9.12

I really want to be a shaman.
I would love that life.
I keep seeing a voodoo project in my future, but my future comes at me in flashes of light and sometimes texture or sound.
The clacking of claws and bones haunt my steps.
There is chalk on the floor.
She steps in time with me, for me, as me.
and I lose it.
I hope it visits me again tonight so that I can bring it into existence outside myself.
What if we are just vessels for our thoughts? and the realities are inside us?
We are parallel evolutions of that same first cell of life
and we are awful for it.

 Here is a rehearsal of my "Dream King" character.
 That cape has gotten twice as big.

I would like the record to state
that I do not condone the eating of pancakes,
and that I only ate two,
and they were bitch'n.

Next project preview!
None of this is going in my mouth.

 Thank you, Dollar Tree Stores, for making dreams come true.

Have you been to a thrift store lately?
Cause I am there every week.
And it's pretty great.

 It felt terrible to handle all this "food".
The texture of candy is not something we should want to put in our body at all.
Just look at it closely next time.
RedVines smell like icing.

9.10

I put it down the instant I heard the knock on the door. I held my breath.  I could feel him, as if he was standing in the back of my skull.
I slowly exhaled, feeling my lungs sink in my chest. I swung my feet over the side of my bed and quickly took another breath before putting my things in the drawer of my side-table.
He was still knocking.
I could feel him reaching down my spine now, controlling my legs as they moved noiselessly over the ground. When I came within reach of the door, he stopped, but I could hear him breathing. Pain radiated around my ribs. I could hear the sobs. I stood there, shocked by the sudden sensation of suffering. His breath was familiar and sobering, a sound I hated.
At the sound of my unlocking, he left me. I was once again aware of blankets lifting me and holding me. I knew I was protected.
He came in and walked immediately to my bathroom. I went to the kitchen for water, and then to the hallway, where I leant in a doorframe and watched him. It felt like a movie. His suffering.
He turned to me, over his bowl of sick, and pierced my glass with his eyes like ice melting in embers. I handed him my water and left as I heard him swallow, vomit and cough.
Back in the confines of my kitchen, I sank below my sink, crouched on the floor, and prayed.

I said Universe,

If you have made me thus

and him my equal

why are we not equally forgiven?

The stove responded in silence. The refrigerator dripped the song of leaking sorrow. And I knew this was the end.
As his breathing begun to rattle, I bathed him with a cloth, dressed him in my old lover's clothes, and brought him to bed. I told him of my mother and how she would lay beside me and tell me these stories and how I couldn't remember them or much of anything anymore and that I was worried. He rasped a response, but I don't remember much of that either.
We lay there until morning, his hand in mine.
I left when he did, but we didn't say goodbye.

9.2 313131

3thirteen & 1thirtyone

"Last night, I dreamt we were stars, 

and we communicated with light- like fireflies- and dance- like bees. 

You showed me your secrets,

and we were able to teleport, but I don't think we actually did. 

Just cognitive of the ability."

Here is a preview of my latest work. The final "product" will be posted soon.

This is my work, not yours. You must ask permission to use these images/text or at least give me credit. Thanks, dears. :)

8.30 The Senior Center

 

Per usual, kaleidoscopesnowflakes. 

Wall in studio.

Cause animals are terrible liars and beautiful creatures. 

One of our few rainstorms left us with a beautiful site on a trip to Home Depot. 

  

Here are people existing in their own realities and a shitty attempt to put 3 people in the same one. 

I built a lot of cat forts to instigate some friendly battles. 

This semester, I am interested in how everything exists within multiple realities and dreams as an expression of individual realities. I am interested in how the senses being activated or deprived through clothing and environment can affect our emotions, memories, and, vicariously, our actions. I believe that through these realities we can find truth in ourselves.

8.26

Oh Facebook,
I swear you are the downfall of our social structure. Your promotion of passive aggressive communication has killed any energy I had for action.
Today, I logged in to find a girl posting a complaint about someone being in love with her. That would be extremely embarrassing and count as bullying if viewed from the enamored human's stance.
and then I logged off.
because people are jerks.

