Tuesday, March 31, 2009

lunafest preview<3



Okay, so, last night I went to this really heartwarming filmfestival sponsered by the women's studies department here at ODU. It was so endearing, beautifully crafted, and truthful. All about women.
There was one film that touched me so much that I actually started to cry. At first, I was a little embarrassed. I tried to make like I was allergic to dust or something, but then I looked around at all of these identical tear stricken faces and I just let the tears fall.
It was about a woman struggling with social anxiety. In the film she was followed incessently by this man (representing the voice inside her head). With every move she made he commented. It was so unashamedly honest. For example, every time she looked at another woman, the voice said things like "she's prettier" or "thinner" or "You're about to be ugly like her if you keep eating this lunch." He created this noise inside of her head that quickly became unbearable for the audience. We all cried, because we knew that if someone put a microphone to the voice in our heads it would be like that too.
Then it showed her walking home at night, being followed by him, but feeling very alone, and in the film, at that moment, everything was silent. Then she went home and she started crying and biting her wrist while he chattered on with insults. I felt like God was telling me that I'm not the only one. By the end of the film she had beaten the voice up and wore a red dress. My hope for myself is that one day I'll beat my social anxiety up and find myself walking around in a red dress.
We all go through it. There's no point in saying you don't. My hope for all women is that we can unite and combat it together. We don't need to feel so afraid.

Last night I also found a really amazing song. It's beautiful. Lonely, Lonely by Feist http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UlIDp7Rk2Ag&feature=related

Monday, March 23, 2009

and now the girls are crying and the boys are masturbating

that's the way it is in Minnesota, that's the way it is in Oklahoma, that's way it's been since Protozoa, all the way past the Shores of California.

spin.spin.spin. spin. spin.

Going to the gym with Kim

So, I've made it my goal to go work out at the gym twice a day. An hour in the morning and an hour at night. I've been sticking to it for a week so far now. I like it.

At first I felt awkward and clunky aorund the machines, because i didn't know what I was doing.

But then I found my groove and learned how to put my own creative stamp on working out. And now I feel like this.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

thought provoking, much?

Well you're not brave if you still keep the letters
and you're not sane if you don't want to get better
and you're not drunk if you can stay in your lane
Well you're not awake but you haven't been sleeping
and you hate god but you don't believe in him
and you're not scared but you still got you're eyes closed

the sky explodes, and only you know

Well it's not fixed if you love it broken
and your cell phones at the bottom of the ocean
and you're not drunk if you can stay in your lane
Well you're not brave and you're making a lane shift
you're not lost but you're missing your exit
and you're not scared but you still got your eyes closed

My best friends and I should make one of these...

And then mail it around to each other like the pants in the sisterhood of the traveling pants.

Old Man take a look at my life. I'm a lot like you.

I need someone to love me the whole day through.

The Secret Life of Bees

I recently finished reading this fabulous little book by Sue Monk Kidd called the Secret Life of Bees. It's so innocent and insightful. It's about love, second chances, self- doubt, and forgiving one's self.

I loved the southern feel to it. The imagery was absolutely beautiful. I felt like I was in this sensual little Tiburon town in South Carolina with Black Madonna Honey on my kitchen table. Everything sounded lovely and comforting.

The following consists of my favorite lines in the book (ya' know the kind you have to read twice, 'cause they're so good) :

"When I looked up through the web of the trees, the night fell over me, and for a moment I lost my boundaries, feeling like the sky was my own skin and the moon was my heart beating up there in the dark. Lightening came, not jagged but soft, golden licks across the sky. I undid the buttons of my shirt and opened it wide, just wanting the night to settle on my skin, and that's how I fell asleep, lying there with my mother's things, with the air making moisture on my chest and the sky puckering with light."

"Leaning back on my elbows, I slid down till the water sealed over my head. I held my breath and listened to the scratch of river against my ears, sinking as far as I could into that shimmering dark world. But I was thinking about a suitcase on the floor, about a face I could never quite see, about the sweet smell of cold cream."

"I relaized it for the first time in my life: there is nothing but mystery in the world, how it hides behind the fabric of our poor, browbeat days, shining brightly, and we don't even know it."

"The word is a great big log thrown on the fires of love."

"In a weird way I must have loved my little collection of hurts and wounds. They provided me with some real nice sympathy, with the feeling I was exceptional."

"Drifting off to sleep, I thought about her. How nobody is perfect. How you just have to close your eyes and breathe out and let the puzzle of the human heart be what it is."

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Friday, March 13, 2009

I've got a penny in my pocket and it's been there for awhile.


I tried it out and this is what I got.

Gosh, it really is a lot harder than it looks. Not only do you have to fight the temptation to open your eyes while the scanner's going, but you have to be careful not to scrunch your face or fog the glass with your breath. None the less, it was great fun messing around with my everyday items and the scanner.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

fml part 2

Anna who was mad

Anna who was mad, I have a knife in my armpit.When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages.Am I some sort of infection? Did I make you go insane? Did I make the sounds go sour? Did I tell you to climb out the window? Forgive. Forgive.Say not I did.Say not.Say.Speak Mary-words into our pillow.Take me the gangling twelve-year-oldinto your sunken lap.Whisper like a buttercup.Eat me. Eat me up like cream pudding.Take me in.Take me.Take.Give me a report on the condition of my soul.Give me a complete statement of my actions.Hand me a jack-in-the-pulpit and let me listen in.Put me in the stirrups and bring a tour group through.Number my sins on the grocery list and let me buy.Did I make you go insane? Did I turn up your earphone and let a siren drive through? Did I open the door for the mustached psychiatristwho dragged you out like a gold cart? Did I make you go insane? From the grave write me, Anna! You are nothing but ashes but neverthelesspick up the Parker Pen I gave you.Write me.Write.

Anne Sexton

Fuck.Fuck.Fuck...Fuck my life.

I want to be a writer! I have so much going on in my head and life that's worth writing (and reading) about. Yet, while I can write well, I can't translate that stuff into a plot worth pursuing.
"But you - you go ahead, go on, go on back down into the graveyard, lie down where you think their faces are; talk back to your old bad dreams." - Anne Sexton

“I have been in Sorrow’s kitchen and licked out all the pots. Then I have stood on the peaky mountain wrapped in rainbows, with a harp and a sword in my hands.” —Zora Neale Hurston

“The purpose of art, including literature, is not to reflect life but to organize it, to build it.” —Yevgeny Zamyatin (The Goal, ca. 1926)

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am.” —Sylvia Plath

“Wanted: a needle swift enough to sew this poem into a blanket.” —Charles Simic

“Language is a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to, while all the time we long to move the stars to pity.” —Gustave Flaubert

“Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It’s that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that’s what the poet does.” —Allen Ginsberg

“Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.” —Carl Sandburg

Monday, March 2, 2009

Did I fly too close to the sun as a child?

Because I'm really fucking idealistic. and I love it.

When I grow up, I want my loft to look like this: