Don't watch this space.

Those immortal words.

They have been spoken.

AND I HAVE SWITCHED TO WORDPRESS.

findmehere and relinkmenowplease

lindseak.wordpress.com

How to say goodbye without ever saying hello.

Your words make me cry. When the moon rises and the soft glow lights my room, I see your face behind the pixelated ink. I fall in love with your words, and yours, and yours, and you. So elegantly they rise in the fall of the world, the fall onto gray cement. Cement that has plowed through mountains, giant trees, and tumbling rivers. But they forgot the foothills. You didn't. You wander in foothills, covering yourself in daisies and misty dew.

When we finally meet, I predict 75% humidity at 32 degrees Celsius. We will sit Indian style across from each other and paint secret symbols on our patches of bare skin.

I'll never meet you because it would ruin the surprise. I'll never talk to you because it's better to imagine.

Cult blogs make me feel

OB


SES


SED

I got google reader! I got google reader! (spoken as an Indian warcry)

ANYWAYS! I have been inspired, my friends.

Two things that I must do in the coming week:

1. Random boroughs, inspired by Diamond Geezer

2. Get someone to indulge my V-day wishes: buy me Vagina Monologues ("DAD! CAN YOU BUY ME THE VAGINA MONOLOGUES?"...silence) It's on my Amazon wishlist by the way... *cough*nopressure*cough*

3. Sign out that beautiful digital SLR that I love so much and go on a photo spree this weekend (Carnival pictures, Frist Friday pictures, Hell Camino's zombie music video shoot)


Damn I thought I only had two. It has made a liar out of me!

you can swallow a pint of blood before you throw up

cold, hardened shrimp
for dinner
pealing away the shell and the legs
as the screen flashes
eyes glass over
so easily they break in my fingers
one by one, the juice
falling onto my red lips
drip drip till i'm finished
a pile of broken exoskeletons

i see my fridge full of
condiments,
my closet filled with
close knit cotton,
polyester, and
silk embroidered jeans
that i think i own
but that actually
own me

now i spend my time
browsing online
looking for the
scented candle
that best describes
my
personality
it takes up all my time

and my fingers still
smell like the
broken
bodies, miniature in their
composure compared
to me
i'll have to wash myself
off before i've
shaken free the
rotting seaweed smell, fishy
to the core
using my oil free
epidermis scrub ($20),
of course

Untitled

What this blog has brought to me is really unimaginable. It literally changed the course of my life. What would my life be without it? How many gifts would I have missed if I never continued to publish on this glorious site?

The short answer: I would have been myself, probably doing many of the activities that I do now. My spirit would be roaming the foggy lands of uncertainty (as it is now), and I would still be looking for my place in life. But it would be without a reference point that this place has provided.

***

One click. One click to self discovery, to writing [nonsense] everyday, to finding out a little bit more of who I am and what this world means to me. The internet has brought me wealth. Not the type of wealth that buys tickets to France, but the type of wealth that makes a person shine from the inside. Wealth in happiness, wealth in growth, wealth in knowledge. I am still the utterly helpless ungeek trying to survive in this geek eat geek flat world, but I am alive. Social Darwinism proves that I am strong. The funny thing, though, is that the competition for survival on this space wasn't between other people, but between myself.

I'm not a creature of habit, and I flit through the world like a butterfly, landing on whatever beautiful flower attracts me at the moment. To some, writing in a blog semi-regularly is easy and it comes naturally, but to me it didn't. I had to fight myself on many levels. On one level, just writing something in here and trying to keep it up tolerably well was a challenge. On another level, there was the hurtle of publishing myself to a world of strangers reading my words that, because I have no internal edit, come out dripping in sticky personal truth.

I know that hardly anyone reads this. Unlike the stats whores out there (*cough* you know who you are), I am comfortable with my low reader counts. But it lulls me into a false sense of security, because then I think that I'm the only one who reads it. So why not get rid of whatever is left of my dignity?

Then someone posts a comment, or I read a link to my blog in someone else's post, and I freak. First thought "They love me, they really love me!". Second thought "Oh my God, they read that post. And that. Jesus, what was I on [and where can I get more of it...joking]?". But seriously, screw dignity. I have pride in myself and who I am, so why hide anything?

That's one of the most important things this blog has done. It has forced me to show myself, and left me with no other choice than to be proud of it or go insane. Since the second choice was already taken, I decided to take pride in my work (however amateurish it is). It's like John Lennon and Yoko Ono, posing naked for photos. They had nothing to hide, they were expressing themselves fully. "I don't believe in -isms, I just believe in me. Yoko and me." Once you believe in yourself completely, and are unafraid to be yourself, there is nothing that can hurt you. If I am always being myself, there is nothing to be ashamed of, because I am not ashamed of who I am (all the foolishness included). I don't discourage my own individuality, though it is looked down upon by some people. I don't snub out whatever flame might be burning in me. Eccentric is not a bad thing, like Ray Johnson.

One thing I can say for this blog is that it has always been my ideas and thoughts flowingly through my fingers onto this space. Never have I compromised that. The result has been an eclectic, unorganized (and untagged) mass expression of a mistake making, playful, crazy human being called Lindsea. This is me at my best, and at my worst. Some can see it as ugly, some can see it as beautiful. But there is ugly and beautiful in us all and I am against self censorship.

"So, I was talking to my dad about his jail time..."

This line was used at the dinner table last night, and it brought tears of laughter to my family's eyes.

Looking back on my dad's jail time, I really am proud of him. For some twisted reason, it makes me happy to see people who are so devoted to their convictions (his, not bowing to authority--I guess in short it would be called anarchy), that they are willing to go to jail for them. Sure, it's not like he was protesting something hugely important, like my Nonna was when she went to jail, but he was still trying to speak his own truth to power.

Ok, I can see myself reaching to explain this. All I'm trying to say is that I appreciate his character and morals(ish). I also am pleased by his going to jail, because it provides me with endless jokes.

My mind fades into imagination:

large brawny polynesian: "PICK UP THE SOAP."

my dad: "But it's powder!!!"

Just kidding.


But something funny did happen on the way home. We were debating which route was faster, because my dad always takes this obscure path through the neighborhood. I told him the direct way would be faster. His reply: "But it's near the police station, and I'm a little bit sensitive still." Cue hysterical laughter from me.

I think I'm going to record his adventure in a podcast interview type thing. It really is quite amusing and informative. How many times do you get to hear first hand about what jail is like?

I found a new musician

and I love her.

I found a new blog

and I love it.

Recent Headlines in Hawaii

WOMAN BEATEN TO DEATH BY ANGRY BOYFRIEND WITH A GUN

This is just plain sad and disturbing. Again, according to the news, "helpless" neighbors watched this woman get beaten to death. This is just like that New York rape in the 1920's where a woman was raped in the middle of the street while the neighbors watched "helplessly" because they thought someone else could help them. People need to take responsibility and help their fellow humans out. I mean, if we can't stop something like this from happening when we're looking directly at it, how can we stop something like Darfur?

MAN DROPPED TODDLER OFF OF A HIGHWAY OVERPASS

I was writing wizard rock songs at my friend Emily's house when I first heard about this. Her mom heard about it on the radio, and we were all shocked that something like this would happen. According to the newspaper, a man dressed in hospital scrubs looking "distressed" dropped a toddler off of a highway overpass. The baby died, and the man ran from the scene. After closing off the area, the police were able to find and incarcerate him.

I was supposed to be taking the bus into town from Kailua to work on Ka Wai Ola, but the highways were closed down. I missed the meeting, but, as my friend so eloquently stated, "It's not your fault the freaking highway was blocked because some psycho dropped a baby on it." Which despite the tragedy of it all, seemed pretty funny. The same conversation also produced this gem: "I mean, people are always like 'Dead babies, dead babies, hahahaha,' but then when an actual dead baby comes along, everybody's all like 'Oh...'".