8.23

Perfume
I usually put my perfume on in the morning after I apply lotion and dress in my underwear.
Then, while dressing, I check in with myself to make sure that I am wearing my perfume.
But always, I can't tell if I already put it on, or if it is just residue from my bedroom or myself, or if my brain can just smell it on command, or if I sprayed it on some article near by, or if I even have class today.

8.21

The thing about school is that it is a bunch of shit.
I am finally able to take the classes I am interested in, and learn the things I actually want to learn and understand, but I only have a year. I guess I have taken a few other classes in previous years that I enjoyed but, for the first time, I actually want to know what my classes can teach me. I get why we have requirements but damn! I know that going through that shit is the only way I have matured to be able to realize this. I guess that is the catch 22 of growing up. Only after you have grown can you realize what you should have done.
But I am a pretty hesitant person.
Largely invested in feeling and emotions.
You telling me "what you wanted to happen" means nothing to me, and I must come to the conclusion myself. Since when did we believe forcing people to have similar shitty experiences as us would generate the same person. That is physically impossible on a universal level.
And the bullying?
Still?
Geez, guys!
and why are people still taking things personally? I know everyone has bullied. I know everyone has been the person to make another feel awful. Even if it was unintentional, we have all hurt each other's feelings in some way or another.
I'm not arguing that peoples feelings are invalid or worthless, but everyone should have a grasp of life's tragedies by this age. Yet, I feel celebrities come forward with these "I was bullied" claims to humanize them. These claims fail to humanize them because the rest of us "humans" were bullied and don't use it as an excuse.
Yes, teasing can be awful and snowball into larger, more serious issues.
No, there is not an excuse for being disrespectful and mean to others.
I'm saying that this is a part of being human.


I can't tell if she is saying things like it on purpose so that I have to guess, but by this point she can't hide it anymore. Her car pulls up the driveway, and I watch her collect her things and lower herself out of her car. As she approaches the door, I continue to stare through the window. My fingers trace the green velvet of the chair as she opens the door. I look at her, then at the dye work on my jeans. My heart cowers in my chest. She greets me and smiles sweetly when I don't respond. I watch her put a bag in the kitchen, and I try to memorize her hair style so I don't have to look at any other part of her. She tells me some thing about how lunch went with her mother, but my subconscious fills in any gaps in her story with a few "oh yeah?"s and "well, thats good"s. She sticks her head around the corner and smiles again. "Mom was really happy", she whispered smugly as if saying it loudly would disprove it's truth.
I smiled and my shoulders became lead.

8.13

I like when you don't talk to me and the anxiety makes me warm. I like when I come home and your toenails are stuck to my feet. I like to look at how disgusting your skin looks, and how the smell of garbage always reminds me of you. I like when you call me, and you are out of breath, and you take those long gaps in the middle of long sentences between words that should not be separated. I like when I wake up in the middle of the morning and feel your hair on my face. I like to look at pictures of you and use them to raise myself esteem. 

She liked to have French movies playing constantly in the background. You could hear the stream of words from any side of her place all the time, no matter what activity or task was being performed. I was charmed after my first visit and was won over after my third. We talked longer on my fourth visit and I witnessed the changing of films. It was done with such familiarity that I was considerably impressed. A few other people came in and out during the film, speaking personally with her while I half listened, one eye always on the film. I was intrigued. Soon I was there twice a week and the french refused to dissolve in the background. Around this time I was getting familiar with a few of the films that I had caught two or three times. I began to notice she would only watch a few of the dozens she played. In the middle of a cigarette, a month after the first time, I asked her. 

"They sound like my mother."

I'm not satisfied, but this is nothing new.  

7.15

Tonight blog post is inspired by Lauren with her quote "idk... Relationships? Future? Present? Cats?". 
Thanks Lauren. I hope you are doing well.

