

My inspiration tonight comes from that of an opportunity to explore and dissect the mind of another. Nervous semi-first kind of date is looming but with the direct initiative to learn from each other it is a bit less daunting. That said, I’m moved to reflect on previous relationships, however short, significant, or purely sexual, to identify the positive that festers in the remains of them all—I’ve learned a lot. A friends advice was to be ok with the fact that everyone dies alone and as I let this sink in, I can at least let the past shape me so that though I’m alone, I carry with me everything I stumble upon.

I’ve learned that you can surround yourself with people, but still be alone. I’ve learned how to spear fish and swear in Spanish, to like sushi. To challenge my own mind and enjoy it for the challenge. I’ve learned to be comfortable completely naked, to grab someone and kiss them without thinking, to be brave. I’ve learned to take pictures without question- knowing my subject will turn to gold, and to dance without shame, to seek out adventure and swing from the arms of my friends. I’ve learned to make tortillas and that it’s ok to lay in bed all day and be lazy with someone. I can snowboard and fly fish, not shower for 10 days, kick anyone’s ass in a mosh pit. I’ve learned to love and to hate, and learned that it is possible to do these two things at the same time- hating is a passion, hurting is a passion (so emo, I know). I can drink kava with chiefs and play poker with strangers, go to a bar in the city and drink anyone under the table. I’ve learned that things are much less awkward when you laugh, and that Egyptian music can make anything better. To read Gibran and Bukowski and Frog jokes. To love coffee. To love my family, and to adopt a new family wherever I am. I can skinny dip with sharks and climb mountains, and seek out exactly what I want in the world (though i dont know what that is yet)...

I don’t know. Midnight rants are always a good idea until executed. Wish there was something more prophetic to explain with words but I cannot. Go read Bukowski and Meiko. Here's something to leave you with--

and if you have the ability to love
love yourself first
but always be aware of the possibility of
total defeat
whether the reason for that defeat
seems right or wrong--

Another thought...

2007-11-14T21:39:00.001-07:00

Is it weird that I live my love life vicariously thought the myspace pages of the dorks I kinda knew in high school?

Yeah, I guess you're right. We all do.

Hmmmm....

2007-11-14T21:00:00.001-07:00

"Oh the places you'll go. "

You may be going places, but not the way Suess meant it. Try it this time...

Take a Step Back. See the Bigger Picture.

2007-11-12T22:49:00.000-07:00

The Life You Save May Be Your Own

2007-11-06T01:12:00.000-07:00

So I once again have landed in the self-induced attention binge/purge with former boyfriend. I’ve been doing this to myself for 3 years, the cycle of break up and make up becoming so predictable I feel stupid for not seeing this coming sooner. Every last detail of the next 4 months I could easily prophesize... I’ve done it before. Trying to escape to a faraway island did nothing as I had hoped—instead of becoming less dependent on one another we, if this is even possible, grew closer. I guess the fact that we didn’t have to actually spend time together made our relationship stronger. First warning sign. The months following our reunion have been, well, a series of pissed off nights, mid-sentence hang ups, and boring conversations. What the fuck have I been thinking? What am I doing? And why is it, when I finally realize the blandness of a relationship that is so obviously not right, I can’t stop thinking about how much I miss him. I’m in some self-destructive love mess that I can’t clean up. meh. more later .

2007-11-01T14:39:00.001-06:00

I just wanna love.

2007-10-22T21:06:00.000-06:00

kaitemcnally.com is up and running!! check it.

also... dumbledore is gay. read here.

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.