MAN ARRESTED FRIDAY MORNING WITH THE MOST OUTSTANDING TRAFFIC TICKETS IN THE STATE

I'm sitting alone in my room right now, after searching all yesterday afternoon for my dad.

I started worrying around 5:00 pm, when I needed to be picked up, and I still hadn't heard back from him.

"I think my dad's been hit by a car," I said jokingly to Carrie (we were working on the Ka Wai Ola layout).

"Really?" She said.

"No, I just had this dream last night where he walked into the road and got hit by a car in front of my face. Then I had this really funny Harry Potter dream."

I walked out onto the curb by my school, waiting for my step-dad, Mark, to pick me up. My dad still wasn't answering his phone, and so I decided to start looking for him. I called the two main hospitals in Hawaii. The first one said that no John Wilbur had checked in. The next one said no, and then asked if he would have come in today. When I said yes, they connected me to the ER operator. A John Wilbur had come into the ER today, and then checked out. This is when I began to feel worried. Something inside of me clicked, though, and I knew that I had to be strong and tenacious if I was going to make it through tonight, and hopefully find him.

Mark picked me up. He knew what was going on because my mom had called him and told him (I called my mom as soon as I found out from the hospital). Mark and I called my dad's regular doctor, and told him what had happened, and to try and find out more information from the hospital. Then we drove straight to his apartment: nothing. We left a note. Then we drove to the Outrigger Canoe Club (his haunt): nothing. We left a note. I called my brother, and found out dad had called him last night at 2:00 am, but that he'd hung up on my dad because it was so early. I called my dad's best friend, and talked to his wife, who said she'd call her husband and find out what she could.

It turns out that my dad's best friend had talked to him yesterday morning, but had not been able to get a hold of him the rest of the day. This was unusual.

My brother called me back and told me that my dad and him had this system where they would bail each other out of jail if either of them needed it. Nathan (my brother) said this might have happened, and that maybe the phone call at 2:00 am might have been a bail call. I understood where he was coming from because my dad has no respect for authority (something that I respect him for), and he doesn't follow the rules. So stuff like driving tickets are...well, let's just say they make for really good napkins.

At this point, I had no blood sugar (I hadn't eaten all day), and was starving. Mark and I got stuff to eat, so that we could relax, and try and stop imagining my dad hunched over some steering wheel, bleeding to death.

We had a good lunch/dinner and then called some people. We called the hospital again, but we still couldn't get anymore information.

So we went home and I felt numb and I listened to the Shins really loudly because I wanted to drown out my thoughts and I felt sad.

I came home, and talked to some great people, heard some stories, felt better. My mom continued to make calls while I drank tea in my room.

Around 9:00 pm, we got a call from the jail. He had been in jail for a day and a half, and his bail was $3,000.

Get this: he was in jail for thirty years of unpaid traffic violation tickets. The best part, though, is that they had to consolidate all of the charges because sometimes he would tell a different name to the police officer (because he doesn't carry his license), or give his social security number one digit off.

Damn, though. It was so good to know my dad was in jail. My mom told me that things were going to change, because before this he would drive me everywhere. She said that I would have to take the bus because dad probably wouldn't be able to drive me.

Today, during French class, dad called me, and I asked to step out of the classroom to take the call because it was an emergency. The first thing he asked me was whether I needed to be picked up (guess my mom was wrong--oh I love my stubborn dad!). I didn't, but I told him thanks anyways. I said maybe a movie later tonight?

When I got home, he called me:

"Do you still want to go see a movie? Because I'm kind of tired..." He chuckled as he said the words "tired".

"Yeah, I hear the beds in jail are not what they used to be."

"No, I had a pretty nice bunk bed. But you know, the guys in jail--they're really good guys actually. They all really liked me. They're good guys. I mean, they did some bad stuff, but they're pretty upstanding. They said they'd miss me."

I treasure this man.

