2.26.07

my mother got married yesterday. technically, two days ago (the 24th). i rode a bus into auburn with my brother and my dad met us and took us home. i hadn't slept in over a day at that point. i'd tried to sleep the night before, and it just hadn't worked. and i'd had to catch a bus that morning at 9:00, so i'd woken up around 7:30. by "woken up", i mean gotten out of bed and decided that sleeping was no longer an option. the train ride and subsequent bus-ride went fine, and after spending a few hours with my dad, i went to my mom's wedding with my brother. both of us were equipped with our own respective umbrellas. the wedding was a florist's shop. we walked in, and our mother was upstairs with her soon-to-be stepdaughter, getting pretty, i presume. the groom and the entire family on both sides were present. we were not dressed up. i was wearing urban lazy garb and my brother was wearing a long black coat, black pants, black boots, and a black shirt. we were approached by people but were somewhat unresponsive and gripey. as soon as i walked in, i realized it was going to be hard for me to handle the whole thing. i made the i'm-about-to-cry face for a few minutes, and then when my grandmother came up to talk about me i started to actually cry, and i walked out in a mini-rage. i walked two blocks up the street and ran into my friend jake, whom i hadn't seen in months or maybe a year. he asked how i was and explained the situation, promising i didn't cry all the time. he said his mother had done the same thing, and had married someone she'd known only a few months. i asked how he was, and he said something like, "really horrible now. you totally bummed me out." he's a sweetheart and i wish i'd run into him at another time. but i'm glad someone was there to witness the ridiculousness of my state.

i stormed up the street after he walked on, and went to a coffee shop where i'd spent many post-highschool afternoons. i ordered some tea and sort of paced about, eventually getting a phone call from my brother. i told him i'd be in the cafe and that i didn't want to handle the wedding. he said something to the effect of, "it's not up to me; it's your choice". eventually i conceded and decided to head back to the wedding, but by then it was about 20 minutes after the designated start-time. i opened the door and the ceremony was already going on. it took place in a flower shop, so as i opened the door a door-chime chimed, announcing my entrance to all 20 or so people in attendance. there i was, the apparently begrudging youth showing up late for her mother's wedding that she'd almost decided not to come back to. i walked in and my mother made a face that showed she was fighting back tears. i felt a little guilty at that point. following the ceremony, my brother and i both refused to take part in the wedding photos. my grandmother came up to me again, and at that point i started to cry and said something about how i wasn't crying out of joy, as my grandmother seemed to be implying. then i left again, and walked a few blocks down the street and proceeded to call my dad. i told him i wanted to bail, and he said he couldn't come get me because he'd just ordered dinner at a restaurant with his wife. my brother came and talked to me, and we both agreed to suck it up and go to the post-wedding reception/dinner.

when i got to the restaurant, i sought out a bathroom with the intent of washing my face and such, but ended up sitting in a chair and sort of breaking down a bit. the whole thing was really hard for me, for reasons that have quite a history behind them. i hadn't cried in months, and i'd been very happy, but the event was just a really bizarre thing for me, especially since i'd only met my new stepfather once, and when i had, a lot of intense family drama had ensued. two of my mom's former coworkers were really sweet to me, and talked to me until i was ready to get my shit together and go join the dinner party. we were seated across from a nice couple from humbolt, and they were incredibly sweet. i started up conversation with them, initially because i felt bad and didn't want them to have a bad time, since my brother and i were the only people they were really seated next to (and a few of my mom's friends + her brother). i ended up actually really enjoying their company and input, and especially after a few glasses of wine i really enjoyed talking to them. i also talked a bit to anne a bit more and she seemed pretty amazingly wonderful and honest and came across as a pretty legit human being.

once i got a little bit buzzed, i started feeling a little guilty for the way i'd acted, which had really been pretty childish. i gave my mom a hug and, although i think she was initially hurt by my behavior, i know that she knows me well enough to know that i understand. she knows i don't handle change well, and i never have. i love her despite anything she and i have gone through and any disputes we've had, and even if i don't agree with her decisions, it's not necessarily my place to say so, nor am i really entitled. i tried to be as cordial as i was able, and gave out a few hugs, and ate some gourmet food and tiramisu, and then my brother and i left the reception to get picked up by our dad.

