le blog! le jessi jess!

You Ain't Buyin' Hocus Pocus

2010-05-01T13:54:00.001-04:00

But I ain't sellin' you no choice.

WIP part 2. Slightly cropped because I can't take a straight picture.

You Ain't Buyin' Hocus Pocus

2010-04-23T13:34:00.002-04:00

But I ain't sellin' you no choice.

WIP.

I like painting, as long as I'm doing it for myself.

Jessi Jess Photography

2010-04-08T23:06:00.001-04:00

Studio? Backwoods and Beer

2010-03-02T19:04:00.003-05:00

And then, just for fun:

Lowry Park Zoo

2009-12-30T18:53:00.002-05:00

I love this guy and his silly faces.

2009-12-29T22:15:00.000-05:00

The Mundane.

2009-12-24T00:56:00.004-05:00

I recently found myself stuck in The Florida Mall for a few hours. Having no sketchbook or pencil at my disposal, I purchased the next best thing: a pad of construction paper and some Crayola crayons. I actually quite like the process. The materials may not be high quality, but they have a certain raw charm to them. Plus, I just like to imagine how silly I looked, sitting in the middle of a crowded mall, playing with crayons like a little kid :]

What the World needs, is more pictures of trees.

2009-12-21T23:35:00.001-05:00

Lately

2009-10-12T13:04:00.002-04:00

cheek

2009-10-04T14:50:00.003-04:00

Not quite.

2009-10-01T11:35:00.000-04:00

"It wasn't like that."

2009-09-30T22:15:00.001-04:00

Bare Chests & Velvet Rutherford

2009-09-26T01:25:00.001-04:00

"They call you The Buffalo [Girl]"

2009-09-21T22:43:00.004-04:00

A random sketch on some spare wood using whatever I could find in Alex's bedroom without rifiling rudely through all of his stuff: a graphite pencil, Sharpies, a Micron, and two Crayola crayons. I definitely plan on taking this further. Any comments in the meantime though?

Camerae

2009-09-15T11:33:00.003-04:00

My first finished piece for Illustration I: a self-portrait.

And possible reference for my next assignment?

"Once you realize your past is just a story..."

2009-09-14T21:09:00.002-04:00

Ink and A Present From A Tree

2009-09-02T22:09:00.002-04:00

Moving along.

2009-08-28T23:02:00.000-04:00

And so it begins.

2009-08-25T20:36:00.002-04:00

These cats are crooked detectives.

2009-08-11T19:39:00.001-04:00

The Worm Witch

2009-08-02T10:59:00.003-04:00

There are a few out there who know about a project I have been working on called "The Worm Witch," and there are even fewer who know about the origins of the tale. The Worm Witch could raise the dead, being one of the Nine great witches of our time. You might see her story here soon, in fact, if I can ever bring myself to share it (I'm a greedy artist sometimes).

Something rather odd happened to me this morning: last night was filled with awkward dreams and slight echoes of old friends and their betrayals. I don't know if I was thinking directly about the Worm Witch while I dreamt, but I know I had thought about her before I fell asleep, even if the thought was fleeting. Well, I opened my eyes this morning and found a tiny, brown worm staring at me. Literally. It was sitting up, it's midsection bent, and it was looking at me inquisitively. I'm not sure where he or she came from but maybe, perhaps, I called it in my sleep...?

Seatrucks: Today or Tomorrow (illustration)

2009-07-27T23:50:00.002-04:00

Just a quick sketch to pass the time.

Seatrucks: scswa

2009-07-20T13:25:00.000-04:00

she holds his kisses in her palms
collecting them one by one
she'll save them for a rainy day
when her arms are too empty
and her lips are too cold.

Repaint and Redraw

2009-07-20T13:09:00.002-04:00

Why, yes, this is a bad cell phone pic of my latest painting.

2009-07-06T14:14:00.002-04:00

I've lost direction. I'm just indulging now.

Seatrucks: Today or Tomorrow

2009-06-30T20:40:00.004-04:00

They were laying side by side on the bed, looking up at the ceiling as if it was the night sky with bodies pressed together.