Lindsea’s Laconic but mentally Loquacious Questions:

1. How does growing older, and learning more, change a person?

This is a question I’ve thought about for a while, because as I grow older, I see myself changing, but I haven’t been able to see a pattern in the change. I know that there is one, and I know that if I do enough research I can find one. I want to study the effects of experience (“wisdom”?) on people.

2. What are coincidences and how do they affect us?

In my day-to-day life, I see strange things happen that I know can’t be coincidences. For example, I might think something one day, and the next day something in the form of my thought will come to me in a surprising way. I want to explore the possibility that the mind controls reality.

3. Do I need to have a specific goal in my life in order to achieve something?

This is important to me, because, traditionally, people have always had goals and they have accomplished them and...queue the music...they've overcome. So what I'm wondering is: in order for my life to be validated, do I need to have a dogma of sorts?
One that I follow strictly and end up with some sort of result?

4. How does a thought form (what are its sources and what shapes it)?

I recently reread 1984, and there is this one idea that keeps popping up in my head. It’s the idea that the words that we learn, and the things that people teach us (i.e. you), directly shape our thoughts and ideas. In 1984, they attempt to integrate Newspeak into Oceania, with the purpose of limiting people’s vocabulary so that Big Brother can control their thoughts. What are my limitations? If I recognize them, is that action alone enough to get rid of them?

5. How can I become more conscious of my reality and myself?

Like the model of the eye looking at the brain, I want to learn how to zoom out, and look at my own thought processes, and eventually my whole world. I want to become in tune with my higher Self (or subconscious, or whatever name you chose to give it). I want to get to know myself so thoroughly that I will never question another decision in my life because I will know without a doubt that it is the right one for me.

Sorry.

I planned on writing a nice long post tonight about the book I'm currently reading, the wonderfully inspirational speaker we had today in school, and life in general.

But family issues came up. Huge family issues. I can't get into detail, but let's just say it was very bad. Practically my worst nightmare: not knowing. Anyways, it's over. And it's late, and I have a headache (blinding pain from low blood sugar, then rush of adrenaline). Expect a juicy long one soon.

I knew it

Which fucked-up genius composer are you?

Nick Cave... dark and creepy. You're a bi-polar genius, with equal passion for the most degrading aspects of humanity, as well as the beauty & wonder of God and Heaven.
Take this quiz!








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Quick and Dirty Facts: Art School

As the first semester of school passes, college is starting to frequent the mind of more and more students. We’re wondering about what college we’d like to go to…Harvard, Princeton, NYU, Yale, UCLA, Stanford, Berkeley, California Institute of the Arts… or maybe not. There are colleges for everybody, depending on what they want to do when we all grow up. For some, it’s easy; they’ve already picked out their school, and all they have to do is apply and hope for the best. For others, college is as big a mystery as the meaning of life. Whatever your attitude, it is ok. We have time, and a lot to choose from. There are thousands of colleges in the United States, but we’ve only heard of a relatively small margin of them, and only a few of us have explored the possibilities of an art-focused school.

I wanted to explore and learn more about art school because I love to do art. It's as simple as that. I feel happy when I do it, and I think that I would enjoy deep focused learning in that area. So, before I made any decisions, I set out to defines art school, and learn what the applying process is like. I also wanted to know what my options are after college graduation.

Art schools, I discovered, differ from regular schools in a couple of ways. Right now, the most important difference would be the application. Instead of the typical college application, filled with letters of rec, essays, transcripts, and SAT scores; the art schools require a more appropriate representations. They still require an essay, a letter of rec, a transcript, and sometimes SAT scores, but they mostly look at an art portfolio. The art portfolio is the most important factor in the application process. Some colleges, such as the California Institute of the Arts, say that “admission is based totally on talent. [They] need to see a portfolio of recent work. Test scores, GPA and class rank are not considered.”

But there are art colleges that require strong academics. The idea is that each college has a unique set of requirements, so I should chose the school first, and then make their needs, my needs. Despite the requirement for solid scores, the portfolio remains the key aspect of the application, and it should show strong technical skill, creativity, and a variety of media (meaning I use different types of paints, charcoal, graphite, etc).