2007-10-18T19:01:00.001-06:00

It’s crazy to think that the last time the seasons were supposed to change, I wasn’t around. And the time before that. My transition went straight from last winter to 9 months of sunshine, heat, sandals and iced coffee (or niu, whichever you prefer). I surrendered all the wonder that comes with changeover from winter to spring to summer for “rainy season” and “dry season,” the only change where I was being that of whether or not I needed to bring the dry bag for my camera. All of a sudden, I’m reminded of the beauty the seasons bring. Yes, it’s cliché to be all romantic about autumn, but fuck, if you could see Boulder right now- the sun filtering through the trees as they wrestle with the wind... it makes me believe in things. For real. The fact that places near the equator have no understanding of fall and spring makes me wonder… what if, somewhere else… there’s MORE seasons! I can’t wrap my mind around that… I guess that explains my desire to travel farther north (hopefully the Northern Lights! Soon!) just to make sure I’m not missing something.

I’ve been thinking a lot about after graduation. This is good and bad, good because every time I look at a new place I get inspired, bad because, well, I can’t graduate as soon as I thought, and now I’m stuck in the intellectual purgatory paying my dues until the middle of July. This gives me time to find a travel buddy. My sister just emailed me with words of the Philippines in February. I might just get a taste of the world earlier than I thought. I need that.

Luckily, the snow is falling, which gets my mind off all the upsetting graduation stuff and reminds me why I moved out here in the first place, what makes me happier than anything. I forgot how wonderful it feels to slide velvety through an undiluted field of white. Mmmmmm.

hey, here's me, in case you forgot what I look like (ahem... come visit...)

why go to new zealand...

2007-10-15T23:40:00.001-06:00

brazil

india

burma

costa rica

kiribati

political art project

2007-10-14T13:26:00.000-06:00

ARTIST STATEMENT
Kaite McNally

On August 15th of this year, Burmese anti-government protests began after the ruling military junta decided to remove fuel subsidies in Burma (also known as the Union of Myanmar) causing the price of gas to double in price in less than a week. This action shocked the public, who were then sparked into protest. Students and those of opposing political activists led the protests. On September 18th, 2007, thousands of Buddhist monks joined the protests until the government took harsher actions against those involved on September 26th. Military force was called against the non-violent protesters, imposed a dusk till dawn curfew on all Burmese citizens. Though their government only reports 13 protesters killed, the number of casualties is thought to be in the hundreds, made up of monks, politicians, citizens, and even a reporter. Many monks remain in prison.
Currently, the government has attempted to block all websites that would provide outside coverage of the story to the Burmese people.
The military government has been oppressing the people of Burma for over 50 years, and these protests in September have been the biggest since the military coup d’etat in the 1960’s. In May of 1990, the government held free elections for the first time in almost 30 years. Runner Aung San Suu Kyi, the representative for the National League for Democracy, won 392 out of 489 seats. Instead of honoring her elected position, the government annulled it and she was put under house arrest. She has been in captive of the military ever since, sometimes forced to stay in her house, other times not allowed to leave the country, and at times imprisoned in one of the harshest prisons in the country. She is receiving this punishment under the grounds of protecting peace and stability of the country. In all her oppression, she still keeps a positive perspective and is in a constant struggle to inspire her people. She was given the Nobel Peace Prize in 1991.
I chose to do my project on the events that are happening in Burma right now. The first two images are to expose what is happening in Burma right now. One image is a self-portrait as Aung San Suu Kyi, tied up. I am giving the peace sign to show that even under subjugation, San Suu Kyi still holds her head high and promotes a peaceful Burma. I also included (which frustratingly got cut off by the border of the photo) a quote by her, which reads “Peace as a goal is an ideal which will not be contested by any government or nation, not even the most belligerent.” The other image is of a murdered monk, to provide a visual image to emphasize the violence that is happening under the military junta.
The second two images are to comment on the blindness that we as Americans possess. Blindfolded and smiling, the Americans cannot see what is happening and are content with that. The Burmese government has gone so far as to change the name of this struggling country so that the rest of the world cannot connect what is going on. The image with the calendar on it is also to emphasize that we don’t know what is going on. September of 2007 is one of the most important months in the recent history and development of Burma, and our calendars are blank. Nothing matters to us.
I urge you to look at these images and be inspired to do more. Go online and read about what is happening, read the papers, write a letter of encouragement to Aung San Suu Kyi. The more people are informed, the better.