So, relationships. 
Well, my first thought is that I hate relationships, but that isn't true at all. I know that is the impression most people have of me, and, I guess, I say it a lot, but I really don't hate them. I feel more apathetic towards romantic relationships. If one was to objectively look at the "relationships" I am presently in or have been in, one would find that I am extremely uncommitted to any human outside of myself. It's not that I actively avoid relationships, they always passively occur for me. I do well independently, attract someone, put up way too many boundaries, and it sits in a way that neither of us are committed, but it would be awkward if we started seeing anyone else. And the worst part is that I am totally okay with living like this. 
Things are about to get real. 
No one really had "the talk" with me. My mother gave me the appropriate version for my childhood innocence when I was 8 or 9, but you can not explain anything that a mother needs to teach to a daughter at that age. My dad did his best and would give me books, literal text books, on this shit. And it's not that I needed someone to sit down with me and show me, but when you aren't surrounded by those things and you aren't being told how to do them, you quickly separate yourself from it. I put it off, and it was never important in my life. I assumed someone would be with me in the future but never put any importance in to making it happen. 
I like being alone. 
I know how to be alone. 
Even though I might not have had a mother to usher me through life, I had a cat. 
Lc hated me at first. 
When Valerie handed her to me, Lc instantly clawed her way over my shoulder and out of my arms. I spent the next 3 days taking shifts sitting with her in the back-hall bathroom. She didn't really like to be petted, so I took my sketch book and colored pencils and drew her. I liked the lines coming from her eyes and how her face was asymmetrical like mine. Her tail looked wild, and I would spend the afternoons sketching each raccoon-like rings as they wagged lazily about. 
Rascal, our other cat at the time, was insanely friendly, like an open book, or 60 second mystery. but Lc was something else. I wanted to name her Spots (there were spots on her feet), or Amethyst (because I was obsessed with my birthstone and the color purple[surprise.]). My mother hated both of those names and approached me in the kitchen. She told me she had thought of a good name for the cat and it was LC and it would stand for Lynn's Cat. Now, I knew my mother hated the names I liked, and she really pushed it on me. I agreed because I was given a cat (fucking awesome) and didn't want to throw a fit about something so petty in comparison(I was very aware that my family thought I complained a lot[crabsterlynn]). 
For the next few years I barely saw Lc. 
She always napped with my mother, under the crook of her knees so I couldn't reach, or slept in the office, on the highest shelf of the bookcase so I couldn't reach. I would grab her by whatever available limb I could manage to blindly find, and drag her down. I took her back to my bed and would hold her in that sliver of space between my arm and waist. She was always furious and would radiate heat. But soon I became nicer and, although she wouldn't sit on my lap while I watched tv, she would sleep under the covers with me, in the crook of my arm, at night. By the time I graduated high school she slept in the crook of my arm every night. Now that I sleep in a bigger bed she stretches out next to me. Usually her tail is in my face though. 
Wow, this was uncharacteristically personal.

7.11 slurpie remix

Sometimes I imagine you sitting next to me.
After a while we start to get comfortable with each other, and I imagine my knee touching yours. You show me something in front of you, and my moving in for a better view causes our arms to touch. As I grow tired, I rest my temple on your shoulder.
At first you are rigid, and we are both very aware of each point of contact, but slowly we relax, and it feels strange when I do lift my head up and look at your face.
You know I am looking at you, but you can only focus before you. Your cheek shows me the impression of your tongue running over your molars.
"Are you okay?" Your lips flutter, but you still won't look at me.
I stare at you, waiting for you to turn your face to me, but you still refuse.
You repeat the question, eyes unmoving.
I answer "no", quietly, still looking at you.
Your mouth frowns. I know you are displeased. Now it feels obvious that you aren't looking at me. I know we both know you should be looking at me.
"Hey", you say softly, "What's wrong? We gotta be positive. We gotta, ya know, pep it up." Your hands are a blur at the bottom of my vision. I can see worry growing in your face.
"I can't. It's not enough anymore." I show you my teeth to say Things are cool, bro. No worries. My mind is screaming WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME DAMMIT.
You exhale slowly.
I can see your eyes straining.
Your chin appears weak.
I know I've pushed you too far, and I give up. I go back to whatever I was doing. Your knee has gently settled against mine. Again, our arms occasionally brush. I try to focus my apologies through these connections and I know you receive them, because after 5 minutes things usually calm back down. We start to joke, and I ask if you need something from the kitchen.
You politely refuse, but I know you will grow envious when I return and have to make your own trip.
I go to the kitchen, trying to remember what I had tried to remember from earlier to tell you. The water is always too cold as I hold some in my mouth for my journey back.
but your spot is empty.
and I realize you weren't here.
and these moments didn't happen.