i went to bed around 8:30 that night and slept until 9:30 the next day: a peaceful and sound night of rest. my dad made us waffles in the morning, and then tried to put us on a bus which never showed up and proceeded to drive me all the way to davis. he's a good man.

i got back to davis, mellowed out a bit, and gave taylor a haircut. he said he wanted some cross between professional and non-professional, so i cut the sides really short, left the front long, and left the back slightly long but still shorter than the front. i was quite happy with my work there. he went home, and then i screwed around on the internet for a bit, talked to dana on the phone for a long time (she's a professional big-shot all of a sudden and will be able to afford more clothing than and concert tickets than myself), and then put on a gold scarf, put my hair up, put on a skirt, and went to rock it, jordan's DJ night at the grad. i never dance when i'm sober, so i mostly just talked with friends, but it was nonetheless really nice.

i got home a few hours ago and felt the way i've been feeling a lot lately: strangely happy, mostly due to the abundance of good energy that my friends seem to have, somehow even when they're having bad days.

i threw a long-ish, wordy, overly flowery email in the direction of an old friend who i never talk to anymore. i'm not sure why i still write, because he doesn't respond. but i like to think that the act of writing someone shouldn't only happen in order to recieve a response. perhaps there's something in letting someone know you care even if you will never know that they do? it's as a friend that i care, and it's with love that i care. that he knows this is all that i ask. i'd like to ask that one day all of these things in my life will make some sense, but yet i'm learning to make peace with the notion that the pieces might never fall into place and that they are somehow in place, maybe, but that i'm just not meant to understand quite how they are so. nothing is quite out of context, because everything follows everything prior. i will miss people greatly, and this kind of missing may never amount to anything, and it may never really go away, but the influence of these people will never leave my life; and those who influenced me more will continue to have profound impact on me even years after i have forgotten their laugh of their manner of blinking their eyes, or the sound of their sleeping breathing. but i hope that i never forget these things. i don't wish to change things, because i trust that people of my past do things that make them happy, and this is all i want for them. it is not in my power to judge whether someone should be a part of my life or not, even as a friend. i just want to live in such a way that i am free of regrets when i am old and full of aches and creaks.

i've a long week ahead of me. a show on thursday, which should me amazingly intimidating and yet hopefully somehow a success. also i've a lot of work to do in school. i've been excited about the future lately, particularly about the prospect of moving out of california and heading to new york, or even staying in california and moving to san francisco.

i hope that there is no delusionment involved in the act of being happy. i don't think there needs to be. every day fills me with awe as of late. it's a feeling i can't describe, and the fact that i can't directly attribute it to something makes it feel more real to me somehow; less fleeting. i've said so a lot, but it still holds true. i hope that i can have an equal exchange with the world. i would love to give to the world as much awe as it continuously gives to me.

2.26.07

why do i see people with the fucking sun in their eyes become so saddened by the world around them? it's because they have the sun in their eyes. but it's these people, who know the sun is in their eyes and yet refuse to look away, that end up knowing the sun and its magnificence better than those who don't bother to look, or those who look for a second and then look away once they realize how much it hurts, or those who look into it and refuse to really see it for what it is, or those who let themselves be blinded by it and refuse to believe that anyone else can see any of it for more than a split second because they, due to their blindness, no longer can. i've known all of these people and it is those who look into it yet refuse to be blinded by it - those who look into it and refuse to look away - that come to truly know the beauty of their world and the meaning of their world in the most astounding way. once they get used to the glare i know that they'll forget how much it can hurt and they'll dance with the others who have sun in their eyes, too. once they look at it they know there is no looking away and they know that there's no going back. perhaps they could go back if it weren't for the fact that they know that doing so is foolish and silly. but they do know this fact. and they won't look away. and it's these people who realize that they were born with the same sunlight running through their blood and immersed in their words and seeping out of every piece of the world around them.