Never Mistake Motion for Action.

2007-10-07T01:36:00.000-06:00

My feet are dirty. I’ve been outside for the past hour on a frustratingly unproductive jaunt to recover my dear cat from the gaping alleys of my neighborhood. The trees have been crying dry yellow tears into the streets, and there is just enough wind to send shadows dancing and trick me into believing I’ve found her. It’s cold out, a taunting cold that makes my arms freeze and my neck hot- i hope Jim has an adventure, without suffering from the cold. While I was looking for her I saw a skunk. Maybe she and the skunk become friends in the night, and experience new things together they can re-live through weekly meetings under the hammock out front. I just hope she’s warm.
Dad and Wife are here, which has allowed me to escape the repetitious weekends…I like that. I need more variety…. like tonight. Tonight was amazing… new friends on a Pearl Street dissection filled with abandoned carnivals and fountains. I even got to read Hemingway, and am reminded that to be a good writer you need nothing but a café and a glass of whiskey. Dreux told me he used to sleep in a bathtub—a porcelain womb, he called it. I hope he writes a book about his life someday. I hope I would want someone to write a book about my life someday. The quest begins.

mmmm...

2007-10-03T20:13:00.000-06:00

thinking about the boy with inspiration above his bed and triangle men spilling out of his pen. hi.

"A book should serve as the ax for the frozen sea within us"

2007-10-03T16:50:00.000-06:00

Inspiration comes from Anything. Today just the crisp autum ride from one end of the leaf littered campus to the other sparked my fingers to hit keys, creating a puddle of words no one reads but me. Lately, my life proceeds in segments of action- sips of coffee from burn colored mugs- internal debates on whether to go to the class I don’t understand (this one was the most recent…I chose to not go)- objecting to chairs- playing chicken with myself by seeing how long I can possibly ride my bike with no hands. Life has lifted me out of the complicated and into the simplicity of enjoying unimportant things- yes, I realize that important things should be considered, but they need not be all-consuming. Today my mom told me she was surely becoming a “crazy cat lady”… this makes me smile. I think about the ink I saw forever ingrained someone’s wrist as follows:

;…;

This punctuation translates to infinity. That makes me want to read, not only to read but also to stop reading the world from a single perspective and translation.wonderful.
It's sunny, and I'm going to go get tangled in the hammock and a beautiful book. The snow is about to fall, and my toes are twitching for the mountains.

"The Kids Get High and Eat TV"

2007-09-28T17:12:00.000-06:00

In hopes to avoid pending homework doing, I’ll write. The METRIC concert tonight with matt means another epic night with epic friends seeing epicness (my computer is telling me epicness is not a word. Take THAT spell check, I’m keeping it!). I’m excited. It’s overcast and smells like nag champa in my room, the smoke spilling out into the alley, sharing with the neighborhood a little piece of me, mixed with the smell of fall. I’m tired and mad at myself for having just a little bit less energy that I need to do everything I want to do. Shit. The BF website is finally up, which is such a relief… now on to more important and pressing matters: the Burton Colorado website I’m now in charge of building from scratch, including design, graphics, and content. It’s going to rough me up but hey, why the heck not? I’m stoked to be working for such a rad company. I had a little run in today that left me more upset than I should be, and now my mind is lost of any decipherable comprehension. Not to mention I’m trying to process all the shit that’s going on in Burma. Fuck me, I can’t think right now.

Man, when you lose your laugh you lose your footing.

