(Some latent Post)

If I hung on your every word, I’d surely get tired and fall down…

My birthday is technically tomorrow (its 12:05AM Thursday) but its still Wednesday in my mind since I’m up studying for my damn Art History final. Thank god for my wonderfully random photographic memory that I’m not quite sure how I acquired given that on some days I can hardly recall what I did two hours prior. Either way, I hope it does not fail me tomorrow…

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24 years ago day I was born. After a whopping 36 hours of labor and a traumatic birth, yours truly (that’s me) was born into this world. I still don’t think it’s recovered. I don’t much care for birthdays. The majority of people that I wanted to surround myself with were gone. Jon – London. Dan – DCish. Carlee & Amy – California (A big two fingers for that Cali). My mom said that I would have had a better birthday in London, I’m quite inclined to agree though, I would have had to take a handful of people across the pond with me to make anything worth while. I was flooded with phone calls and messages and posts saying happy birthday, which was quite nice. I was also rolling around in my bed until 4pm aside from the occasional venture to the toilet to puke my guts up. Dry heaving… haven’t done that in a while. It’s terrible, cold and clammy while sweating and shaking with tears mixed with mascara going down your face and the intermittent swears that managed to escape between boughts of heaving. I have class that is comparable to none.
Dan rang me and we talked for a bit, I quite enjoy our talks. I think I might have still been intoxicated slightly. Nothing to be done about that really. While writhing around my phone went off, it was boy. “Happy birthdaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaae,” it read. *smiles while trying to not throw up* He then posted an in-utero fetus on my facebook, gross, and charming at the same time. Reminded me of the exhibit that is going on at the Saatchi right now, which I’ve not been to, but WILL go to, dragging him along, willingly I assume. So interesting and quirky and completely… him.
ANYHOW, enough of that dribble. Tonight will be far less drunk happeningage than last night. I was 1234235 sheets to the wind by the end of my set. Fucking terrible. Gin & gin & more gin. I have no idea how it all happened to quickly either. And BOOM – massive drunk. Teebee or Meat Katie? Not keen on being about the CoB. Teebee sounds fab. Drum & Bass and friends. I’m inclined to say that it will be sexy. For now, I’m going to eat sushi with my great friend since the others opted out of birthday dinners. They can piss off, psh.

Sunday the piercing will commence. Sadist.

“Sometimes people loose interest in things they can’t touch.”
Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe fuck yourself…

I want to lick you up like an ice cube on a hot summer day.

So, we were walking to the campus parking lot today to go up to Kerry Hall and as we’re making our way down the alley by the Mystery Machine a sea of about 25-30 people come screaming out from around the corner of the building in front of us. Clad in pajamas and other weird assortments of clothing, all were wearing red clown noses and various forms of face paint with their own terrifying facial expression to set it off just right. Some were prancing around in circles while others walked as if they couldn’t bent at the joints, others carried themselves as if they were barely evading seizures or just flat out had Downs. It was like zombies on crack! As if the teacher had given the assignment of “act mentally handicapped and run through the streets of Seattle.” I wish I had been quicker with my camera phone because it was unlike anything I’ve seen before. Hilarious and at the same time I was thinking in the back of my head “can they DO this? Isn’t someone going to get pissed off?”
Sean and I lamented, expression our desire for a class where we could run through the streets and essentially be ourselves, add zentai suits to the mix and you have yourself a first class freak show. Set it off

I’m not a fan of a geographical disadvantage. Its a frustrating feeling, also called “gay” in some instances. Not a fan of not having control with things like that. Militant baller, I am a Taurus after all.
Almost done with Cornish, I think I’ll feel better once I don’t have this hanging over my head. I’m doing well at staying motivated even though I really don’t have to do anything if I didn’t want to. What it comes down to is that I’ve paid ~$25k to go here, and I’ll be damned if I don’t get my money’s worth, as much as they’ll let me.
It’s sunny outside. I’m pasty white. I need a situation that needs to be taken advantage of…

I want to float away on the rays of the sun to a sandy beach in space where twilight never falls and the stars are always shining bright in daylights warm embrace.

NO! We really don’t. This has been a weekend that varied from the norm substantially.

Friday Night::
Drunk grocery shopping, albeit one of the more entertaining things in life, is honestly not the best idea… at 2:30 in the morning no less (Hopefully no one goes drunk grocery shopping during the day). Why? Because you end up spending a decent amount of money on foodstuffs that you would NEVER eat when you’re sober.
I recall laughing so hard that I fell over in the cheese aisle. The fact that we were running around with a box of Life (Cereal) was the pinnacle of irony and hilariousness to the 3 of us. And smooshing my face between to cans of Heinz beans (English breakfast style) brings Amy to tears (duly noted).
We stole some flowers, and some yogurt covered pretzels. What a rush.

Saturday Night::
Roni Size isn’t that great, though the few of us who knew what real drum and bass is went on a little trip down memory lane with Brown Paper Bag, and then stood there with a complete look of disgust and disinterest as the dance floor erupted to the sounds of clown-step and terrible wobble (Dear Roni, beat match next time xoxo). “I know what would make this better” I leaned over and yelled in to Carlee’s ear. She rolled her eyes at me. Bitch.
I decided that MC Dynamite will be my friend when I move to London. Why? Not the slightest clue. He could be a giant prick for all I know… I suppose we’ll see.