and if they look away, they'll remember what they saw, and maybe the loss of that will pain them until they look into it again. and if they are blinded by it, maybe the last image of what they have seen will be enough to sustain them even if things seem dark. and if they refuse to look, maybe they will gaze in awe and wonder at those who are bold enough to do so, and maybe this wonder and awe will sustain them and the knowledge of something better will keep them moving until they have the courage to try to look themselves.

but what it boils down to is the truth in the following: i have faith in those people who have faith in other people, and who have faith in themselves and in the potential of human interaction and in patience and in effort. i've lost lots of pieces of sunlight in my time and i know that they're never really gone, and they're never really snuffed. and the light that's left to absorb is infinite and can make that which is lost, in time, fondly remembered due to its ability to remind the self of the inifinitude of that which is left to experience.

2.20.07

"My world is the world of a metamorphosis and paradox which are reality for me and this reality I materialize in my works. I like to be surprised and astonished , I like to surprise and astonish myself. Creativity should inspire and arouse creativeness." -Sergey Tyukanov

well, i say this: ships rattle the ribcages of the night.

*****************

...and this is my favorite poem ever. it's written by a swedish poet, gunnar ekelof, and is called "If You Ask Me":


If you ask me where i am
well i live here beyond the mountains
It is far but I am near
I live in another world
but you live in it too
It is everywhere, as rare as helium
Why do you ask for an aircraft to travel in
Ask instead for a filter for nitrogen
a filter for carbon dioxide, hydrogen and other gases
Ask for a filter for all that separates us
a filter for life
You say that you can hardly breathe
What of it! Who do you think can breathe?
Most of the time we take it equably
A wise man has said:
"It was so dark I could barely see the stars."
He only meant that it was night.



You can read Ekelof's Bio at the following website:
http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/ekelo.htm

2.20.07

my father:
there was a long period of time where i was saddened because i saw how close-at-hand a good relationship with him could be, yet i saw how far i had yet to travel to gain his trust and respect. he knows that i'm human, and prone to bouts of procrastination, and he understands that i don't really know what i'm doing any more than anyone else does, but he's willing to discuss the process with me, and he's willing to discuss music and films with me. he's willing to pick apart philosophical concepts and scientific procedures and political dynamics, and somehow to connect all of these to the things i care about and the things he cares about. it's because of my father than i have come to understand the interconnectedness of things, and the power of the arts, and the complexity of culture, and the importance of being self-sufficient and introspective yet also open in conversation and self-forgiving.

and i love music. it's my fuel and it's the plasma of my bloodstream and it's, somehow, the catalyst that has helped me to connect with most of the people that i care the most about. i feel extremely lucky. and i feel that i am standing on the edge of a valley filled with infinity. and the people that i care about have infinity in their eyes too and that's why i love them. they realize that they can do whatever they want and be anything they want, and enjoy the process of finding these things and seeking these things and dreaming/ wondering about these things.

2.17.07

my night quickly went from fake blood to very real-seeming blood, the former with regard to my disaster-party costume, and the second with regard to my dreams. i had a series of really horrifying dreams, containing more violence than any dreams i had ever before had: i'm sure of it.

the first in the series of dreams included me walking around with a male friend. i ran into someone i had previously dated, at a weird nightclub. he was in the back room, sitting on a gaudy leather couch with two girls, watching pornographic videos on a television. one of the girls was seated behind him, at a table, and the other was on the floor in front of him, naked. the one on the floor had straight blonde shoulder-length hair, and a seriously dazed expression. somehow upon seeing her i knew that she was a prositute, but she looked somewhere between drugged and pure evil. she wasn't really paying attention to the television screen, but instead had her head turned toward the boy as he sat on the couch. her lips were slightly parted, and he started kissing her, although her response was minimal. he was kissing her savagely, and she let him, but she did not respond. the whole scene was really grotesque in a way that i cannot describe.

my friend and i then found ourselves up on some sort of rocky ledge or in the heights of buildings, high above the ground at a location with a lot of vision of our surroundings. first we saw a man walk by below, and he was struck with a suitcase on the body by another man. the man kept hitting him with the briefcase, really hard, and it started knocking the skin off of the man on the ground. the beating ensued, and the man was killed. these men - the ones who had repeatedly hit the man - seemed to look around them, and as soon as they came across another person or sighted another person, they would violently beat that person to death or shoot that person to death.