2007-09-27T00:57:00.000-06:00

So there it goes, the world speeding up on me again. Today I had an interview with Burton. Looks like I made it. As exciting as it is and how impressed and scared I am at myself, I cant help but wonder in exactly what direction my life is spiraling. Sometimes late at night, when Jim is already asleep in my bed, I’ll slip outside and lay in the Panamanian hammock and stare at the stars and sticks over head. Then my mind goes to work, in one of those ponderous, try-not-to-dip-to-far-into-the-daydream (night dreams?), wanderlust mind kind of deals. I think about next year at this time, hopefully I’ll be laying in a hammock on the other side of the world… good friends and ridiculous snow at arms length at all times. Crazy adventures just itching to be written down. Beautiful strangers whispering. I don’t know what I’m talking about really, I’ve just been spacing out into a daze every chance that I can. It’s not that I’m trying to pull some escape move, but I just don’t feel like observing and participating in the monotonous rhythm of my life right now. Fuck me. I’ll write more later when things aren’t so ….

On a lighter note, I’ve met one of the most ridiculous people in the world. Dreux was kicked out of Harvard after stealing, in nothing but an army helmet, a rowboat from the crew team and attempting to row to England. He was picked up 5 miles before international water by coast guard. He also got kicked out of Brown for another and no less impressive story. His fridge is filled with nothing but 40’s and salsa. His cupboards are filled with books. He has a photographic memory, dated Fiona Apple, and jammed with RHCP, shot shotguns with ken kesey. Today he did acid and sat in a candy shop. He’s amazing. I’m stoked to be reminded that interesting people do exist. Hooray!

Another thing... had a blast from the past the other night. Bright Eyes and talk of China till sunrise. That was good too.

TRASH CAN LIBERATION! IMMINENT!

2007-09-18T02:00:00.000-06:00

Be prepared! It is almost upon you!!!

flow visualization... guess what it is!

2007-09-16T21:14:00.000-06:00

the grotesque

2007-09-16T00:00:00.000-06:00

horror meets humor

grid project

2007-09-05T18:11:00.000-06:00

"We must be careful about what we pretend to be."

2007-09-05T17:51:00.000-06:00

Ah, Vonnegut. You’re right. But what am I pretending to be? I don’t even know what I am, let alone have the imagination to pretend to be something else. I guess I’m pretending to be a student, and a girlfriend, and someone who’s passionate about things. I don’t think that’s real right now.

So I don’t know what I am, but I do know what I want. I want to get on a plane and go somewhere. I want to be stricken with utter awe and excitement. I want to leave my shoes somewhere and forget to ever put them back on. I want to get lost in the woods for a week, and take pictures of monsters and poetry inspiring nature. If you can dream it, you can do it, I guess.

Today I was locked out of the ski club office, and to kill time I walked past the CU peace corps office where I grabbed a pamphlet made to recruit lost souls and ambitious grads. I sat down with it and looked through, studied the maps of place one can go in the quest to better our world. Disregarding my personal belief that everyone in Peace Corps goes crazy almost immediately after signing up, it looked almost feasible. It’s tucked in the back of my mind.

What I really want to do? I want to go to New Zealand, snowboard in the southern hemisphere before laying in the lush green and muddy fields of Fiji. 6 months there before heading to the country my sister has become so fond of, photographing madness and leaping from train to train. I want to see Africa, and watercolor with strangers in alleys of Spain. I want to come back here and give my family kisses before South America, where I’ll disappear in the jungle for 2-3 years. I’ll bring Darcy if she promises not to get parasites. I want take pictures of everything, and read books written in different languages. I want to sit in cafes and drink locally brewed mysteries with curious people. Pretty much, I don’t want to be here, and that’s terrible. I have the most amazing friends in the world, but they’ll always be here. Sinking back into a lifeless reality just isn’t cutting it, I need to get out of here.

It's consuming my life....

2007-08-30T09:07:00.000-06:00

2007-08-27T17:40:00.001-06:00

19 credits. on campus 10 hours a day. fuck.

Circles.