On another note::
I distinctly recall myself saying to a friend on Friday night, “Gin is not made to be shot. You should never take shots of Gin…
Guess what I did Saturday night? Yeah, we took shots of Gin… Gordon’s nonetheless.
“But its London’s Finest!”
“Shut up Carlee!”
We were standing in the breezeway of my complex around Amy’s trunk. Across the road 3 floors up, 5 “gentlemen” (and I use the term loosely. They were not men, by ANY standards, calling them boys would work if we were basing it off intellect) were crowded onto their balcony, drinking and watching our every move. We all looked smashing so really, who wouldn’t. Anyway… the faces we made were by face the most atrocious I’ve seen in quite some time. “I think I’m going to throw up!” Carlee said. The majority of following phrases consisted of various swears and stomping the ground as if it would somehow get the taste of pure pine trees out of our mouths. It did not. My last and unfortunate swig of the evening went down… then came right back up onto the breeze ground. I have to say, I’m quite impressed with myself. Pure gin, in and then out like the fountains outside of Caesars Palace in Vegas. It happened in slow motion too. It looked pretty cool. I wish I could have gotten a picture. Liquid suspended in midair. I stopped, looked at the ground and then burst into laughter while Amy and Carlee stared in awe. I don’t think the idiots up on the 3rd floor realized the awesome that had just occurred. I also had to explain to Carlee that I am not a pussy and just spit it out, that in fact, I threw it up. Hardcore enough to take the shot AND bring it right back up, taste it twice. Okay this is disgusting and we are all a bunch of classes whores on a stupid Saturday night. DONT SHOOT GIN!

I went through all my vinyl today (Getting ready to off a bunch of it).
Vinyl is heavy it will attribute to moving costs, and I don’t play it, so fuck that.
It was a mix of hilarity and horror as I rediscovered some of my not so good music choices, and a bit of nostalgia listening to records I hadn’t heard in years. Some of them, I’m going to forget that I ever bought, some god awful shit. I must have been drunk and record shopping.
They don’t make Nu Skool like they used to. That was why I liked to play breaks.
Now its just boring, and you can’t really run around playing records that are 4+ years old anyway.
Times, they are a changing. There are better things in life.

I realized last night, although Carlee and I live together, we have to do most of our catch up on the phone. Strange. Don’t take the lion personally. They often get caught up chasing their own tail.

I worked at the club tonight… it was a memorial for this guy Troy that I’d met a few times. He was beat to death in downtown Seattle after accidentally hitting a girl in the face. “Rumor has it” there was an altercation between two men and Troy, they got physical and when Troy swung, said women stepped in the way and was accidentally hit. The opposing men proceeded to beat the living hell out of him and as far as I know he was then in a medically induced coma in ICU until he passed about a week later…

I remember the last time I’d seen him, almost exactly a year ago on my birthday. We’d gotten fucked the night before, still up, and it was beautiful and sunny out… I wanted to go outside but I refused to put on my tennies. Troy offered a piggy back ride, I accepted and thus rode around on his back for a good 10 – 15 minutes in the morning sunshine. We chatted. It was comfortable. I told him I thought he was a fucking prick the first time I met him, but that he seemed alright now. And that was that.

I’m sad because no one should ever have to die in such a way. I have a hard time dealing with the death of people I know, even if it’s not a close connection, its still affecting… He was a lot more creative than I was aware, and in photos that were placed around the club (not the photos of him off his tits) but the REAL photographs, it conveyed a part of him that was a bit more obscure, a bit more gentle and real. Not upset I never got to know him better than I did, but I could tell that there were a lot of heavy hearts there tonight. A lot of sadness. Also a lot of fucked up people who had no other idea of how to cope, I thought it quite lame.

That aside, I’m fucking pissed, I found out he has an 11 year old son. So fuck him for being out every weekend, fuck him for being out at after hours night clubs getting twacked out on glass and whatever else came his way. Fuck him for not being a responsible father and spending the weekends with his son to form a relationship that would be paramount to his son’s growth as a person. You were thirty-fucking-seven years old man… fuck you for not growing up and realizing that you have a responsibility to your CHILD to be a proper role model and set the bar for them in their life and interactions with others. Fuck you to hell. When you have a kid, your life as you know it changes. New flash, fucking twats. Grow up.

I was happy that there were so many people who came to support and appreciate his life, I could on some level, but nothing as intimate as the many who were there. It was nice to see that people can rally for support and a good cause. Shitty to see something has to come to this to bring people together.

It was an interesting mix of emotions that I encountered tonight. Fine and carrying on my merry way as a cocktail waitress in a shitty night club at first, almost brought to tears at another point, pissed off and fuming at another, and emotionally satisfied by the appreciation of people for another ones life. Still, I’m rather disappointed. I find it selfish. I hope I don’t turn out like that.

I should be in bed. Good to work and make some money. But I have class tomorrow. Met an interesting man tonight as well. A friend of Shannon’s. We all sat at the table inhaling smoked salmon as if we’d not eaten in months. Talking shit back and forth and inventing new words such as “Pook” and insinuating slightly racial insults at any given opportunity. Carlos, but he doesn’t speak Spanish.

This salmon isn’t sitting well….
PS.. I got my fill of cheese and then some. I don’t think that is sitting well either… Ughh.

Sometimes… I try to tell myself you’re an asshole, but then you make me laugh. It’s really rude of you. I’m trying to not like you. Well… not really. But I’m trying to make it easier, so… so there.