this dream went on for what seemed like at least four hours, and i witnessed, in the dream, the murder of what must have been hundreds, maybe even thousands of people, all of them guilty of nothing that i was aware of, and all of them violently killed, not just as means of their elimination, but for the sport of it, and out of anger. one part of the dream that i remember distinctly involved a locker room full of girls, filling an entire floor of a building, all of them naked. one by one they were killed and beaten. snipers and men with the intent of raping them and men who just wanted to see blood. from my place high above, on a ledge or something, i was able to see all of this. i didn't want to watch, but i had to keep an eye out for my own safety so as to know where the shooters were. essentially, my dream began with hundreds, maybe even thousands of people milling about. by the end they were almost all dead, and i was surrounded by human bodies.

i have never, ever, seen so much violence and been so afraid. never in a movie; never on the news (because they don't show that kind of thing on the news); never in real life. i hope never to see that kind of violence again. but it seemed all too real.

i woke up after this, really kind of distraught. kind of more-so than i've ever been made to be by a dream. i made myself go back to sleep, and i had another dream. in this dream, i was at some kind of party. i was introduced to someone, and instead of conversing with me, they shook my hand and looked into my eyes, in a really intense manner. they said, "China. 1949." and they said some name, which i can't remember. and then they walked away.

i woke up after this, suddenly, at 7:30 a.m., unable to go back to sleep, even though i'd only gone to bed at about 5:00 a.m. or somewhere around that time. i went to wikipedia and typed in "china", and i found that the People's Republic of China, established by the Communist party of China, led by Mao Zedong, was founded on October 1, 1949. this scared the shit out of me, because although i'm sure i learned the year of the founding of the ROC at some point, i seriously doubt that i'd ever be able to relay it to someone. perhaps it was buried deep in my subconscious or unconscious. it was really eerie though. it was as if i was being sent some kind of super-intense message, and it was as if i was being shown something for a really important reason: something that no one should ever be shown.

the massacre that i witnessed seemed something not from the past, and not from the future. it seemed current. i don't know what the connection was between that and the reference to the ROC that was in my other dream. i'm convinced the dreams were connected, because the second happened shortly after the wake of the violence that had just filled my head. perhaps the two were meant to be linked as references or comparisons, or perhaps the ROC is somehow linked to the event that i witnessed in my mind.

i don't know what else to write about it. i want to shake the images of people being slaughtered from my head, but i can't do so. i guess i'll do what i always do: go to delta and get coffee and breakfast and surround myself with people that i care about.

i guess something i found online after researching mao zedung (mao tse-tung) scared me a little more than anything else. it was this quote that i found, which seemed way, way too appropriate and way too relevant for me to feel at all at ease:

"Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun." -Mao Tse-Tung

he was the central political figure in China from 1893-1976, which means he was the key political figure in the year of 1949.

i know that i learned a lot about all of this in highschool, when i worked for Students For a Free Tibet, but i find it hard to believe that i would have retained knowledge of the date of the foundation of the ROC.

also, on wikipedia, i found this: "Mao's policies are blamed for the deaths of tens of millions of Chinese." (and this doesn't even mention Tibetans)

did i dream some sort of collective conscious flashback to the deaths of Chinese citizens killed as a result of what happened in china in 1949? and why the fuck would i dream about such a thing? i'm seriously, seriously a little bit freaked out.

that people can remain positive and loving in a world where violence exists is something really, really important. that human nature is so willing to love despite so much reason to fear and so much reason to hate is also really important. i don't know if i believe in god, but i would thank him for taking me out of that violent and very real dream and into my bedroom; into the start of a new day hopefully free of such violence; and ultimately into the arms of friends that i would encounter throughout my day.

"i have seen violence in the face of one man, and thus i will face violence in the sea of the world."