But I can’t get in on skill alone. I must be extremely motivated and passionate as an artist, and I must be very committed to my art. Art cannot just be a recreational activity. Carole Schaffer, the Associate Dean at Parsons School of Design in New York says she looks for "discipline, drive and seriousness about the hard-work involved in becoming a designer." Art school shouldn’t be a back up school if I end up getting lower grades than I expected. I need to be ready to make art my life.

So, what do I do once I get in? The majors range from fashion design, to art history, to film, to fine arts, to graphic design, to interior design, to medical illustration…and the list goes on and on. Currently, I'm interested in fine arts, film, or graphic design. But anything a person can imagine doing is covered, and if it isn’t the colleges will usually allow you to create your own. So I go to college, hone my skillz until I think I'm ready to go out into world, and then make some $$.


This is where the problems come up. Depending on my major, I can either work for a salary, or I can become a self-employed freelance artist. About 63 percent of artists and related workers are self- employed. If I want to become an art director, expect about $35,500 a year to start with. If I'm aiming to be a fine artist, I should be prepared to live off of $17,390 a year for a while. Though I may become successful while I'm still alive, the chances are slim. The most expensive painting by a living artist ever sold was $81.5 million dollars. The talented artist was Jasper Johns (the art is on the right). I wouldn’t be too optimistic.

If being an artist is my true calling, none of this will matter much. It is a path that has many trials, like all others, but it will absolutely be worth it if it’s what I know I absolutely love. I'm not sure what I want to do with this. It's hard to consciously box myself in like this. If I go to art school, I am going to improve my art skills. I will come out of there accomplished and ready to start my life as a very talented artist, to follow my dream in that area.

But what if, true to my personality, I switch gears and decide to do something else completely different? Will it be easy to transfer? Can I even do that? I have to know that art is what I want to do with the rest of my life. At this point, to be honest with myself, art is not the only thing I want to do. I want to write. I want to make music. I want to travel. I want to learn more about Environmental Science.

After doing this research, I decided that making a portfolio isn't a bad thing, whether I want to go to art school or not. My plan of action will include making a kick ass portfolio, and taking AP Art senior year. Who knows? Maybe it will help me get into regular colleges too.

BeyondPassion (a rough draft)

passions to be
remembered, not just
forgotten in the rat
race, this one big face
of society
don’t play with me
don’t hate me
fake me
sexually harass me
cause I am you and you
are
me
there are no boundaries

when you raped me
did you remember
you have a mother who birthed
me
did you remember where
you came from
hearing the drum
of adrenaline
fight it, friend
cause I am you and you
are
me
when you hurt
me
you
hurt your
sanity

did you pay for me?
paid for the minutes
of ecstasy
in between me
dollar bills don’t
fulfill me
but I can’t leave this
it will follow me
and all I have left
are wasted passions
stained white on the
newest fashions
emptiness
inside
cause I am you and you
are me
when you pay for me
you bring hatred to the he
and cheapen the sacred she

I’ve joined the cult of
domesticity
swearing on chastity
before you marry me
cleaning the pantry
before you have sex
with me
raising the children
becoming the anti villain
becoming what you dream for
when you’re work-bored
what you cheat on when your
passion’s bored
feeling these binds on my hands
when I’m stuck at home and
I can’t vote
I can only hope
we don’t have a voice
we don’t have a choice
but speak, sister speak
cause I am you and
you are me
and you have made
my history

we volunteer to stop the violence
hone the campaigns
of more than abstinence
giving voice to the
silence
binding ourselves in an
alliance
of humanity
of men-and-women affinity
leaving behind golden vanity
sexist racist
profanity
and battling anti-organity
holding to truth,
love, and integrity
finding peace above the piles of grimy
blood soaked history
cause I am you and you
are
me
there are no boundaries



The stanzas are different points of view of women and their experiences. None of them are mine directly, but they are from stories that I've heard from friends and family. Some of them are historical, like the stanza about the Cult of Domesticity. They were inspired by books I'm reading about women's suffrage. I haven't been raped or sexually abused or entered into prostitution. But these things exists, and if I feel compelled to write about them, both to spread awareness, and to express pent up sadness and frustration, then that's my choice.