At random, at large…
We had a fire drill today. Which was fantastic because I was late for class, but it didn’t count. Honestly, I could have slept in for another 15 minutes and still been okay. We stood outside in a circle around Sean’s art toolbox. Raul pretended to pray to it while I talked shit about theater majors, who were probably standing all around me. Too early in the morning to care. They’ll do me in eventually.
Apparently when they have a fire drill at my college they lock all the doors except one… Read it again, THEY LOCK ALL THE DOORS EXCEPT ONE! HOW this is, in any way, a source of efficient means for getting mass numbers of people OUTSIDE of a hypothetically burning building baffles me. Why would you lock all the doors to the outside of the building and bottleneck all foot traffic through a stair well that can barely fit two ‘averaged’ (by American standards) sized people side by side. 7 floors, lots of students, some fat, some not. The stairwell is dubious at best. “We would have all died, they said you HAD to go out the 3rd floor, very slow” Connor explained to me. Why shuffle up 3 flights of stairs to safety when there is a perfectly good exit not 15 feet away. Why have all the signs? You people… are stupid. Little orange vests don’t make you any more important. Where do you even find the time to put those on if we’re supposed to evacuate post haste?

Tonight, I get to throw myself into the onslaught of drunk known as Pioneer Square on a Thursday. At least this time I will be making the monies rather than spending them.

Note: I want cheese.

The amount of talk that people do without any sort of follow-through from large scale topics to the finer details of life is sorely disappointing. Then I get irritated at myself for thinking anything would come of it. Not even in my benefit but rather for the sheer fact of something coming to fruition when someone speaks as if it were such.
Pathetic really. A turn off.

In one of my finer moments this morning, I explained my next assignment in the following words: We have to make a cocoon and basically do interpretive fucking dance to get out of it… for DESIGN FUNDAMENTALS.
Basically this “emergence” is supposed to show our personal growth. The concept makes sense, and I actually find it interesting. I just don’t think I’m too keen on the idea of wrapping myself up in stretchy fabric to recreate some sort of birth, at least not sober? I think drunk emergence will be far more poignant and in the moment than some sort of shy, overly deliberated act of consciousness.
It will be heavy, dramatic… lots of hair spray and other random shit… Yeah. I’ll leave this College with a bang. Or just scare the living hell out of follow classmates with my overactive imagination.

PS. Jackson Pollock is mildly annoying.
Boy showed me a few interesting artists last night. Amazing.

www.jroper.co.uk
www.jamesjean.com – I especially like this work.

Fuck you Thursday.
Fuck you Friday.
Saturday… was uneventful, still is… it’s just technically Sunday.
I realized what I twat I am for thinking auto gain was a good idea on my Empath, for the past FEW MONTHS! Idiot! That’s why I thought everything sounded like shit and was getting louder and quieter. Because it was. It kept pissing me off… for months. Then tonight while I was playing, A sudden epiphany as to what AUTO gain actually is. Fucking retarded, I don’t know why I’m allowed to breathe sometimes.

I continue to sit here, contemplating, why oh why, I cannot make a good drum loop to save my fucking life… Good thing my life doesn’t need saving at the moment, or I’d be absolutely fucked. Fucked, I tell you. Like a horse trying to put an egg together. Or a goose trying to sew a quilt. Yes. Just like that.

After a nagging hesitation to stay indoors last night, against my better judgment I ventured out into the night with Thing 1 and Thing 2. Keoki was headlining the main room, and Db in the second? Why we decided to go out to flail on the dance floor to Keoki is completely beyond my realm of comprehension. I assume its the same reason that everyone else there had; Because its something to do. Upon entering the Blue Room, I immediately put my ear plugs in, partly because the sound in there is just absolutely SHIT, regardless of how many times they ‘re-tune’ the damn system (monkeys cannot be sound men, please note) and also because I was hoping my ear plugs would simply drown out the music and people around me. Lastly, I do like being able to hear, and I’m trying to keep it that way.
I kept thinking to myself, “I know what would make this better…”

I wandered around aimlessly looking for someone I knew, then realized I probably didn’t want to see them anyway… I then stood there holding my gin & tonic with both hands, wide stance, staring up at the booth with a glazed look upon my face. Just as I was about to scan the crowd for an unwanted familiar face some random man with a decent sense of style came up to me, “Hi my name is -(I’d already stopped listening at this point).” I responded with “Hi, I’m Kelly.” Why? I have no clue… I then introduced myself as Kelly to every random who accosted me for the rest of the night. He said something to me, probably phase two, which is the whole “how was your night” jargon. I smiled and said it was fine, and that I had to go find my boyfriend. A very invisible, non-existent boyfriend. I wasn’t in the mood to tell anyone to fuck off last night, too much effort. Wasted effort at that.
Ran into my ex, thought to myself “why?” and probably accidentally let a look of puzzlement and confusion escape onto my face. Idle banter back and forth for a bit, I gave him massive amounts of shit for basically being himself. The brat. Throwing insults is the only type of communication he really understands I think. Unless its operation Get In Pants, and then he broadens his topics of conversation slightly. His lip is re-pierced. I don’t even think I care. He just pointed it out to me because I didn’t notice, even though its rather obvious, and on his face… I think if he had a cock on his face I probably wouldn’t notice. Okay, maybe that, I would notice, but that’s not the point. There really wasn’t a point. Wasteful. I think I was trying to waste the night away out of sheer boredom. I suppose I have the intention of maintaining civil ground, but beyond that I don’t expect anything nor want anything… I can’t even remember what we talked about, how rude of me. Meh… Flippant.

Wandering back and forth from room to room. The owner bought me a Gin & Tonic, nice Guy. No, that’s really his name. Guy. True story. Kind enough to get my a strongly poured double. Not like I really needed it, we’d had a few shots before leaving (vodka + brown sugar + orange juice. still tastes like plain vodka. Gross) with the mentality that drinking would be cheaper that way. It never is, you spend the exact same amount of money and drink just as much, you just get to the make-an-ass-out-of-myself phase at light speed rather than a gradual degradation of moral fiber, judgment and the ability to formulate coherent sentences or even words. I went up in VIP for a moment, but its not really VIP because anyone can get up there honestly… I managed to find someone that I wanted to see. My little B, we chatted a bit then I sauntered back down to the Drum & Bass room where I watched Db spill a water bottle on the Allen & Heath, literally frying it and killing the sound and what little vibe he had going on in there. Good, I hate that mixer. Who the fuck really needs or wants a 4-ban EQ anyhow? To my dismay they had another one in the back. Pioneer 800 anyone? Hell, a 600 will do. Maybe next time I’ll set up a water bottle accident. They can only have so many Allen & Heaths in the back. I took all the knobs off a mixer once, in hopes they had to get a new one if it was knob-less to the point of not working. Shitty Rane something or other from the stone age, oddly enough that club had a plethora of the same mixer in the back too… what the hell Seattle?