2.15.07

henri cartier-bresson seems to be obsessed with mimesis in his work. when he is not photographing architecture or countrysides, he is photographing people, although usually either multiple people in one shot, or a person and an object which is representative of, or similar to, a person, also in the shot. an example of this would be a mannequin in a shop window next to which a shopkeeper stands, or a face of a clock in the foreground, behind which can be seen the face of a man. it seems that he does this in order to present man in a way that reminds the viewer of a non-living object, and in order to present the non-living object in a way that reminds the viewer of a man.

yesterday was a better valentine's day than some of the ones i've experienced. my life feels chaotic, although not necessarily in a bad way. for once i feel that i can't predict what will happen in the coming months, and i like this, because usually things seem to be pretty cut-and-dry in my life, which leaves room only for superfluous thought about the workings of my own psyche and silly analysis of what has gone wrong or right in my actions and in how i deal with situations. when things are completely up in the air, the mind is able to distract itself from its own manner of functioning and apply its energies to the tasks at hand. which is nice. it means the self is able to be more present, whether while talking with a friend or burning matches or reading a book. sometimes i think i make decisions too carefully, which usually renders the ultimate result disappointing, because either i'll learn that i was wrong and that the actuality of the scenario is worse than i'd anticipated, or i'll just be completely unsurprised by the end result, although right about it, and this is a boring phenomenon. i'd like to make my life a little more based in the present moment, and i'd like to keep myself busy with schoolwork and with music and with art and with the people that i love.

i think inspiration comes from the internal workings of the self, and if the self is eager to be inspired, it will find a way to make this inspiration happen. i'm also coming to fully condone social interaction, and to be less enthralled by the idea of constant isolation. reclusion is good as a balancing factor, but not as a full-time thing.

2.14.07

a much-needed day of laziness and chatting with my dad over coffee and sandwiches. he showed up, brought me some beans and soymilk from my stepmom, and took me to delta to get some lunch. we talked and laughed, about movies and music and family and life in general. we went to borders, where he asked me two questions: which cat power cd should i get, and which belle and sebastian cd should i get? damn. he bought me an album, and then wrote me a monthly check and went on back up the hill to grass valley.

last night i painted at naomi's house until five in the morning, and then i went home and went to sleep. i hadn't painted in so long. it felt like i exhumed something from myself that has been greatly in need of exhumation.

i've been thinking a lot about the past. i think i have some odd fear of becoming detached from it; of forgetting; of not bothering to connect the present to what came before. i would trade a lot of the present for a few of the things that came before. i miss people too easily and i sift through my memories looking for evidence of where things went wrong. the evidence isn't there.

i'd like to be more productive. i'd like to amaze myself, for once, and meet my own standards, which are exceedingly high. i want to be inspired by the people and events around me, everywhere i go. i want to feel things intensely and actually care one way or the other about matters and issues. i want to be humbled and astounded. i want to find open hearts and searching eyes.

2.13.07

i want to spend more time with people who are different from me. i don't want all of my surroundings to be self-reflexive.

i was awakened by what must have been the noise of construction workers outside of my room, but which sounded like something halfway between the wood-chipper scene in fargo and a war zone. i had been dreaming about somebody that i know, or more accurately, somebody that i used to know very well. in my dream he was sitting on the ground with me, looking fully tired, telling me why he was no longer much of a part of my life. maybe we purposefully keep some of our old wounds from healing. letting them heal is maybe, in some ways, the same thing as forgetting the past. it's a bit heart-wrenching to see people in dreams that you rarely see in reality. i stopped seeing my grandfather in dreams years ago, but i had a few dream-conversations with him in the months following his death in 2001.

I also used to go on long walks, sometimes as late as 1 a.m. or even 3 a.m., just to walk, and just to think. Sometimes I'd walk the hour it took to get to Grass Valley and I'd sit and hang out with Julian. We'd watch Bruce Lee movies and make fun of people and play with words. I'd walk with him to the Circle K so he could buy his cigarettes, and then I'd wait outside as he did so. It usually took at least ten minutes for him to make the purchase, and then he would want to sit outside Circle K and smoke the first one. Julian is one of those amazingly bright and perceptive people. He has a humor and an honesty to him that is like that of a child - completely endearing - but with the wisdom of an ancient soul. I miss him more than I realized I could. He's one of those people who I will always say "I love you" to, in a completely platonic way, and completely mean it. He rarely returns his calls these days, which worries me a little. I feel like a jerk because I told him I'd spend thankgiving with him, watching Bruce Lee movies, but then I ended up getting into family drama and going to sleep at my Dad's house instead.