"I'm glad I have you, even if it's just for today or tomorrow," she whispered, words scratching across dry lips.

There was a brief moment of silence and her pulse thudded against her wrists in fear.

"I'll keep you as long as I can," he whispered back, finally, and his arms held her closer and tighter.

I hope you never let go, she said quietly.

Locket and Chain

2009-06-02T17:50:00.000-04:00

WIP: Scene

2009-05-27T20:35:00.002-04:00

It's coming along...sort of :/

My Birthday Cake

2009-05-26T22:54:00.002-04:00

Seatrucks: swlc

2009-05-25T22:41:00.001-04:00

She lives for the days
when the word
"love"
crosses his lips.

Seatrucks: t & hpahhb &

2009-05-19T21:26:00.003-04:00

There is shame across her cheeks
& Worry streaming from her eyes

He leans over and kisses her arm,
placing cool lips
against warm skin
He whispers: "I love you,"against her ear.

His lips do little to save her from herself
but they send chills down her spine
& remind her that she is Alive.

Things I never posted.

2009-05-15T22:57:00.003-04:00

Hand Study

2009-04-25T16:44:00.003-04:00

Palm could use some work, but overall, it's pretty much finished.
40 minute pose in Figure class.
Picture does not do it justice, in my opinion.
Critique appreciated.
Thank you.

A Sense of National Pride

2009-04-25T00:41:00.004-04:00

A/N: I was a little worried about posting this essay. For one, most of you will probably find the subject matter uninteresting and skip over this post like it doesn't exist. Secondly, I felt very insecure about it. I was writing about a subject matter with which I felt unfamiliar and I worried about getting all of the facts right. My instructor gave me a 94% on it though, so I suppose I pulled it off.

* * *

"A Sense of National Pride"

The Situation

India is still a young child in the face of independence. As the largest democratic nations, it faces a difficult task: pleasing all of its citizens, while upholding the beliefs that have shaped its culture for centuries. The history of India is crowded with oppression and hostility. From the years 1000 to 1757 the nation was under Islamic rule until the British colonization from 1757 to 1947. While under the tyranny of third-party rule, two main factions of religious affiliations arose from disaccord: Hinduism and Islam. In fact, there have been clashes between Hindus and Muslims since the 12th century. The Muslims had always been a minority, and thus naturally heedful of Hindu rule. But when, in 1915, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi called on the people of India to unite in the face of British rule, the two groups joined together. Under a united front, India secured its independence.

However, the unity did not last long. Gandhi was assassinated because of his Muslim-friendly views and the two groups settled once again into the comfort of dissent. Since India’s independence, the tension between the groups continues to erupt periodically in bloody, atrocious acts. In the late 1980s, the concept of Hindu fundamentalism (also called Hindu nationalism) began to take hold of India’s political system and has since perpetrated these acts. Though the ideology has existed since the early 20th century, within recent years it has permeated into a sense of national pride that the average Indian citizen can display, like a badge pinned to one’s chest, or even an avatar to save the Hindu people from foreign (Islamic) invaders. As a nation and a religion that has been largely controlled and formed by foreign forces (the word “Hindu” is even a Persian mispronunciation of the word “Indus”), they are searching to take control and exert a national authority that has hitherto been underestimated.

The Reasoning

Hindu fundamentalism is a nationalist ideology that seeks to preserve Hindu heritage by converting the Republic of India into a strictly Hindu polity. However, the Hindu principles they seem to promote are influenced more by nationalism than by religion, in part because Hinduism does not have a specific sacred text to which to conform. Hinduism becomes a national identity rather than a set of rules to be obeyed. Even Buddhism and Jainism—separate religions in their own right—are seen merely as variations of Hinduism. In this manner, the presumptuous addition of the word “fundamentalism” only helps to serve their justifications, as opposed to their cause. The phrase “Hindu Fundamentalism” (or even “Hindu Nationalism”) can more accurately be replaced with “Hindu Fascism.” The tactics they employ and seem to condone are usually tinged with terrorism. Indeed, allegiance to a religious code has never been of particular importance to Hindu groups.