7.11

Many apologies for my absence. I don't know what has come over me. I promise more nonsensical ramblings soon but for now please accept some photos as a post.

 These photos are mine and of my artwork, and they do not belong to you or anyone besides me, Lynn.

6.29

No cause for alarm! Here is a pick of me smiling to reassure you

[Picture No Longer Available]

I've been editing. My hair is no longer short. I've been pondering the necessity of a toilet to illustrate a bad relationship. I considered how much of what you project as me is actually real. The conclusion was 45%. Music has been rather exceptional lately. finding the goods. To walk outside is to melt in your shoes. Suspicion is growing that Elk is a robot sent to infiltrate my psyche. I can't hear anything outside of my bedroom except the thuds of a murderer.

I'm throwing up shapes
Try to block them with Tupac
My jams are winning

6.25

I am very tired. I don't really like Henry James. I know he is great at writing but damn, it sucked.
um.
bathroom art.
lots of getting sick.

I named him Waspy, and he attacked the light for an hour then rested on the printer. I wonder if Waspy is lonely, if Waspy feels pressure to make babies. I wonder if Waspy is scared to face the rest of his life with very little support from his friends. I bet Waspy was too embarrassed to talk to them. He probably works out everyday to impress the ladies, but is too ashamed of his greedy nature to talk to them. Instead, he just buzzes around, chillin. He keeps looking at me with some intent of conversation, but I keep trying to explain that I do not speak wasp. Its disappointing really. I bet we could have some good times, me and Waspy.

6.22

She could do this thing where she would use a strand of her hair, wrap it around the rest of her hair and then pin it up into the pony tail she just created. To me, this was the most resourceful thing a woman could do. It was beautiful in the ease she was capable of pulling it off with. She would brush her bangs off her face, then flip her hair over one shoulder, anxiously. I could usually sense its soon arrival at this point and bubbles of excitement would began to fizz inside me. It would be nearly impossible for me to keep my eyes off her for the next few minutes, longing for the moment when she would select a small lock, usually from the nape of her neck, and began the process. There was something about the way she bowed her head to make it easier for her arms to work, and something in the tension she used to hold the pin in her teeth. It was remarkably honest. With her hair pulled away, I could see the gentle lines of her neck and her small ears brushed with a few escaped strands of hair. She seemed ready now. This was not a woman who could hide behind a curtain of keratin.

This was a common occurrence in restaurants. She would be in the middle of explaining the latest tangle in the web of her social life. I would be pushing vegetables around on my plate and listening with mild interest. I still got a few of her friends jumbled. But my interest would peak when she began to dig in her purse. I would wait patiently, interjecting a few didn't she just sleep with his brother last week? and wow, it really makes you wonder what she isn't telling us when she stopped talking to eat some of her meal. She swept her strands over her shoulder. I stared at her under my lowered eyes. I felt the heat rush to my chest as she bowed her head and raised her arms. She talked to her lap while twisting her arms behind her head, continuing her story through clenched teeth. The dark pin reminded me of a cowboy's cigarette right before the shoot out. It knew nothing but anticipation. The pin and I waited for her to perfect the tension and placement of it's new home. With one swift motion she jabbed the pin into her hair. Lifting her face, she smiled. Ready.

6.15

When ever you want to feel disconnected from the world, just look at humans in nature settings. It doesn't look right. Put some naked humans in a forrest and tell them, "Go". I guarantee it would look very silly in 2 hours. There is an artist who took this point, but she left her subjects clothed which ruined it for me. Tribal humans wearing T shirts is when I notice they are impoverished. They have such beautiful traditional coverings. T shirts and jeans have spread across the world like piss in a lake. Tainting everything. Ruining what is naturally there.
It is funny how one thing starts to ruin everything. Who the fuck cares of someone peed in the pool? Everyone has peed in a pool.

Dick fed the cat.
Dick fed the cat, even though he hated it.
Dick leaned down to scoop some food in to the cat's bowl. The weight shift was pushing his toes into the damp spot left in his shoe from where the cat vomited. Fucking cat.