I got a call one night when I was at my Mom's house. I was about 16 or 17, maybe. I don't remember. Perhaps I was 18. Anyhow, it was Jules, telling me he'd been in a car accident. His girlfriend had driven into a brick wall trying to light a cigarette, and he'd gone through the windshield. A chunk of his forehead had been taken out, and they had to graft skin from his leg to his forehead, and he would have to wear a bandage around his head and endure a scar for the entirety of his life. I went to sit by his bed almost every day for the next few weeks, and then often for the few months following that. He lost a lot of weight and it was scary to behold. His hand got mangled, and he was afraid he would never be able to play bass again.

I last saw him at K-Mart, coincidentally when I went there with Cody with the intent of buying him a Christmas Present. Cody had driven me. Because I saw him there, and because he didn't seem too excited about the idea of a Christmas gift, I didn't get him one. I worry about him, though. I tried calling him this morning, and he didn't pick up.

2.10.07

i had a really visually-stunning dream. i got hired to work at some kind of social service place, where i had to show a card with my name on it at the door/gate to get in; and then i had to stand/sit at a desk with a microphone on my side of a clear glass wall, kind of like you see in the visiting sections of prisons or in the ticket booths at movie theatres. people lined up in long, long lines: presumably people who were in desperate need of aid or money of some sort. they waited in line essentially all day long, and then when they reached the glass window, they would pass through a card with an amount of money written on it, as a form of request, and i and my co-workers would make the executive decision whether or not to give the person the money requested or not. i worked a full day at the place. it was snowing outside. i got off my shift, and went to find my purse, in which i had a brand new tub of power eye-liner. dark sparkling black powder which stood out against the bright white of the snow below. and in the background there still were the long lines of people, waiting.

2.5.07

i woke up late-ish and went to the bank, where i bonded with the woman in line ahead of me over how slow the service was and over how to use the coffee and tea machine. it's this amazing device where you take a little capsule of whatever tea or coffee flavor you want, stick it in a drawer, put a cup under it, and press a button. moments later you have coffee or, in my case, green tea. you don't even have to open the little capsule because the machine punches a whole in it itself, and somehow the machine magically removes the shell of the capsule after the tea/coffee has been made. robots are gonna run the world some day.

i had this thought a while ago, and samir didn't like it at all. in fact, he shot it down completely with dislike. but i think it was kind of interesting. it was something like this: when computers get to be advanced past a certain point, there will be no real need for humans to either perform physical labor or practice logical thought. they will still have the abilities to do so, but it will be much cheaper to create machines to do these things than to pay workers to do the same things and with a greater chance of error. as a result, what will humans do? how will they make a living? what will they be paid for? they can work on the analytical end of the sciences, where creative thought is necessary. they can be artists (and maybe there will be more funding for the arts since it will be one of the last things left that only humans are capable of - that is, unless machine-made art passes as something aesthetically agreeable). they will essentially only really be needed for their analytical and abstract thinking skills, their compassion, and their creativity. will new jobs become available that better utilize these skills? it sounds like a beautiful thing in some ways; in others, not.

i was talking to a friend yesterday outside of cafe roma about a similar concept. we were discussing the fact that the internet, computers, and cell-phones remove the need for us to keep mental catalogs of certain things. that is, we don't remember phone numbers any more, we don't know how to spell words, and we don't even really need to know our history because we can look such things up on the internet in a matter of minutes. does this open up room in the mind for other things? will we use this brain-space and brain-power to do more analytical thinking as opposed to more fact-retaining? or will we just shut off part of our minds because they are not being used? i'm curious about it.

i moved downstairs today. everything but all of my clothing, a violin, and some random junk is in my new room. it's about twice the size of my old room, with a bigger closet and with its own entrance. i share a bathroom and kitchen with one other person now, instead of with four others.

i'm learning that i am horrible at keeping track of my phone and keys. they're like pets without leashes, and they wander off.