2007-08-14T21:53:00.000-06:00

I remember in Samoa, in preparation for returning to the Real World, our old lives and appointments, clean clothes and AC, we were required to close those circles we'd opened since arriving. In simple terms, we were bound to everyone who had shown us any kindness or hospitality that could only be released by having a proper farewell. Though goodbye’s usually aren’t forever, circumstances of distance make Samoa an exception. The people of the islands could hardly afford a single cigarette at a time, let alone a plane ticket across the world’s largest ocean. The idea of my return seemed unlikely too, quite possibly for the same reason. So, with a few days in mid-may before leaving the island, each person I’d studied with found time to meet with those they’d known, no matter how short or long, deep or impersonal the relationship had been, in order to say a “goodbye forever.” The emotion around such a goodbye was nothing like one might imagine it to be. Instead of heavy and tearful, it’s so common and accepted that each farewell passed smoothly and cheerful. It was with these goodbyes that I closed the circles I had opened with people weeks or months before, gracefully departing with a calming sense of closure as or waves were blocked by fale and plam tree.

Staring out the plane window at Apia harbor below, the striking blue water and red-roofed buildings staring back, I was able to pick out a church I’d sat in front of on many occasions when class too priority over island romance and guitar playing suburban hippies. I remember my face pressed against the glass, disappointment pressing back, surging into my sunburned veins. The church reminded me of the only circle I’d left open. Though I hadn’t practiced it for long, closing the circles seemed of utmost importance. Just like living anywhere for long enough, you pick up the local customs. Simple phrases and songs slip through lips in a native tongue, shoes are removed, people respected, you know the stuff. For me, closing the circle was now needed for a feeling of peace.
During the long silent plane ride en route to the Real World, I was harboring some frustration about an open circle. Though I soon blocked it from effecting my functioning, it still lingered. This weekend, I aimed to close it. 2000 miles, a huge parking bill at DIA, and the expense of some pride and all my clothes smelling like a Parisian night club, and I’ve done it…closed my last remaining circle. Contrarary to his belief, I doubt the circle can ever or will ever be re-opened. Whether it be too frustrating for me or the fact that this world is so goddamn big for any coincidental run-in, it will remain closed. I feel like a huge taro plant has been lifted off my chest, and I can finally look at this “relationship” for what it was… two kids looking for something familiar in their quest to find something different.

Cheers…as the Fat Dragon would say, [clap] it is finished.

The Straights

2007-08-14T10:54:00.000-06:00

dedicated to nealsonwheels

2007-08-09T18:58:00.001-06:00

It's Tricky

2007-08-04T14:17:00.000-06:00

I'm finally home! And damn, it feels good. Only in Boulder can one feel completely at home wearing a beanie in mid-august. Also, I lost my phone (twice) which means I'm completely back in the Colorado swing of things. So don't bother calling me, send owl or something...

2007-07-26T11:04:00.000-06:00

more sketchbook! word...

2007-07-24T21:49:00.000-06:00

and my favorite:

Ward Churchill Dismissed Today

2007-07-24T20:06:00.000-06:00

Because of our schools need to "uphold our reputation," Professor Churchill was finally let go today from the University of Colorado. Yeah, he said some terrible shit, but he should have the right to say it. And our school shouldn't be trying to reform our reputation by firing what I've heard to be a great professor, or trying to make the ski and snowboard club more "ethnic friendly" (?). God, sometimes politics really suck.

2007-07-24T11:24:00.001-06:00

In case you didn't know, Lesley just got a jorb with Burton! Holy shit!...

and i knew her when she was nothing but:

2007-07-23T00:57:00.000-06:00

God, I'm just frustrated.

I hate that I was thousands of miles away. I hate that he is such a good talker, full of ideas and big words no one else understands. I hate that he isn't doing shit, and that I constantly ask him what I can do though I am allowed nothing. I hate that I know I can do it better, and have for 2 years. I hate not being given the opportunity to do shit. I hate this. Meh. Lame people, politics, and Paul. I'm over it.

the beginning of the end

2007-07-20T13:08:00.000-06:00

midnight. tonight. I just stood in line for my Harry Potter bracelet, which allows me to stand in line later tonight for the book. It really makes no sense. I think Harry will live, there, I said it. I do, however, think he will have to sacrifice himself and believe he is offering his life, only to find that when the smoke clears he'll be there to make out with Ginny. Whatever happens, it's been a good ride

TAYLOR. LOOK.