One such group is the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), or Indian People's Party. It was founded in 1980 and is one of India major political parties. They are often associated with the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), a non-political cultural organization founded in 1925 (in fact, a former member of the RSS was responsible for Gandhi’s assassination in 1948).

The Tactics

The BJP and its members have been suspected of being involved in a number of questionable activities; the most significant was a movement that culminated in the destruction of Babri Masjid, a mosque that they claimed was built on the birthplace of the Hindu god Rama. The established Muslim structure was demolished at the hands of a Hindu mob and the subsequent riots—some of the worst inter-communal violence since 1947--led to more than 2,000 deaths. Although there was certainly religious fervor behind the destruction of the Babri Mosque, the attack was, above all, fueled by the Hindu fundamentalists’ belief of the essential Hindu identity of India and their concept of Muslims as inherently foreign.

In February of 2002, hundreds of volunteers returned to Ayodhya to begin construction of the Ram Janmabhoomi temple. A train carrying activists returning from Ayodhya got into an argument with a Muslim selling tea on the Godhra station platform. The carriage was set on fire and the 58 people inside were killed. Though this was not the first incident between Hindu pilgrims and Godhra Muslims, forensic evidence indicates that the fire was started from inside the carriage. This suggests that the Hindus had started the fires themselves, knowing that the incident would provoke riots and increase the BJP’s support. And indeed: rioting began the next morning. The violence led to nearly a thousand deaths, most of which were Muslims. The police either did nothing or even joined in on the attacks. The result was a doubling of support for the BJP.

However, that is not to say that Muslims have not retaliated. A clear example of Islamic extremism can be seen in the recent bombings in Mumbai, which took place November 26-29 of 2008. There were more than ten coordinated shooting and bombing attacks across India's largest city. At least 137 people were killed and at least 308 were wounded. Among the locations that were targeted was the Taj Mahal Palace & Tower, as well as a number of popular and highly-populated establishments. Only one of the attackers was captured alive: Ajmal Amir Kasab. He disclosed that the attackers were members of a Pakistan-based militant organization considered to be a terrorist organization by India, the United States, and the United Kindgdom. The Pakistani Government originally denied any citizen involvement in the attacks. However, in January 2009 Pakistan’s Information Minister Sherry Rehman officially accepted Ajmal Amir’s nationality as Pakistani. A month later, Pakistan’s Interior Minister confirmed that parts of the attack had been planed in Pakistan and that six people were currently being held in connection to the attacks.

The Future?

As the tension between Muslims and Hindus continues to push against the fabric of India’s culture, when will the fabric be ripped to shreds, completely beyond any type of repair? The timeline remains unseen in the volatile, unpredictability of human nature. One thing can be seen though: India’s attempt to circumnavigate terrorist threats to its people. A recent indication of this is the announcement that the Board of Control for Cricket in India has decided to move the second season of the Indian Premier League (IPL) outside of India. The dates of IPL are in concordance with a major upcoming election and some fear an attack by political, pseudo-religious extremists. Negotiations led to South Africa as the chosen location. Though the full consequences of this decision remain to be seen, some would say that the IPL is giving into terrorism. However, this decision shows political maturity; it shows a knowledge and understanding of the threat at hand. Above all, it shows a desire to preserve the Hindu way of life in a seemingly more stable maneuver than what has been previously executed.

Seatrucks: wtaf

2009-04-20T13:12:00.002-04:00

we go together like
thesky&thegrass
a perfect line
for the sun to rest

I've got minty vision

2009-04-19T15:34:00.002-04:00

Seatrucks: hlth

2009-04-15T23:35:00.001-04:00

his fingers will grow
like flames
the fire to purge
her earth

Sharks & a Cracker, or Value Studies & a Drawing

2009-04-13T12:57:00.001-04:00

The 3D Project That Was So Amazing . . .