2.4.07

yesterday, i spent the afternoon and evening preparing to have people over by cleaning my room and frantically attempting to get in touch with rob via telephone regarding his booze-purchasing. sometimes it's a wonder to me that people have cell-phones at all. people came over, and it was a good event, although i am a bit disappointed in myself for turning into a stressed-out and somewhat frantic host after realizing that i couldn't find my phone or my keys. it turns out that evan took them from me when i was sitting on the balcony, and put them in his pocket, then left with them.

i remember sitting once with a friend who was drunk off of whiskey. we were listening to bonnie prince billy. he said, “He’s just a fat balding man with a beard!” and he couldn't understand how such a man could sing songs that could move him to cry. days later, on the phone, he told me, “I want to just explode until I am nothing; Just pure sound.” and i thought it was something half-beautiful and half a cop-out.

i remember another time when i was sitting in a different friend's old house. he was showing me a sniper rifle that he'd bought in mexico. he pointed it out his window towards the parking lot, and told me to look through the scope. "i could shoot that motherfucker in coldstone and he wouldn't even see it coming," he said. what i can't explain well to you is that he said it like a child and not like a killer.

it's funny go to back and look at the things that i've written in the past. i lost so much writing. hundreds of pages. they now exist in a remote and imaginary trashcan somewhere in the world of technology, and will never be retrieved or read by any organic being. i can only hope that the act of creating them somehow aided in my growth as a person or served as a foundation for the things that i now write on, or the topics that i now think about. i wrote this last fall on a night during which i could not sleep. it's a love note.

You are the high-pitched voice inside a balloon
That is only let out in a quick rush of air
And that causes the head to become heavy.
You are not the voice when it is let out;
But when it is still silent, within a red sphere,
And waiting. You are the waiting.

here's a clip from an old black and white silent film called "the heart of the world":


school puts its heart into me, but i can't seem to put my heart into it as much as i wish i would. i'm fully willing to put my heart into the world. or to put myself into the world's heart. perhaps it is time to start digging a little bit more.

2.2.07

last night i went to a party. there were six or so people there, all playing exquisite-corpse. this made me kind of sad, because it is a game that was introduced to me by claudio, a dear friend of the family whom i met in chile, when i was about sixteen or so. i got a call from my uncle richard last week telling me that claudio had died really suddenly, at a relatively young age (fifties or sixties). the last time i saw him was at richard's wedding, and we'd talked about the possibility of me flying to sweden to visit him and his daughter. he was an amazing person and i considered him family. i hadn't played exquisite corpse since i'd played it in chile with him and my uncles and cousin. we made so many of those drawings. i think richard held onto them and photocopied some of them. we even went so far as to fill some of them in with color. claudio was a philosopher by profession, living in sweden, working for the swedish government. i'd googled his name once and found a bunch of stuff he'd written about semiotics, which is a branch of theory dealing with an interpretation of a text specifically centered around the breakdown of the words themselves and the patterns found in doing so.

i must have deleted the other emails from claudio, but i just came across one he sent me in October of '05:

Dear Katie and Richard!
I'm sorry I delayed in answering, but I have been on the road during the
last few weeks and I have not been much at home. This is due to work and to
the fact that I have been nominated to run for Sweden's National Parliament
in the coming elections (September 2006).
To the issue: As I did not receive any signal about you and Tyne coming to
visit us for Christmas since we talken in las Summer, Lina has arranged to
travel to Chile (December 14th to January 10th) and I might be visiting a
fiend in Ireleand (althgough this can be changed).
The question would then be how much fun it is for you to come to Sweden
while Lina is not here. I am not able to answer that question, but I am able
to suggest that it might be funnier for you to come next Summer.
I will discuss the issue with Lina, who is now with her mother and will come
to my place on Thursday. In the meanwhile, I would suggest you and Tyne to
discuss the alternatives, in order to have a telephone conversation, during
the coming week-end. By the way, I have a local telephone number in
California, to which you can call me (local call); the call will be
transported through Skype.com to my computer or to my cellular phone. The
number is: (***) ***-****; an easy way to communicate by telephone to a very
low cost (only a local call for you and no cost for me).
So, let us talk on Saturday at the time that best suits you. In the
meanwhile, I will talk to Lina and you will discuss the alternatives.
Love to you all,
Clau

reading this again makes me feel glum. i didn't stay in touch as well as i should have, and i didn't come visit like i said i would. worse, he, richard, tyne, and myself had a pact to meet up in a foreign country once every 2 1/2 years, and no less frequently. after chile, and after richard's wedding, this never happened.