I digress (Constantly). Back into the drum & bass room. Mixer: Dead. Vibe: Also dead. Roommate: Found.
“I feel fat, I’m bored… you’re not bored… are you.”

“Nooo!” she squeals with delight.
I think I shrugged then went off to entertain myself, which is code for, I went off to find another alcoholic beverage. I got lost somewhere along the way, and then found myself and Thing 1, Thing 2 was very drunk when we managed to locate her. Luckily she prefaced the night with a statement to let us know that she would probably be communicating more so in noises than actual English diction. Staying true to her word, we found her in all her squeaking and bleeping glory. Why we stayed til 2, I am not sure… it was uninspiring and annoying seeing the same people drinking the same drinks, dancing on the same dance floor of the same club every fucking weekend (Thursday night). Don’t get me wrong, I love dancing, and going to have a drink and a dance. But I’m much more selective about when. I suppose we all need a random drunk Thursday every now and again… Do something with your life. Try something new. Thank you. Good day.

“I bet we met on a playground in another life”
(That will teach you to wipe your nose with my chocolate!)

She looked over in eager agreement, peanut butter cup in mouth, and nodded excitedly. Yeah, that’s our life together. Most people think we might have a very strange living arrangement, I suppose from an outsiders point of view it is. I see nothing odd about it. We live in a one bedroom, the couch is for guests, of whom we have a lot. Whether its weekend ‘custody’ of the little sister, or a myriad of other friends either too drunk to go home or just not inclined to leave our awesome presence. Luckily I have a king sized bed, which is the size of small country with an extra fluffy pillow top mattress, which means I cant even tell I’m sharing a bed with anyone. We have one master key. We also happen to be ninjas. And have managed to evade detection from our landlord for some time. Although, I really think he does know and doesn’t give a shit. He did tell me to sneak my cats into the building since there was a no pet policy when I moved in.

I walked into casa de la onset back in December to find a girl seated atop the counter drinking wine out of a champagne flute. “Hi, you like wine?” “Yes.” “I think we’ll be great friends.” Truer words have never been spoken. I then proceeded to put a half rack of beer on my head and drink wine through a straw out of a steel nalgene. Cease was in complete shock that my head could fit inside a 12-pack. I’ve known this for a long time. Its my secret weapon, when coupled with the boots.
A few dinners and countless glasses of wine (over the next month mind you) and another simple conversation came about.

“I need to move the fuck out of my mom’s house.”
“I need a roommate, its a one bedroom, but you can make a mess and you don’t have to clean it up!”
“Really?”
“Yeah! Move in!”
“You sure? Okay.”

That was that. Sounds irrational, probably poorly planned, but we’ve living happily ever after ever since.
My permanent groupie, she lovingly comes with me everywhere I go, because we create awesome, and I would just look bad without her. We stand in the corner drinking gin & tonic or whatever is cheap. Brooding over bad music and stupid people who seem to come alive in the night, akin to zombies, but with less brain power. Delighted in each others company, we could have fun on a road trip before we ever hit the road. In fact, we do. What do we do on the weekends? Sometimes, Nothing… other times… everything. I’m her biggest fan, we have adventures in life quite constantly. Joint excursions to procure traffic cones and odd assortments of food at random hours of the night. A shared interest in good red wine, intelligent conversation, toilet humor and fantastic music… we’re constantly surpassing our own level of cool, pushing each other to the brink of productive insanity. And sometimes we just like to get drunk and run through the streets yelling “CUNT” as loud as we possibly can… I think that everyone should come a bit unhinged every once in a while. I find it quite liberating. It’s good for you. Being sane all the time, is just well… boring.

“I forgot you hide the peanut butter in the fridge!”

“I’m going to go dodge Green Peace & ACLU”
“I could draw a swastika on your forehead!”

Okay, so the title wasn’t supposed to be that dramatic, but I couldn’t think of anything else and I suppose that it IS, in fact, a very monumentous moment for me.
It was this moment, that started the beginning of the rest of my life, so to speak. My choice and sole decision to make a move and do something different. Just over 4 months later I have completely altered the path that I have chosen, in a very drastic way, and I couldn’t be happier.

Word of the Day

(Dictionary.com)

Thursday January 1, 2009

wanderlust

/ WON-der-luhst /, noun:
a strong desire to wander or travel
(Serendipitous!)

I find lately that I am just going through the motions of my life. Doing the things I “need” to do b/c of just that: I NEED to do them. Frankly, I find that dehumanizing and very lackluster and not representing the person that I know I am. Bouts of insecurity drenched in self loathing seem to be more consistent and eating away at the foundation of myself. Within recent days and a profound conversation with a dear friend of mine, I have come to realize a lot of things about myself, and also come to the understand that there is a whole lot that I don’t know about myself or have forgotten. I’ve finally been able to come to terms with the idea that I am partially comprised of less than desirable traits as well as thought patterns. I feel that it is time to actually *do* something about it rather than just hoping that eventually a solution to things will present itself and things will “magically” fall back into place. (Puzzles don’t put themselves together: Idiot) In my local surroundings I find that external influences are much too pervasive for the time being, and I am unable to sift through other peoples opinions and “advice” to uncover my own.