2009-04-09T23:41:00.002-04:00

. . . I can't even show you the whole thing.

Some Things

2009-03-26T13:54:00.003-04:00

A Leaf, A Flower, A Fruit Or Water

2009-03-19T10:02:00.003-04:00

“A Leaf, A Flower, A Fruit Or Water”
The Bhagavad Gita and Global Warming

The Conflict

The Earth is a precious resource, providing nourishment and ensuring the constant flow of life. As its inhabitants, it falls on humanity’s shoulders to preserve and protect the environment. But the costs of limiting industrial emissions of greenhouse gases, as well as adopting alternative energy sources, would be substantial. Should we bother? Although we are already noticing the potential disaster that global warming will cause, will it seriously affect our society within our lifetime? The timeline may not be static, but it would certainly take decades for our lifestyles to be severely impacted by this phenomenon. If we attempt to counteract the effects now, our fragile financial structure could fall and many more would suffer immediately for our good intentions.

The Answer

The Bhagavad Gita, or “Song of the Lord,” is “essence of the teachings of the Vedas and Upanisads.”* It is regarded as the most important scripture within Hinduism and can be interpreted in many different ways. Indeed, it can be read as a realistic account of fratricidal conflict or even an ethical tale of good and evil. On a more spiritual level, it can be seen as a way to eradicate one’s ego to achieve certain liberation from the embodied self.

As the poem begins, two opposing armies are preparing to fight a civil war. On one side, we have the five Pandu brothers, the most notable of which is Arjuna. On the other side are their cousins. Arjuna has been chosen to start the battle but as he looks upon his adversaries, he can see family members, childhood friends, and mentors. The sight of such familiar faces weakens his resolve to fight and he would rather renounce society than kill his family and friends. Although it is clearly his duty to fight this war—his duty to maintain society and liberate this kingdom from the oppressive rule of his cousin—he will be killing his relatives and destroying the society his is trying to preserve. He is unsure of what action to take and seeks the advice of his charioteer and mentor, Krishna.

Krishna is the king of a neighboring town, but also an avatar of the God Vishnu. The conversation he has with Arjuna makes up the text of the Bhagavad Gita. The message relies on the idea of an ultimate perspective: the atman (soul) is permanent, while the body is temporary. The body will die, but the atman cannot be killed nor can it kill. The roles that we play within life are necessary to ensure the continuance of society but they are merely transient. It is an illusion: maya. We must view our deepest, inner self as unembodied consciousness and give up all desire for results. Remove your ego and act for the good of the world—not individual interest. It is not the action that we must forego, but the egotistic attachment to the eventuality of the action.

Furthermore, those who act in unattached selflessness worship God in any form: the supreme God. Devoting our actions to God in this manner will bring knowledge to our conflicts. Quoting the Gita directly,

Whoever offers, with
devotion, A leaf, a flower, a
fruit or water— That offering
of devotion From the pure in
heart I accept.
(9.26)**

As long as our actions are made without narcissistic intentions and in the spirit of devotion to the supreme God, divine power will guide our way and overcome any wickedness that seeks to subvert us.

The Solution

Applying the message from the Bhagavad Gita can solve the conflict between global warming and the financial situation. By accurately viewing the financial crisis as a purely materialistic problem—a temporary issue—it is obvious that, as living beings and inhabitants of the earth, protecting the environment should take precedence. The economy is a man-made construct that can be likened to the embodied self, while the environment is a universal thing that lives and breathes without the conceited entanglements of the human race.

Worrying about our own self-imposed systems shows attachment to the physical world—which is temporary. Although the earth is something physical, the eternal cycle of life that it nurtures is paramount to the manufactured society that we would otherwise be trying to uphold. Therefore, we must act to protect the environment without concern for the financial repercussions. In a broader sense, we must act to uphold all forms of life—not just the human race—and by doing so devote our intentions to God.