He took me to the park, and I looked at his face.
I let him touch my hair.
I imagined our wedding pictures, his crooked teeth sticking out, my "this is the happiest moment of my life" smile, but it all would be a lie.
I knew this wouldn't go any where.
He tells me things that should catch my interest.
His father's life story. I should have cared about my future father-in-law.
He imagines what I look like naked.
I imagine looking at his face over breakfast.
There is something in the way he looks at children and looks back at me.
I memorize the swing's chain links with my finger tips.
He thinks blushing is adorable.

6.10

I think of all these beautiful things to tell you. and I always forget. Always.
I spend all my time doing homework, thinking about homework, eating so I can stay awake for more homework, and laying in bed "dreaming" of homework. It's more of a staring at the ceiling type dream.
I had a bad experience after making so much progress. My mind was more fearsome than I had imagined. When faced with a landscape of infinite creation my mind decides to spend its time proving what is reality and what is fiction.
I am always told I am a black n' white person. It either is or it isn't. In short, I am always told I am a bitch.
But how are things not what they are or are what they aren't? I either have a notebook or I don't. Now, I might go get a notebook. There is a 50% chance that I might go to the store and pick out the biggest and thickest notebook possible, but that doesn't mean I have 50% of a book. I still don't have the book.
If I feel sick then I am sick. I'm not kind of sick. If I am not well, I am sick.

I call this one, "I've lived in this apartment for two years. I'm an American."

I call this one, "I'd rather be murdered than do this again".

I call this one, "Spots on the nose go down to the toes".

I call this one, "If you steal this fucker, I will murder you".

6.5

So, I thought I would blog before my other class starts. I've deleted my last few idling blog submissions due to the fact that they might be read as personal attacks, and so I have come to a standstill.
I feel a great rush coming over me.
This blog used to be a secret, but I let my need for attention come over me and slowly told more and more people until a post on Facebook happened. Now, I can't shit-talk any of you fuckers.
I am still awaiting an essay that decides our fate. pate is a weird looking word. and the word slit has been bothering me more and more with each passing day. I love my literature class. I am blindly fumbling around my weaving class.
I think my isolation really fucked with my social skills. I am back to square one with eye contact abilities; too much staring- not enough during conversations.
But during that time I built a fort!

It was very womby.
Elk really liked it but kept trying to walk on the ceiling.
Lc was unimpressed.

 Shelby and I are learning how to sectionally warp the Jacquard loom. It's pretty ballsy.
HI SHELBY! You're pretty cool.

These are some men we saw.
They are building our studio spaces.
One's name was Sam. He wore Adidas.
Our architect wears really expensive shoes.
The other two wore hiking boots.
People's shoes tell a lot about them.

 This is how she looks at me when I eat.
Like, "are you really going to eat both of your pieces of bacon? Because sharing that jazz would be preferable."
To which I respond, "Who's a good girl!? You are! ohhhhhh ohhhh", just to piss her off.
Lc is not one for baby talk.

This picture is amazing.
And I love it.
I want everything about it.
yes.
please!

6.1

I dunno. I thought I had things to say to you, but they all escaped. I guess I'll just show you some pictures.

 I'm going to write stuff under them though. This game happened and was fun. 

 Oklahoma clouds are to die for. 

 Found at a rest stop. Scary sculpture isn't nice. How does this promote safety? 

 Always with the games. 

 This happened.

 Lc does love bacon. Sorry my apartment has been a mess. You can see my new vacuum.

 Cat duplex.

 I really love watermelon. I've eaten two in the past 2 weeks. So delicious

 The cats in the bathroom.

 Silk is Elk's favorite play thing. I spread it out on the floor, and she runs and slides all over it. 

 Garlic Green beans and some roasted lamb. 

 The cats make strange faces. 

 Beef and vegetables. 

Now's the part when most people notice the large amount of cat pictures and are either all, "Crazy cat lady!", or, "Karma whore!", but I urge them to remember that I love all animals. Cats are convenient, expressive. They don't have any concept of what I am doing and are easily trained. I've been cooking a lot, and I feel really shaky? Toffee is delicious. 

5.31