2007-07-18T21:58:00.000-06:00

tatau

2007-07-16T09:48:00.001-06:00

malu:

gogo:

colgan beast:

prayer:

kait and trish hike ze butte

2007-07-14T11:13:00.000-06:00

2007-07-13T02:21:00.001-06:00

my friends = turdheads

2007-07-12T19:29:00.000-06:00

Negated Myself

2007-07-11T22:06:00.000-06:00

Meh. I’m in a funk. And not like that afro, disco floor funky, but a true to form fucked funk. Again I’ve turned down the opportunity of what I know would be a great time because of the feelings that are currently tearing at the walls of my heart. I don’t want to talk…to you, or to anyone. It frustrates me that I feel this way when you are so easily and readily diverted- especially because I know that this diversion is for the best for both of us, one that I strongly encouraged from the beginning of all of this.

I need to figure out where to stop, when to stop, how to stop. I crave so much to reunite the energy that once enveloped us, but there’s so much space between us the thought of trying to rekindle the feelings seems superfluous. We were an entity, growing together, teaching each other, figuring out how to Be. And as a result all this growing , though we often avoided the idea of it, we somehow ended up on separate paths. An Island, a city, a highway… it didn’t matter what divided us, but that we were no longer together. I know that it’s hard to let go of something that was so arresting and epic, but it’s time to walk alone. Please don’t be mad that I don’t feel right in my own shoes, but I need to figure out myself before I try and share with someone else. We’ve had so much together, and though I need my space, that doesn’t mean I don’t you in it. I want to stare at you, take pictures of you, dance with you- you’re everything to me, and can’t stand the barrier evolving between us.

Fuck. Come on.

I'm sorry. So sorry.

yeah. this happened on myspace. i can totally read it.

2007-07-11T21:20:00.001-06:00

fi yuo cna raed tihs, yuo hvae a sgtrane mnid too. Cna yuo raed tihs? Olny 55 plepoe out of 100 can.

i cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno't mtaetr in waht oerdr the ltteres in a wrod are, the olny iproamtnt tihng is taht the frsit and lsat ltteer be
in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it whotuit a pboerlm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Azanmig huh? yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt!

sketchbook

2007-07-11T19:00:00.000-06:00

dear caleb. we rock. and we get stoned way to often.

samoan journal. jam!

niu, fa'amole

balls deep has died of diptheria

2007-07-10T18:02:00.000-06:00

fuck. trish just told me she was going to play me some Chinese rap, and it's not Chinese or rap, it's like christian folk rock with a hint of barenaked ladies... and now I'm stuck listening to it. Fuck me.

2007-07-08T17:03:00.000-06:00

so sick.

The Plight

2007-07-08T15:39:00.000-06:00

Man... I sit here in front of over 200 pages my mind must absorb, hating the fact that whilst I am here, the crew is floating lazily down the river enjoying the perfect weather in the perfect oregon summer. The air conditioning in my house is too cold.

I know it's important to get educated, but each day that passes I find myself less interested and excited in this kind of learning. I was given the chance to catch pua'a, cook and grind my own coffee beans, have conversations with someone who doesn't understand a word I'm saying, babysit an expanse of lice-infested kids, smoke cigarettes on one-rock islands with chiefs, name turtles, sit and listen to the sound of a tatau evolving, sleep on the beach... I felt so full of knowledge.

Now I find myself so empty-minded, turning the pages of an age old book which hosts pictures of art that doesn't move me, reading only to get through it and learn just enough to pass an upcoming mid-term. END. PLEASE. The only part of the school day I look forward to is the 10 miles of river-side biking the precedes and follows class.