This is just a rough draft. I wanted to try out the slam poetry style. I'm probably going to come back and hack away/change a whole bunch of stuff. It's me tonight wanting to speak up about some things I've been thinking about. I originally recorded a podcast telling the story of the women in my family, but it got too personal and I didn't want to publish private business of people other than myself.

So, allegorically yours,
Lindsea

This afternoon.

I took a five hour nap and made this Love and Logic poster and GUNSHOTTOTHEHEAD (while watching horror short films). Now I'm going to bed.

Third band, finals over, free time (ish)

Finals are over! Rejoice! Here the angels sing!

AP US History went well, same with French. Math was probably the WORST TEST I'VE EVER TAKEN. Hello first C of my life. Things like this happen, so I'm trying not to beat myself up about it too much. Gotta retain what is left of my sanity.

After finals were over, Emily and I decided to party it up, and so after I went to go see Sweeney Todd, we wrote our first Wizard Rock song (!). The band is called Undesirable Number one, and we are well on are way to having our first CD ready. Her dad is sort of in the music business, so he has some super cool, super fancy recording equipment for us to use. And we wrote 5 new songs so far.

The universe responds so quickly to my wishes, because if you recall, about a month ago I was wishing heavily to be in a band. I found this band that needed a lead singer... and boom. Then my friend and I started The Jackies and Marilyns...and boom. Now I have a wizard rock band that is so amazingly fun...and boom. The universe is quite loving. I also have been working on some solo folky songs (much different from my dark, industrial nu-rave older stuff). I finished one this afternoon called "Paint Brush in the Sky". I was sitting in the backyard (which has suddenly blossomed these purple flowers all over the place), wearing my bikini top and tie dye boxers, and my mom was like, "You look exactly like a hippie sitting in a field of flowers with your acoustic guitar and tie dye. You just need to take your top off, then you have the free love mixed in with it."

My mom is... so supportive. She makes me laugh.

I really want to write more, so I will be back later, because the blue sky calls me. I'll just leave you with the band promo picture for U.N.O. and kiss goodbye.

Essentials

• How can I make this world a better place?
• How is my point of view changing as I learn more, and grow?
• How can I make myself a better person?
• What kind of world is this?
• How should I live in this world?

The essential questions. Here are some answers from what I've learned.

1. I can make this world a better place by being myself, truly. If I can learn to be myself when my society ingrained instincts tell me to join the herd, then I will have a completely unique experience of the world and life. If I continue to write about my life, then anyone who reads about it will broaden their mind. Right now, I'm not where I want to be on this goal. I try my hardest to be myself, make my own decisions for my own reasons, but the older I get, the more people tell me RIGHT and WRONG and NO and YES. Even when they don't realized it, or especially when they don't realized it. I've observed a strange phenomenon in my peers and my elders, and that is they want you to become like them (force you, sometimes). In myself I see it, too. I want people to be like me, so that I feel justified in my decisions. It's almost like RIGHT can't be RIGHT on it's own. It needs other RIGHTs to agree with it.

2. My point of view is changing enormously as I change and grow. Things that I thought I had defined, such as friendship and value, have been completely redesigned. To sound very Confucius-inspired, the more I change and grow, the more I realized that my point of view will never stop changing and growing. The main thing I've changed is adopting this mantra: Love and believe in yourself. Seriously, it sounds cliche as hell, but it is SO TRUE. As John Lennon says, "I don't believe in Beatles, I just believe in me." That is the truth, brah.

3. I can make myself a better person by having little successes throughout the day. I just mean following through on the little things. They add up, I hear. I can make myself a better person by knowing, and I mean really KNOWING, that whatever I do, I do it with originality and confidence in self. I can make myself a better person by learning, by questioning, and by learning some more.