With all that to reflect upon, I’ve taken it upon myself to make efforts to “fix” these “problems.” Finding solace in solitude. I’m a firm believer that it is easiest find yourself in the dark. So…. I’ll be leaving for Paris on the 3rd. Why Paris? I’m not quite sure. My passport has been giving me a come hither gaze for some time now and my wanderlust has gotten to a point of insatiable. I also like the slight irony of being in the “City of Love” completely alone. Perhaps I’ll be able to fall back in love with myself while I’m there. Its the farthest place away that I can afford to go (if by afford, I mean willing to rack up on my credit card). I don’t know any French. Well…. rather, I know…. “Hello”/”Goodbye”/”I am tired”/the word “cheese” & “I am a little cat.” I’ve been warned to avoid using “cheese” & “cat” in the sentence.

I find it rather romantic to be wandering around a city… country I’ve never been to; no phone, no computer, just me. I’m looking forward to losing myself for hours upon hours in the Louvre and wandering aimlessly through Paris streets have no idea what conversations are being had around me. The idea of being under the ocean for 2+ hours on a train going 190+ MPH scares the hell out of me yet I am confident that I will be overcome with my curiosity to know how it feels. Hopefully by this drastic change of being thrown out of my comfort zone for a bit, into considerable jet lag and complete social alienation I’ll be able to find a little piece of myself again.

With all that being said, if you happen to be in Paris (or London) or a Surrounding area with ample/easy access to either of those places, perhaps I could be talked into a cup of tea or a non-conventional “tour” of said area.

Cheers to the Journey Inward….

To Whom It May Concern:

As many of you in the faculty are aware, I have been traveling to Europe over the past few months, mainly London, in search of myself, and my passions in life. In my time spent in London I have discovered unmatched inspiration that has carried over in my personal life as well as my art and academia.
After careful thought and consideration in all aspects of my career in the arts, I have made the weighted decision to continue my education at University of the Arts London, London College of Communication. As of this past Saturday, I have been accepted to the university and am making preparations to start in the fall of this year. While Cornish is an amazing college with great academic standing, which I am proud to have been a part of for this past year, I feel that my education would benefit most from studying at University of the Arts London.
That being said, I would like to extend a huge thank you to all the professors and staff who have fostered my education and encouraged me to grow both personally and as a designer. I cannot thank you enough for all the experiences I’ve had and knowledge I’ve obtained. Moreover, thank you for your continued support when I was not sure if I would be able to continue my education here during this spring semester.
In conclusion, I must inform you all that I will be withdrawing my attendance at Cornish College of the Arts after the completion of this semester. I appreciate all the hard work you have put into the education of students here, including myself. I wish you all the best in the years to come. If there are any questions in regards to my withdrawal, please do not hesitate in any way to be in touch.

Sincerely,

(My Name Here)

I have officially been accepted to London College of Communication at University of the Arts London, for a Bachelors of Fine Art in Graphic & Media Design.

If we’re just going off the number of words alone, that’s quite the accomplishment in and of itself.
But beyond that, I’m quite pleased with the progress I’ve made in getting accepted, the drive it took me to do that, and the success of it all.

I’m flying through the air in a little metal tube the size of a greyhound bus, a greyhound bus with wings. There is a lot of turbulence, and I have to say, I quite like it. We’re getting tossed around like a child’s ball during a game of monkey in the middle. The plane dips and I feel light. A floating sensation. People around my look slightly alarmed, but inside I’m throwing up my hands into the air as if I were on a roller coaster or Splash Mountain. The air patterns closer to the ground threw us around a bit sideways too… Much like a car stuck on ice. It reminds me of when I used to fly, well… not the tumbling about part, but we used to go up (my dad & I) and fuck around with 0 G. Climb and climb in our little twin prop. until we decided it was time to descend. Nose down, and not a gentle decline, we went DOWN, and we went down fast. We’d sit the flight book in my lap, and soon it would be floating at face level. We were astronauts. Just like we’ve always been. Drifting off into space, searching for something more, something beyond us. Like Dark Matter, it’s there, you just can’t see it. Now if I can just learn how to land. I’ve never been good at landing… anything. Never coming down. There is a freedom of being high, and you can take this in whichever context you choose, its subjective and multi-faceted. When you can see everything from above, no roads to follow, drifting about through the clouds. Conquering a space that is not fit for everyone.

I got caught up in recent memories of his mannerisms and tone on the first leg of my flight, a red eye doesn’t leave time for much else other than to be alone with my thoughts. To lazy to watch a movie on the laptop, too uncomfortable to sleep, so I sat there with my head against the window watching movies in my head. I see dimples. Some random flailing arm movements followed by a cheeky smile, a boyish laugh as if to indicate he’s pleased with himself.

Today could be the biggest day of the rest of my life, or it could crush my hopes and dreams and I would then consider walking into the ocean with weights strapped to my feet one of the best ideas I’ve ever conjured up in this little head of mine.
The man next to me is typing in French. I’m assuming he can read English, fuck, everyone can. It’s Americans who are too stupid and unmotivated to make any effort to understand anything but our own way of life. A nice little bubble we have so strategically confined ourselves within. A safety net of television feeding us useless bullshit, turning people into mindless drones with no sense of self, personal drive or conviction. Perhaps I draw on it to motivate myself to get the hell away from it. Like I was trying to avoid the child on the plane prior. She was ill, and coughing nonstop. Except it didn’t sound like a cough, with each massive exhale, the sound she created was akin to some sort of exorcism. I badly wanted to sample it and find use for it, but a) I didn’t/don’t have any recording equipment at home or on me that would be able to get a high quality sample. And b) probably more important, I don’t think her mother would have understood or appreciated what I was trying to do. “Your daughter sounds like a demon, do you mind if I sample that tragic noise that she’s been producing from her throat throughout the entire flight?” Thank you, come again. Yeah… umm… no.