Fuck. I want to get out of here! I want to go to 8 mile, and teach kids to snowboard in New Zealand, and sit at the top of a Fijian hillside, and take pictures of people in Myanmar, and eat scary foods in Morocco, and design magazine ads, and go fly fishing in alaska, and ride subways with strangers. There are a million places I'd rather be than right here, and this news is so upsetting and against everything I try to live like... I'm just stuck. Come May of 2008 and I'm out of the tedium of it all.

I know the joy of fishes in the river through my own joy, as I go walking along the same river.

2007-07-08T11:55:00.000-06:00

No city skyline, but we have this...

2007-07-04T23:54:00.001-06:00

and this...

and this...

Sand and Foam

2007-07-02T23:27:00.001-06:00

Forgetfulness is a form of freedom.

We measure time according to the movement of countless suns; and they measure time by little machines in their little pockets. Now tell me, how could we ever meet at the same place at the same time?

One may not reach the dawn save by the path of the night.

A sense of humor is a sense of proportion.

Every seed is a longing.

It takes two of us to discover truth: one to utter it and one to understand it.

Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.

I have no past, nor have I a future. If I stay here, there is a going in my staying; and if I go there is a staying in my going. Only love and death change all things.

You are blind and I am deaf and dumb, so let us touch hands and understand.

You drink wine that you may be intoxicated; and I drink that it may sober me from that other wine.

Only great sorrow or great joy can reveal your truth. If you would be revealed you must either dance naked in the sun, or carry your cross.

cheers to Gibran.

2007-07-02T21:10:00.000-06:00

I miss you.

to make up for awkward phone calls

2007-06-29T17:06:00.000-06:00

this is why we love:

2007-06-27T11:00:00.001-06:00

2007-06-25T17:38:00.000-06:00

Weston is dead.

Holy Shit

2007-06-24T13:37:00.000-06:00

This girl looks exactly like me.

C'est Moi

2007-06-24T01:03:00.001-06:00

Jean Vests Never Looked So Good

2007-06-24T00:56:00.000-06:00

And I sit, captivated in the timeless knowledge of My So-Called Life, obviously one of the greatest tributes to teenagers in the history of film (aside from the 18 year old death-obsessed lover, Harold, from one of my personal favorite movies, Harold and Maude). In episode one of MSCL, Angela’s imagination thrusts her into the arms of Jared Leto- finding that when in reality she is thrust into said arms, the dream isn’t so sweet… that is, until she’s left wanting more and at just the perfect second…… he ruins everything.

Of course, anyone who has ever been a teenager can relate to some element of this show, and here I am, late night analysis of how I feel in my own relationship matrix.

A Voice from the not to distant past come back to evoke me. It feels so good to hear him, and the idea of actually seeing him again makes all the feelings we shared rush to my cheeks, make my heart beat faster (and to the beats of Manu Chao), and for a moment forget how he made me felt.

Did you know that it’s actually possible to die of heartbreak? Apparently, you can. Though I was nowhere near death, I definitely felt something harsh and deep and painful inside of me. Heartlessly giving yourself to someone else literally minutes after pleading comfort and exclaiming love for another just doesn’t make sense. Allowing someone to stop her world to be near you, followed only by your unjustified and unexplained emotional absence just doesn’t make sense. The way you treat the people you claim to love just doesn’t make sense. Confusion, ouch.

But God, I get drunk of the sound of his voice.

I hate being so hung up about someone else, especially someone who is more concerned with talking than listening (or so it often seems), but fuck. I’ve also never been with someone who has made me feel so alive and light and beautiful and full of love. When I talk to him it makes me want to take the world and squeeze out everything it has to offer into the laps of my friends and me. He makes me want to take pictures of rivers and old people and ask people what their tattoos mean to them. Is the world too big to dwell on the little things like who hurt who or whether this person, so far away, is worth pursuing? I just feel so small… and the world is so big… and….fuck…. if you know what to do (and obviously you know who you are)…help me out.

I just want a friend like Ricky. Angela is so lucky.

Found Online. I Love Cats.

