yes, the dreaded line of poverty has been breached, the superficial dignity of a somewhat middle class existence has been swiped from my worn feet, a clutched pretense of desiring food that tastes faintly like petroleum wax over a stark cardboard aftertaste

i am eating ramen now, i can never go back …

so, yeah, what to do about this boy complex … it has been so long since any kind of connection in this area(one and half years, ouch, college puts everything on hold), and really, i don’t think i’ve ever had a relation with any boy past some immaturity wall i can never cross with them … listen to me, not my tits and ass and “personality you want to be dominated by” bullshit dammit … how does one get beyond this crap? and how does one have a no dependency attached relationship of freedom and trust and mutual friendship without all the weirdness? i am so green in this area i am realizing, and unfortunately even now, boys my age are either gay or too much little boys with toys they can’t keep out of their hands long enough to be real with you, gotta rack up that number and that trophy case … or look you in the eye without some superficial lust or arrogant assumption of all the predictable woman characteristics you might have, as if i should be so interesting just for them … not fart when i fuckin’ feel like it …

anyway, maybe i am generalizing to cover up some insecure fear of being attached in any way as of right now … is wanting one of your close friends (who, thank god, has a penis for once) something that shouldn’t be tampered with? is it possible to fool around and still be friends? or is this getting too close to the edge of it being too much? i suppose i will find out … this weekend …

so i recieved in the mail, some cynically great xmas gifts from the maternal side of the frat house family stereotype, a couple of bubble bath fun items, pink lotions and general shit i will never use and cringe at when i see for all its gender role implications, subtle mind decay of defintions and generalization of WHO I AM AND I AM A BIG GUARDED HEATED “I DON’T NEED TO WEAR PINK TO SHOW YOU I AM FEMALE” kind of person that is so difficult to approach in this society. since i am intimidated by all my unknowns and complexity all day, i understand in a way … but still, pink lotion and furry baskets of sugary icky pampered goodness? no art supplies or tools or practical items of any kind (oh, yes there was the ease of money within to gloss over all other possible irregularities of self-perception) who do these people think i am? these people i am to call the beloved gene-sharing folks? these people i am to share a connected life of dependency and background on? ear muffs and jewelry and shiny rubber stereotypes? safety in standard, accepted stereotypes? i appreciate the thought, but that is only because i am told i should to redeem seeming self-consumed and spoiled behaviors (because you know i should feel greatful people give me anything at all, when actually i wish i wasn’t given this contribution to over-abundance and frivolty, another thing to add to the American pile of SHIT I DON’T NEED) yeah, i smell and i don’t shave my fucking legs ever, and yes, i still wear shorts and dresses. i refuse to put aluminum under my arm that has the potential to give my heredity another boost for possible later-in-life breast cancer, so other people can douse themselves in cover-up ideals of what a person should be in every way down to a suppression of olfactory and the natural hair sensory of your legs. i am not a perfumed manneqein at the mall with no hair and hard tits and an angular inverted point waist/waste of energy. i work hard with REAL tools and metal and grinders and saws and cuts and blood and stone and wood and it’s breathing-hard love and i LOVE IT, I FEEL IT IN MY MIND AND IN MY SEX AND IN MY BODY more than anything i ever will and ever would do otherwise. i can weld metal and cut stone and carve wood like any fucking dude or better … so yeah, fuck this pink fluffy shit and monetary compliance/silence … you have no fucking clue, even though i wish i could tell you, i have a feeling you’d be more insulted than anything else and tell me i shouldn’t do more than a girl would at my young age … you know don’t ride on a horse properly both legs swung over each side, so you can ride fast and furious because you might get a little excited and vibration in that area is just never a good thing, hahahha

what is this self-destruction i am so connected to, this broken down twitching epicenter of moving consciousness to the void and back again … this desire to run and run until the third and fourth wind hits, past exhaustion and fatigue and euphoria and realization, past all this circular, angular perception of the moment and the decade and the people that live inside me vying for redemption from ignorance of the self … like godel, a system can never be fully aware of itself, a constant paradox, a constant struggle for and against the complexity of webs within my subconsious, conscience, waking life melody i wish i was and wasn’t dreaming and inside, and born every day as green as everything i cannot have and everything i cannot see and everything i have forgotten and forced myself to forget … to run on once again tomorrow, tonight, in the morning or between the graying coolness of a paradoxical warm light … everything is a maddening inverse of negative and positive … where your cells decide to move you to in sporadic defense of a suppressing environment, an enclosure that is all fucking about you and me … and it is all my default of choice … where the dividing line is blurred past one one thousandth of a decimal/magnification and disappears when you try to define and articulate and make concrete … let it go, let it flow away from me and into me …

i think i need to stop being such a whiny bitch … it is only making things worse … strength, dear, strength … being informed/self-aware will be the only way out of this …

school started again and i remember why i am here, thank you my fellow artists/friends, without you i would be lost, the ugly duckling so to speak [emily this is for you baby, look it up in that book we’re both reading]…

and i need to stop suppressing all this, it’s turning me into someone i don’t even know … and IT IS ALL MY SUBCONSCIOUS DOING …

“artistic work that emerges from an unfettered imagination affirms the primacy of art as that space of cultural production where we can find the deepest, most intimate
understanding of what it means to be free” (Bell Hooks).