The airports have become a second home for me. I find comfort in watching people walk by to travel to some far off distant place, or maybe somewhere completely boring. When I was little I would see cars driving late at night and wonder where they must be going. Clearly they had somewhere important to be if they needed to travel into the wee hours the morning to get there. I always wondered what, who, when, where and why.
Last night I was the crazy pink haired girl sitting at the terminal wine bar talking to myself (my computer) while sipping on a glass of Argentinean Malbec. In truth, I was on Skype, being quizzed by my comrade for my portfolio review. It’s reassuring to know that I have others who are so supportive and want me to do well. When it comes down to it, I’m confident in myself and that’s all that matters, but it’s always nice to know that people are there with you on certain matters. Moreover, we’ve never met, but based on a recommendation from a solid source, the friendship has proven itself to be quite “kick ass” for lack of a more eloquent term. Mind you, I’ve slept for about 3 hours in various ‘cirque de solei’-like positions. Window seat exit row; albeit nice, is still not everything its cracked up to be. I had nowhere to prop my feet, except against the emergency exit door, which I was not about to do. The idea of accidentally opening the hatch and getting sucked out of the plane 30,000 ft above the ground is slightly less than appealing to me. It would be quite cold too, and I’m really not a fan of being cold. This airplane, on the other hand, is too hot. Maybe we’re headed straight to hell, that’s why. Heaven must be cold, and we must be going to hell because I’ve been rejected from Heaven. Fuck it. Seems cold and boring anyhow. And who the hell would want to hang out with 72 virgins… Annoying. It’s quite the inopportune time to be heading to hell though, come to think of it. The roommate and I planned to go together. And she’s obviously not here (or I would be bantering away with her, annoying everyone in a 15 foot radius, and not writing this).
“This plane is going straight to hell.”
“I want a window seat”
“That’s fine, I’ll be running up and down the aisles screaming and flailing”
There is none of that going on this time.

Apparently we’re set to land already. I thought this would have taken longer…
It’s like taking easy jet from Paris to London, annoying, but necessary.
And its not that easy. Maybe I’m just doing it wrong or the French hate me. Its okay, Paris smells funny.

Until then.

Everything is bigger when you’re looking through the eyes of a mouse.

Tacos and port. Chocolate cheesecake. The renegade pile-in clown car trip for sweets was a godsend. Amidst the food coma and port induced silliness we (all 6… 7? of us) made the executive decision to make haste to the sweetshop. Upon emerging from the poorly illuminated stairwell of my building, Amy took off into the night as we squinted through the rain to see what the commotion of car alarms and flashing lights really was. Her car & her alarm vs. Their tow truck. Glitter, a soft voice, and a stunning face can do so much for the situation as she can sweetly prove on a consistent basis. Upon the salvation or her car we continued our trip to candy mountain. Passing Rebecca’s car we find another parking “cop” beginning the ticket and tow process… really??? It was like Jesus Christ resurrected his army of parking fairies and sent them off into the night to find ANYONE in violation of the rules of the road. 1 down, 2 in process, and now we’re off to check on Shoko’s car. Luckily enough, a bookstore parking lot is a safe haven… Parking fairies must not know how to read, terrified of it probably. It was like reverse recon, instead of picking up hostages, we were dropping persons off in their respective locations to check to see if their most prized (rather, most expensive) possession was in imminent danger of being taken captive against its will. Safe.

When you’re full of cheesecake, it seems like a fitting idea to put on your candy apple blue (is that even a real color?) electro shades (you know, the ones with the slits in them that really serve NO purpose other than to make you look “cool” by night, and give you a shutter like suntan/burn across your face by day, yes those ones) and check in online for my overnight flight to Boston, Mass. via Philadelphia, PA. “Window seat exit row UuUUUhhhNn!” *gang signs* It’s the glasses, I swear)
Tomorrow I will get to see first hand if it is, in fact, ALWAYS Sunny in Philadelphia. I shall report my Intel to home base as soon as I have sufficient and conclusive evidence on the matter.
Until then, I am off to dream of pirate ships and Neoclassic art that have been adequately burned into in my skull through the relentless onslaught of slides this morning in my Art History class.

The tide came in, sweeping up shells in its wake and returning them to the sea. Jellyfish spent their last moments upon the shore, akin to semi-deflated balloons with navy innards.
My skin feels balmy, kissed with an ocean breeze of salt and refined sand. As the sun plays hide-and-seek with the beach, the steady hum of the bass resonates through the ground into my lowlaying ears. Coupled with the crashing of the waves, a lullaby for giants adrift in the sky…

Welcome to Miami: where everybody is somebody, at least for tonight…
Glamour and stilettos, lackluster and plastic. Perfection in a candy-coated shell. Sugar always melts in the rain. Seattle prevalence. We don’t need no stinking umbrellas.
Note to self: Fuchsia and Black hair is a massive conversation starter. Maybe with a dash of intelligence… but come 6am on the South Beach strip, its quite hard to find. Hype Hype Hype, show me your follow through, take me with out, if you’re actually going somewhere.

In the capable hands of my transatlantic loves. “we’ll take care of you darling,” they said. Misery might love company, but so does a fantastic time. We’ve been lucky to form the latter. *Birds* of a feather flock together. I just happen to be the token American. 4/4 and booty breaks as far as the eye can see, as long as you can last on your feet. I found my solace at 90 degrees in a smoke filled arena that had my blood pumping at 175bmp, a brief sanctuary from the disenchantment of it all… Home.