2007-06-21T14:01:00.000-06:00

Excerpts from a Cat's Diary

Day 983 of my captivity.

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.

They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.

In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Bastards!

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow --but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.

The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now . . .

digital sketchbook

2007-06-20T22:41:00.001-06:00

2007-06-20T17:45:00.000-06:00

Bands of the Week

2007-06-18T19:03:00.000-06:00

the usual:

the concerts:

The love:

Aso Gafua Makeki

2007-06-17T23:21:00.000-06:00

spider man:

eugene $3 facials:

the man:

tap shoes:

you're too pretty to be sad.

2007-06-16T22:28:00.000-06:00

Did you know that enthusiasm is contagious?
You know what else is? Lethargy. Bitterness. Hatred.

Sadly, I’ve been taken over by these negative attitudes, so much that I find myself yearning to go to a place I’ve developed much contempt for, just so I can sit in my room and stare and the blank walls and high ceilings encasing me instead of going out and putting effort into the joys of the world.

And where did this pessimistic infection stem from? From a person who embodies all above attributes- someone who makes me often question why I’m even here, or if anyone’s existence but her own is of any importance whatsoever (after extensive research I’ve found she does care about others, but only to receive the praise she has forced them into believing she deserves). It hurts to think about. I’m becoming so sour to life, for no reason but the attitude she radiates into my home. It’s possible I’m going crazy.

Tonight as I was driving over the bridge, I noticed the sun had exploded on the clouds in a dazzling piece of humbling and artistic sky. Instead of enjoying the sunset for what it was, I cynically thought, “well, it’s not as good as one in Samoa. This sucks.” I’ve been doing that with everything, comparing everything in the present to any time before I ended up back in the spotless, antibacterial hell. I want to leave, but I can’t bring myself to for some reason. I’m wallowing in the blank blah of life on Edgewater, an am worried I’ll soon be drifting into an all too familiar depression. I just wish I could talk to my dad about it, but he seems blind to the wickedness lying next to him in their $4000 bed.

Go Big or Go Home

2007-06-12T20:52:00.001-06:00

Arts and Farts and Crafts

2007-05-26T18:03:00.000-06:00

CRISS ANGEL JUST GAVE SOME LADY A TATTOO USING MAGIC!

2007-05-26T17:18:00.000-06:00

mindfreak. watch it. if you want to make me the happiest girl in the world, arrange a meeting with the mindfreak himself.

venom

2007-05-26T16:17:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I met a friend for a cup of coffee at Alan Brothers to enjoy the savory goodness of life and friendship. Somehow conversation turned to the State Of Things in the World. We talked about America’s need for consumption, and how our culture is swiftly suffocating and overtaking the ideals of the rest of the world (just like when the alien goo took over in Spiderman 3!)

It was so refreshing to talk to someone else who is taking proactive steps to support local businesses, use alternate transportation, and pretty much do what she can to help the cause. In the past 3 days since I’ve been home, I’ve spent quadruple the time on my bike than in my car. My experience in the South Pacific blessed me with the concept of Fiji Time, which translates to “Take your time. Enjoy the ride. We’ll get there when we get there.” With this, it’s easy for me to carelessly ride my bike wherever I need to go; for others, it’s not so easy. If only people could take a step back and realize that instant gratification isn’t required for happiness.

I know this is drilled into everyone’s heads, but it doesn’t seem like people get it: THE LITTLE THINGS COUNT. Bike to the store, get a for-here coffee cup, recycle your beer can, buy food from a farmers market, turn the lights off, eat free-range meat. These seem so small, but if everyone did them it would mean BIG THINGS. I found this website today: www.chrisjordan.com. Photographer Chris Jordan, who is appalled by the accumulated detritus of our consumption, documents the collections of our consuming nation in order for people to reflect on the necessity of the excess. Look. Think. Act.

Cell Phones: Depicts 426,000 cell phones, equal to the number of cell phones retired in the US every day.

smiles.

2007-05-25T19:41:00.000-06:00