i miss my uncles. and i miss my cousins. i miss all of us being together at the same time. it was really, really nice to see tyne last weekend. i think we get closer as time passes, even when we don't see each other for long periods of time. i told her that she's the closest thing i ever had to a sister, and it's entirely true. i just sent my uncle Mark (on my dad's side) a short little email asking him how he's doing. it's sad because now, more than ever, i want to know my uncles well because i'd like to come to know them as an adult might know them. i wish i could have known my grandfather in that way. and i see my uncles so rarely that it's almost like starting from square one each time i see them. although somehow not quite.

2.1.07

i think sometimes i get overtly defiant and like to project the fact that i think i need only myself to get by. in new york, i would often cut off from the group and just ride the subway around the city on my own, walking the streets of manhattan by myself. i was eating a 15-dollar salad at a little deli in manhattan in the back, and i managed to eavesdrop on a conversation between two men, one who was fat and in a wheelchair and another who was also fat yet free of a wheelchair. the men were talking about potential people that they might be able to hire or cast for something. i think they were talking about a broadway show, or an off-broadway show, because it really sounded like they were discussing cast-members. maybe they were casting for a TV show. regardless, i listened to the conversation and became more and more afraid of the men, because they were huge, and because they came off as assholes. i finished my salad quickly, and then went to throw it away. as i was standing at the trashcan, the fat man in the wheelchair, some TV-producer or broadway casting director or something, said "excuse me" and passed me to go get a beverage or something. i went to get my stuff and leave, and as I was leaving he passed me on the way back. he smiled a HUGE smile at me and said "thanks sweetheart", then went back to his friend, who was also smiling at me. I smiled back at them and then left the building. new yorkers have this amazing ability to come off as total pricks and then shock you with random, unneccesary kindness.

this is a sidenote, but it reminded me of another time. i was sitting at the train station in emeryville or martinez, i forget which it is, but it's one with a large interior and then a big back area where you can sit and wait for the train. there's a big snack/coffee bar inside and rows and rows of old-fashioned benches that made good waiting-for-the-train backdrops. i was sitting outside, and a woman came up to me and asked me if i was a model. i told her that no. she said, "are you trying to be?" and i said that no, i wasn't; and that i'd gotten a couple offers but that i had never really delved into the idea. she said, "i was a model when i was seventeen. i was hot", or something to that effect, and walked away. it was weird because i became aware that she didn't really care what my deal was... she just wanted to evoke the past through another (me), as if in doing so it would be nearer-at-hand for her.

the most incredible thing i saw in new york was this:
an old black man, with only about two teeth and with a feather stuck in his head, set up shop and began playing guitar in the L-line station at Bedford. he had a cellist to back him up, and he sang so without hesitation that everyone in the subway terminal turned towards him to watch. i think everyone there just stood watching him, and i think they were afraid to look at one another, as if in making eye contact they would be giving away some hint of the vulnerability that had been exposed by the old man's voice. he started playing the fleetwood mac song, "landslide", and the lyrics are so strong and hopeful - proud, even - that the fact that they were being sung by a man who looked like he'd seen hell closer-up than any of us ever had and probably ever would made me kind of choke up a little bit. there are certain moments where you feel like the blanket that is reality is just kind of slashed with a knife, and then you see through that fabric to something on the other side of it. something totally within reality but of an importance that surpasses it. the busker in the subway was an example of this kind of moment. our train showed up, and he piled on the train, coincidentally getting onto the same car as myself, and then without hesitation began playing another song. i tried to record a video of it on my phone, but my battery was so low that it would record two seconds and then die. so i have one two-second clip and one that is just a fraction of a second. to make some grandiose social comment about the matter would be to undermine the incredible simplicity of the moment as an example of what it is that constitutes being a human being.