Your pixelation defragmentation will be the death of me.

“I recognized your scarf” (And I thought to myself, but I never wore it around you…)

I want to bury my face in my suitcase, remnants of scent drift faintly from an article or two…

A movie theater. The location? I’m unsure of. A suburban area with nicely trimmed and cared for hedges along the cement sidewalk. There were 5 of us… Jon, Aker, someone who’s name was not mentioned but I’m inclined to assume was Dan, the stateside one. Myself and one other female (Carlee perhaps? The name Annie comes to mind, which is odd. No one I’ve met before).
It was night time so everything had a purple-ish tint aside from the streetlights that shone brightly throughout, lighting up the scenes. Inside the movie theater we were not watching a movie, there wasnt even one playing. We were all just standing amidst the aisles; talking, joking… I recall seeing a large soda posted on the arm rests of one of the rows of seats. he was wearing a green zip-up outer jacket with a grey hoodie underneath, nice fitting jeans. Aker was clad in what he wore in the photograph of him and Jon molesting some poor dogs (giant, orange and stuffed, mind you) at some bar stateside. I can recall what Dan or the other girl was wearing, nor myself.
We made our way from inside the theater through the emergency exit doors and out into the street at the back of the theater. Milling and joking around, our interactions were reserved yet flirty, eye contact was a constant, the occasional “push” as a satirical insult or jest was exchanged.
…I recall nothing more…

During my nap today… Carlee came home… I was in the bed and she said “I’ll be back later” I heard her laugh, must have been because I was in all my clothes from my aimless and pointless walk around the block. Then since I was laying atop a made bed she flipped the covers on either side of me up and over, and then places a towel/blanket (?) on top of those. While she was on her side of the bed -the way I was facing- to move the blankets over me could see her with my eyes closed. And now on to the next again…

I was at my Aunts house, but it wasn’t my Aunts house. The kitchen led to a laundry room right past the den on the right if you were exiting the kitchen. Past the Laundry room was the from entrance and the stairs to the second level. The living/reception area was to the right of the stairs over the breakfast bar. Two pastel green couches and a coffee table decorated the room with a fire place in the corner. I think the walls were red (My townhouse had red walls and a fireplace in the corner). Up the stairs you’d turn around and down the hall into a bedroom, I can’t recall the rest of the layout from the upstairs. In the bedroom there was a desk with a computer and a bed with a light blue and faded yellow striped comforter. The den downstairs was a darker room, Oak furniture with a bookcase on the outside wall right after the window. Placed in the corner. On the joining wall was an oak desk with yet another computer on it… Dark red/brown walls. I recall forest green encyclopedia books and the like being on the bookshelf. There was a lamp too, it was not on…
Prior to entering the house I was with Tom and I needed to pick up my calcium vitamins because I had run out. We were in Utah, Park City to be exact so I made him drive to the Albertsons. I told him to wait in the car as I would just be a moment. When I went to check out at the customer service desk, they rang up to be $90 dollars. In Utah in my dream apparently, there was a $20 added fee for ANYTHING USDA certified, as well as another $9.50 fee for purchasing vitamins if you were under the age of 32. The bottle was $40, even though I recalled it being less. I had him go over the details of all the added fees and decided I would buy them at home in Seattle and left. I still had some left anyway.
We then arrived at this house… and I came up to to bedroom to take my vitamins with a glass of soy milk. Tom was at the computer and then right as I went to take the pills and drink he started jumping on the bed and shaking me and laughing all the while. I started choking on the water/pills and was unable to say anything to make him stop. I tried to get away but he kept on jump. Finally, as a last resort I threw my glass and the remaining liquid at him and took off running towards the stairs. I fled down the steps into the kitchen coughing and sputtering to pour myself a glass of water to try and regain my breath and get the pills down. He came running down the stairs with a scared look on his face and I yelled at him “Fuck you! I don’t do that when I am taking my fucking vitamins! You almost killed me!” I was furious and then proceeded to throw the contents of my glass at him again. What came out of a pint glass turned into a bucket sized amount of water and soaked him.
His eyes turned read and he started screaming at me “DONT YOU EVER FUCKING THROW WATER ON ME AGAIN!!” I think I tried to run past him and he grabbed me and threw me to the ground “CLEAN THIS UP!” and he walked into the den to get on the other computer (games or something counter productive I assume). I found a few wash clothes and began to soak up the spilt water, not because he screamed at me to do so, but because it was not my house and I didn’t want to mess up anyone elses home. He somehow came down the stairs and began to yell at me again “USE PAPER TOWELS! YOU’RE NOT DOING IT RIGHT!”
I looked at him and responded “fuck you, that’s wasteful, don’t tell me what the fuck to do, I’m cleaning it up my way!” He then again walked into the den. I managed to find more wash clothes and map up the rest of the mess then went upstairs into another bedroom that was at the top of the steps. It was more a toy room than anything. Mud was covering the floor by the toy trains so I proceeded to clean up the mess as best I could. I hurried down the stairs with muddy dripping towels. Tom yelled at me again for making such a mess. I once again told him to fuck off and continued on my task of putting them into the washer in the laundry room. The lid was big and didn’t have a stop so it hit the wall when I opened it. And then I once again recall no more.