The Conclusion

I think the ideals brought forth by the Bhagavad Gita would be beneficial for some Western conflicts. From a contemporary viewpoint, the message has many facets and its multiple interpretations broaden its possible relevance. Likewise, the universality of the tale ensures the timelessness of the story. Such beliefs have the habit of transcending the human psyche to penetrate our inherent need for understanding and knowledge.

_____________

*The Indian Way by John M. Roller p. 189
**Translation from The Indian Way by John M. Roller p. 205

Picture Wall & Pears

2009-03-16T11:21:00.001-04:00

Little Crow Sketches

2009-03-14T11:32:00.001-04:00

Random little scribblings.

Little Crow

2009-03-07T12:10:00.000-05:00

I was folded into the flock under Mama Crow’s wing. I don’t quite fit in with my family. I have these oddly thin, featherless wings that cause me some difficulty when it comes to flying, but Mama says that’s because the flock needed someone to write messages for various diplomatic situations and my wings were made just for that. I’m glad I can help, although I wish I didn’t have to ride on someone’s back when we go flying. Mama is making me a special sweater with a ton of feathers, so maybe that’ll help.

(pictures & drawings pending)

Our Heroine

2009-03-01T02:28:00.002-05:00

Octopus, The Bringer of Coffee, and a Bat Backpack?

2009-02-28T14:30:00.006-05:00

The second finished illustration for my Intro. to Illustration class. A B+. That's not too bad is it?

The next project for 3D design: a toy. I'm making the Bringer of Coffee into a plushie--and if I have enough time, a bat backpack for her as well? Yes? No?

i eat love.

2009-02-25T22:15:00.003-05:00

i eat love.

Story? Maybe. Eventually. Perhaps. Or you can make it up yourself?

Yellow

2009-02-24T20:44:00.004-05:00

The weird, awkward purple shape was supposed to be a mug, but I didn't pay enough attention to my original thumbnail while I was painting. I should probably go back in and paint the top of it so it doesn't turn into a negative shape, uh? The color is also a lot brighter in real life, but the internet messes that up.

Improvement?

2009-02-21T10:54:00.010-05:00

Indeed. Some quick selections of the work I've produced this semester. A few figure examples (displayed in chronological order), a work-in-progress mask for 3D Design, and rough draft for an illustration (the actual illustration is already completed, but I don't have an image of it yet). There are certainly things I need to improve on (see figure drawings) but I also certainly think my improvement in skill is, at least, slightly evident.

Dad's Head

2009-02-15T13:34:00.004-05:00

The moon looked like one of those family pictures where the top of Dad's head gets cut off and no amount of photoshopping will save it. The streets are cool and humid and people walk around in pairs. The stores are closed but their lights persist and the two friends pause, for a brief moment, to observe the dim insides of a jewelry store. He presses his nose to the window in an awkward sort of way and when he steps back there is a spot of condensation. With slow, deliberate marks, he crafts a standard smiley face that is made a masterpiece by confidence and grace.

"That will stay there forever," he says.

She snaps a picture and they continue walking.

Christmas lights blinking proudly in the middle of February

2009-02-09T23:48:00.000-05:00

It starts with a giggle while flipping through some gaudy astrology book that her roommate left behind. Tales of unresolved sexual tension hang in the air between them, like a string of Christmas lights blinking proudly in the middle of February.

Later, it begins with his hand against her back and she's suddenly aware of his leg against her own. Flames from his skin tingle through jeans and leave her thigh burned and aching. She can feel it the next day, a soft cool scar that may never fade.

It ends at the beginning of the week when softly smiled words turn to harsh exaggerations of the truth. A friendship is oddly strengthened, but torn asunder all the same. Trust and tears wash down her cheeks--and that soft cool scar? She can't remember it.

The Love Story of Saturn & Medusa

2009-02-08T01:53:00.005-05:00

When Saturn rides out, her heart follows.
It's too cold at night without him there.

. . . more to come.

The Bringer of Coffee

2009-01-30T20:37:00.004-05:00

Sharp Leaves

2009-01-30T20:14:00.000-05:00

An older poem. I was reminded of it today.