Fallibility: the skeleton bloody keys, variables intermixing mindhall the fate of humanity, the ultimate dystopia of our race, THAT IS.  Is believing in temporality or the necessary error of or the fact that nothing is 100%, there is always the infinite decimal we must run from because of its complexity? There will always be suffering, always be decay, always be fallibility in logic and philosophy. There is certainty in uncertainty, there is truth in paradox.  Would you believe in humanity if it were shown to be an ever-dying/decaying race with its intentions hanging like the splayed fingers, caught in it own machinery >> metal hard logic? …  to believe in a system is manmade, to promote 100% which equates to perfection and theory is truly the most fallible of all … it is an infant dream which I have in my dreams, decaying, bloody deaths before my eyes as I see with my own doubts and split second beliefs, disproven by my very existence in the machine, hard-wired conscience of America and the world.  Ambition is running rapid like a virus, will you sell food to starving people?  They will eat until they die, until it hurts and they can feel the crushing weight of a paradox-prone existence, they do exist in pain, in feeling, no longer numbness, eating as sustenance, as death, osmosis in reverse, bubble bursting from outside pressure gradients. There are no conclusions here in application of this birth-life-death cycle.  Inspiration/creativity/education gives you a barred realization of self above instinct, which is to horde, to survive at all costs.  The world has enough food and resources, we’re just too stupid to know the difference between application and theory, between instinct and reason, between freedom and comfort, between decay and necessity.  Ignoring and cringing when someone calls us animals with enough awareness to destroy.   I believe I am existing and floating and temporarily surviving, but that could change tomorrow, tonight. And if it was between me or you, I would pick neither because choice on a mass scale in non-existent and truth is only a varying experiment in practice.  I eat and breath it and indirectly cause oil spills in Alaska, wars in Iraq.  If I run then I run away, if I fight I become a martyr, crucified for the “evil” of others, a scapegoat for the world’s guilty conscience because they cannot look into themselves in the mirror, only at their own reflection.  The real question is are you willing to go all the way?  And do you truly know what that means? (tricky, tricky)  Would you cut off your arm so the rest of you could live?  And would you still live if it were in a world where such open frailty is seen as food?  Reverse sustenance, your osmosis pressure explosion of self … too much, it is too much … in a small place, in a small room, your antithesis, your necessary decay reciprocal.

questions, questions, questions, they will kill me …

your child will be the difference, can the individual ego handle this?

do you have the strength to see the reciprocal, negative, the fall, the destruction, the reality of blood, the other side to this imbalanced human equation?

could you accept that you are living in the fall of man, of chaotic structured systems, the end of a species, this tide has run its length and must now recede back to the ocean, the void, the collective it tried so hard to escape from [rash individualism] = can only be tolerated by nature for so long …

and what if there was nothing you could do but dance in the quaking flesh of a great weeping mother knowing her child is forever lost?

i totally checked out this chick i know in my painting class, much to my chagrine. i couldn’t take my eyes off the skin peeking through this small tank top she wore … hmmm … how horribly forward of me … she’s a friend, too, and she has a boyfriend, i actually had to avert my eyes and look to the ground … i think she noticed because when she bent over to get something from her paint bin, she covered up her chest as if i was going to look down her shirt, which i was actually … i wonder how strange she thought the situation, me being a chick myself, and having to act normal as if we were still conversing innocently, damn hormones … (is this annika coming out? not totally, i just think girls are fucking hot sometimes and i want to look at them)

so yesterday, i forgot my damned key card to my apt. complex and was waiting outside in the cold, complaining to myself about my own absent-mindedness in the face of all other possible deficiencies …

and then suddenly …

two chidren, a girl and a boy no more than 6 or 7 years old, and their father walked passed me holding hands, the little girl watching her father’s foot steps and trying to match them with her own small leaps and bounds.

“Daddy,” she said, in that sweet girl voice only a small child has.

“Yes, honey.”

“Daddy, we have to protect the animals and the trees and the plants and everything, don’t we? We can’t kill them, right?” she said, so innocently questioning.

“Yes, baby.”

“Because if we do that everything else dies, doesn’t it Daddy? Doesn’t it?”

She kept skipping along behind me, disappearing around the corner, as this slow sad smile crept up on me, with one of those strange bursts of emotion that only shows through when you have no choice but to take it all in … breathing in this tired adult air, wishing the children would really lead as much as they should and could … and that we would listen as much to them as we do to our own repititive bantering …

have we really advanced as far as we think we have? all around me i see the open-holed logics of idiots (not children, mind you, they know what the fuck is going on, they’re just conditioned to keep their mouths shut or think something else over years of brainwahing and “tough love”). i have been reading an old English text book, Thoughts and Experience in Prose (I am not sure whether it was originally for college or high school) but it has the writings of many of the founding fathers, thinkers, and political activists of the time (the 1800s). One of the Federalist papers is in there, a Ben Franklin account of Americans breaking yet another treaty with the Indians, essays on the university, state of art, education, culture, Thomas Pain’s Common Sense, Virginia Wolfe’s analysis of old letters written by noble men, the extensive list of good argument, logical analysis and a decent look into the minds that made this country goes on. The accounts of political descent of every idea in this country is brought up …. Why then, with such a stellar start that used to be common reading for a lot of people, has this country degenerated to a point where even the most fanatical Christians haven’t even read the Bible the whole way through and they base their lives and the lives of others in politics on excerpts they’ve only browsed? Why is the common reading in the supermarket Cosmo, Seventeen, and the tabloids? The works of philosophers used to change minds and effect people to the point of revolution (case in point John Locke, Thomas Paine, Frederick Douglas, Upton Sinclair), why are political activists, writers and philosophers now put on the back-burner of the American popular media, while the best seller lists become evermore finickle? (case in point Opera fuckin’ Winfrey and her stupid magazines and book clubs) But to be totally fair, we still have people like bell hooks, Naom Chomsky, Ralph Nader, and Micheal Moore. Just some thoughts to ponder, this not so much about science, we all know of the GREAT technological exploits/advancements of the 20th and 21st centuries … and why this went wrong is because of the philosophy behind them, not science itself …