The first dream I could see relating to the present circumstances now. His friends know me, or at least about me to my knowledge, yet my friends don’t really know about him. Aker was dressed the way he was from the picture and if I recall Jon was dressed similarly from that photo as well. But with shorter hair (like it is now) and not wearing a hat. Dan… I’ve only heard of and seen snippits of conversation between him and Jon. Annie… if that was even her… is an ex he’s mentioned so I am not quite sure how she fits in there. Perhaps an ex (maybe not even her, could have been the most recent one to be honest – I didn’t see her face) is still present. His breakup was ‘recent’ so to speak. The setting was casual, nothing too formal, not a show, just a group of people hanging out, relaxed. Our interaction was reserved and guarded but clearly signs of attraction were being displayed, possibly indicating how I feel about things now, makes sense…

The second dream was just odd, it was completely realistic yet I woke up in the bed with it exactly how I went to sleep on it. cleanly made, no towels wrapped around me and absolutely freezing.

The dream with tom makes sense. I needed to go somewhere to get something and he was there to help like he always was, but exerting some extreme sense of control around me. Not happy that I was not doing things his way, he flipped out on me. Makes sense. Dumb. More so I think the fact that the surroundings were so vivid is even more important. Part of the place was my old townhouse when Joe and I lived together in Kenmore. A kitchen where I knew the placement of each appliance. Pastel green couches that my Aunt has. I’ve seen the staircase before or will see it soon…

The other night I had a weird dream too. I had both sides of my nose pierced with big spiral hoops in them with yellow studs on the outside ends. It was night time. I was dressed somewhat “DnB/Raver/Punk Rock” walking down the streets of London. I can’t recall if I was with anyone. There was a big building similar to the library that I used to go to church in, but reset in London at night with the damp cobblestone streets. As I was walking a police car pulls up and to officers get out and start harassing me. I felt in danger so I hurried myself into the building where they proceeded to give chase. After fleeing through flights of stairs I was caught by them (for which I did nothing wrong) I recall them leading my (pulling me) by grabbing my nose rings and my hair. I remember feeling immense amounts of pain and following for fear of them ripping them out. I don’t recall the finer details but I remember them basically beating the living hell out of me and then just leaving. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I honestly believe I was actually walking home from a show or some event, and they were just looking for something to do. Fucking odd. I am not quite sure how to explain this. It could possibly be an analogy for me feeling like I get the brunt end of peoples negativity for no reason sometimes, because they are bored and looking for something to do, and using me as a scapegoat has been a common occurrence in the past and as well as since I’ve started to come into my own it terms of my personal success.

I wonder what the next one will be… I went for a few weeks or so without recalling any of my dreams and now it seems like I’m working over time trying to make up for lost adventures or my imagination has been started into over activeness. Probably with all my over analyzing of things as of late my subconscious is trying to find an outlet for it all as well as make sense of what is in my head. Rational or not…

I am absolutely irritated and completely uninspired right now. And it just compounds upon my irritation to the point where I’m just pissy.
I tried making tunes, I tried painting. I’m attempting writing now and I’m sure it will be just as much of a failed attempt tonight as the last two creative endeavors…
I would like to… I honestly am not even sure what I need right now to sort all this mess in my head out. My habit of over analyzing seems to have gotten the best of me tonight.
I feel useless. though I know I’m not. Which makes it that much more lame.
I can’t even sing because I lost my voice… I feel the need to be expressive and I’ve got nothing… Nothing seems to manage to find its way out of my head to translate and become an outlet…

Weird. Just… odd…
The past week has been rather interesting. Energy has been high strung and rather strenuous from a multitude of different directions. Patience has been ever present, but that’s because there is honestly not much else of a choice.
Words whisper softly in my ear. Dreams of Sockeye salmon Nigiri and hot hair balloon rides over Paris… at least I think it might have been Paris, Montmarte to be a bit more specific. If its even relevant. Focus, distraction. I’ve got a million thoughts racing through my head, a million different ways. A place I’d like to be. A person I’d like to see. I quite dislike not being able to read body language or even an vocal inflection. Cest la vie. Communication is only partly the words that are being spoken in some instances, quite often a lot of it comes from what isn’t being said.
Some things are rather inexplicable in life. I’ve come to realize this even more so in the past month and some odd days. Being compelled in my life to change for what I think is the better, has been met with resistance from peers, onlookers, and even closer friends. But there has also been a great deal of support and encouragement from the people who do seem to understand my point of view, and the events that have lead up to this and transpired since.

Thinking leads to over analyzing leads to doubt leads to regret (in some cases)
Sometimes its best when you get the idea, to go for it. Be aware of what you want and what it takes to get it and be prepared to take risks to get it.

There is a boy in my class who has moose on his boxers. Not that I was looking, they just happen to be bright yellow and rather close. 4 glasses of wine makes you send music to people then wonder if it was truly a good idea. “Babe” when drunk should be avoided at all costs. The virtues of a slightly (okay, not so slightly) intoxicated mind are sorely lacking.
Upon walking, feeling somewhat convoluted in an attempt to recount the minute details of the night. Automatic pilot: Wash face (washing off the night before), Feeble effort at dressing myself with something that remotely (albeit pathetic) resembles matching. Stumble to the cafe, latte: check[x]. Lumber to class under the weight a laptop, newsprint and 100lb stock tablet paper.
Rinse, and hopefully not repeat… at least for another week.

Tuesdays are never a good idea.

I want someone to draw me while I’m sleeping.
I want someone to gently trace my body with their fingers to wake me up.
I want breakfast in bed.
I want to be blindfolded and taken somewhere new, somewhere outside.
I want someone to take candid shots of me in my element.
I want to be kissed in the rain.
I want to hold hands in the shadows of tall buildings.
I want to listen to loud angry music with a smile on my face.
I want someone to speak to me with their eyes.
I want to travel with the wind in my hair, almost too fast to breathe.
I want someone to walk by and softly touch the small of my back while they do so.

Maybe not just anyone…

God.
Stop being so fucking selfish.