4. This world is...it is all in my mind. It surrounds me because I am the center of my universe, I am all I know, really. But it is filled with thousands of other organisms--some doing what I deem "good", some doing what I look down upon, some evil, some fools, some intelligent, some confused, some beautiful, some ugly. There are so many. Who do we decide to care about? How do we decide what to give our time to? This world is big for me. I'm sixteen and little compared to it all, but big compared to me. It's so easy for me to zoom into my life and live here relatively happy. But what is happy? Happy is a cop out. Happy is a consolation prize for the simple. True, pure joy--coming in bursts--can only be felt by those who have dug deep inside themselves and felt the hot tears run down their cheeks, felt the most acute pain or the most dulling pain imaginable.

5. I should live in this world as myself. I should live in this world with confidence that I am going to die and be buried in the ground or shot out of a cannon or buried at sea. I should live knowing there are no mistakes. I should live without regret. I should I should I should I should. I do live in this world. Now. And I'm going to "do" whatever I want. I walk along my path alone, with only my foot steps behind me and a clear path ahead. I make my own decisions. I laugh constantly. I fear nothing. I learn from everything. I think. I feel. I do. I am.


photo cred: cuellar

I windsurf.

with these fools:

What do you observe

I observe a place around me that is filled with cement and tall metal things. I observe a rainbow in the sky when it rains. I observe the inside of my I lids. I observe an ocean that is blue, green, and sometimes brown. I observe men wearing aftershave on television telling me what I should believe. I observe teachers telling me that there are finals coming up next week. I observe that my schedule is filled. I observe mouths moving. I observe a messy bedroom. I observe a small red circle on my face. I observe undereye circles in the mirror. I observe a hamburger. I observe a coke. I observe my yoga instructor upside down. I observe someone who is too young to die and too old to have fun. I observe a life. I observe a soul. I observe...

Thirty Essentials- Kerouac

1. Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for your own joy
2. Submissive to everything, open, listening
3. Try never get drunk outside your own house
4. Be in love with your life
5. Something that you feel will find its own form
6. Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind
7. Blow as deep as you want to blow
8. Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind
9. The unspeakable visions of the individual
10. No time for poetry but exactly what is
11. Visionary tics shivering in the chest
12. In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you
13. Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition
14. Like Proust be an old teahead of time
15. Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog
16. The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye
17. Write in recollection and amazement for yrself
18. Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea
19. Accept loss forever
20. Believe in the holy contour of life
21. Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind
22. Don't think of words when you stop but to see picture better
23. Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning
24. No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge
25. Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it
26. Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form
27. In praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness
28. Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better
29. You're a Genius all the time
30. Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven

existential crisis.

Who are we anyways living this life?
Who cares if leaders are being elected.
Who cares if we all die tomorrow from
some rare disease,
pumped into us
from vaccines,
from modified beans,
from wi-fi streams,
tv beams,
down low means.
Who are you to say THIS IS HOW IT IS
to say, THIS IS HOW IT SHOULD BE.
Not you, I say.
I can't see the other side,
the other side of the world.
My life hasn't been unfurled
even uncurled
from corners of this stratosphere.
Filled with hate and fear,
bloated suits pollute atmospheres.
Who cares.
What's changed, what's different
from the misprint,
typo-static charging foot prints
to nowhere.
It's confused because it's confusing.
We're not naked because we're scared.
Pleasure seekers,
philosophy creepers,
day dreamers,
fake believers,
we are all making it up.
It is all made up.
So who cares.

Voodoo

I found this old voodoo doll at my dad's house last weekend. The pin hole by "LOVE" was the biggest.

Here are my incantations (send good vibes):

more HAHAHAHA!

Favorite:

"Oh no, what's this! Man, Dick, you told me this was no girls allowed. Oh, it's just you, Hillary."

Second Favorite:

W: "Sweet balls of Nixon, you just killed a fox!"
Hillary: "And I've never felt more alive."

HAHAHAHA!

Some Recents

wall (mixed media)

bodies (charcoal and oil pastels)

is this love? (painting)

brass (charcoal)

what? (print)

femme fatale (watercolors)

portfolio (mixed media)

bad days (print)

poetry (watercolor)

leonardy (acrylics)

Ka Wai Ola (Lit Mag) poster
Zine submission

But his name is actually Ringo.

(This is for you, Clay) MY CAT FLUFFY

The Misfits.

hell. yes.

Edit: Here is the full story of the wonderful Misfits-

One of the first indications of a great show is the crowd outside. Are they dressed in preppy surf brand shirts and board shorts? Or are they more creative? The Misfits crowd was wonderfully dressed up. My friend and lead singer of the metal band 8 mm Overdose was a perfect example. A regular guy in real life, he wears fake tattoos and glues piercings to his face for shows. He looks SO badass.

There are those types, there are the all black fishnet types, there are the devil lock inspired types, and there are the classic types. I decided to go for the jean skirt, stud belt, black fishnet, pink Misfits shirt, converse type thing. Oh yeah, and my flashing stud necklace, left over from my raver days.

When we got inside and I met my other friends, M (previously mentioned as the one who went with me to the Hedwig and the Angry Inch play) and C, we found out that there were FOUR opening bands. Ugh. I hate that. But they were pretty good and we watched people run into each other for a while. Then C grabbed my hand and dragged me into the pit. It was the semi-lame kind where they just run in circles. I prefer the tightly packed kind, like at the Hell Camino shows. It was fun though.

Then there was a long, long wait. We stayed near the front and off to the side, by the little bar by the stage (the one that no one can get to unless you're already there--the crowd was so tight waiting for Jerry Only et al). We were just talking and laughing when all of a sudden, I see this man in all black with a devil lock come up to us, and grab me and M's waist. IT WAS JERRY ONLY GRABBING OUR WAISTS! GDI!

Anyways, he hung around for a while taking pictures with people, and then he climbed the stage. C and I decided to brave the crowd once again, and we squeezed our way to the rail that divides the crowd from the stage. So we were five feet away from the Misfits. Once they started to play, the crowd started pushing us, and moving back and forth and every which way. I felt like I was getting totally squished, but it felt so good! After a while we got too hot, so we ended up just going off to the side again.

That's when people started getting really intense and a couple of really big guys were swinging themselves around. They hit my back and ribs a couple of time, but I wasn't hurt. Some guy ended up getting pretty damaged, and an ambulance had to be called.

Other than that, the concert was SO FUN. I had a really great time. I didn't really mosh at the Drop Kick Murphy's show, and at NIN it was more dancing; so this was the first time I got in the pit at a (relatively) big show.

Left with a overly sweaty body (mine and other people's sweat), a new Misfits shirt, and a couple bruised ribs, I got a ride to my dad's house, in Diamond Head (allegedly it looks like a diamond). We spent the rest of the night listening to old Beatles records. I was woken up in the morning by my sister talking to me in my ear via the phone (via England). It was a sleepy morning while my dad was out, listening to old records (some Janis, Grateful Dead, The Doors, Simon and Garfunkel, The Stones--those sexist bastards, and also more Beatles). Then we got coffee in the still Hawaiian air, and the sky was BLUE! I mean , really blue. Perfect blue. There was no wind and the ocean was glassy.

All in all it was a very good day.

The Jackies and Marilyns

Our new band.

More info later.

But basically, I'm guitar and vocals, Julie is piano/ukulele, Danielle is vocals, and Sam is drums.

Janurary Second

My room has vacuumed, bleached, clorox cleanup-ed, and windex-ed itself quite violently out of the new year's womb.

I live like a slobby bachelor no more.

Special thanks to the Mom. Also, thanks to kitty for pooing in my room. Ringo-kitten inspired the whole cleaning freak out.

Happy New Year!

(happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Love and Logic, happy birthday to me!)