"Sharp Leaves"
Sharp leaves crunch
And a soft mouth smiles.
The sound of such
Things can make a heart beat for miles.

Friends

2009-01-29T13:56:00.007-05:00

Scott, The Bringer of Coffee (and a small portion of Scott):

In progress: Two Crows:

Ones and Twos

2009-01-11T15:48:00.005-05:00

"I have a problem," she says.

He pauses, turns, and waits for the inevitable.

"Why are these things always one-sided? It's not fair. Some emotions should be felt in pairs."

"Yes, they should."

She sighs. "I'm easily forgotten, I suppose."

They're an accident.

2008-12-27T22:00:00.006-05:00

He falls into her hug, and his arms wrap around her so tightly, like she's some precious, fragile thing he's trying not to drop. (And she wonders maybe, just maybe, if his arms squeeze too tightly, he'll get that piece of her soul she hopes he's looking for and write his name on it in permanent marker.)

"You know," she whispers against his ear. She can feel his hand playing with the tips of her hair. "We're the type of thing that could happen--that should happen--but won't ever happen. Because if it did, it shouldn't happen and it couldn't happen."

His only response is a long sigh, and his arms tighten momentarily before he pulls back. "See ya later. Don't get yourself killed driving home."

"It's not me you have to worry about. It's everyone who gets in my way," she replies with a smile.

When she drives away, he's sitting in his own car, rolling down the windows and turning the volume up to blaring. That shirt looks good on him, she thinks, peaking at him through her rear view mirror.

She doesn't realize that the car in front of her has stopped.

Bunny & Bunny

2008-12-23T00:24:00.002-05:00

So there's this forest, right, a big green and brown--and the occasional yellow--forest. The air swims among the trees like mermaids and fish, and the deer graze in gangs (a tough kind of gang, too. You don't want to look at them the wrong way or they'll come at you and you don't want a gang of deer comin' at you. Trust me.). In the middle of the forest, near a small particular cluster of trees, lives a bunny. He's sorta lonely. He was so lonely he once asked the gang of deer if he could join them but they just laughed and galloped off.

So, one day (i.e last Wednesday), another bunny moved into the forest, not too far from his particular cluster of trees.

He's not so lonely anymore.

Her Apartment

2008-12-09T17:51:00.003-05:00

She lives with this polar bear named Sam. He works in an office and wears purple ties. Next door, is the clockwork toy couple who fight constantly about remote control privileges and whose turn it is to take out the trash. Below her apartment is Tommy Giraffe. He likes to ice skate, but he's not homosexual. (He's actually a member of the mob, but we're not supposed to talk about that.)

Something Amazing

2008-12-07T21:31:00.002-05:00

Rachel

2008-11-20T10:59:00.002-05:00

There once was a squirrel named Rachel. He liked to hop along the sidewalk and eat nuts.

The end.

Because we can.

2008-11-20T10:36:00.003-05:00

It begins with white sheets and white skin and red cheeks.

It's early in the morning with cold shadows dancing like blue flames. His eyes open, pulling a lazy smile with them, and he stretches against her.

"Why?"

"Good morning."

"Why?"

His lazy smile turns into a smirk. His hands skim across her skin. "Why not?"

Hopkins and Roberta. A Photo Essay.

2008-11-19T18:05:00.003-05:00

We're Growing

2008-11-11T13:51:00.001-05:00

We stay up too late with lights in our eyes and half-realized dreams against our lips. Stories of childhood and long-lost hopes fade like closing eyelids.

We're growing up.

Wallace and Me: The Park

2008-11-10T16:46:00.000-05:00

Wallace and I went to the park the other day. We had a picnic with strawberry soda and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We sat on his blanket of clouds and talked to the birds about the bees and their annoying, constant buzzing.

Charles

2008-11-09T13:00:00.002-05:00

whites and grays and soft, soft sheets.

2008-10-29T17:47:00.001-04:00

I'm curled up against his side. My nose is pressed against his clean white shirt and the world around us is full of whites and grays and soft, soft sheets.

"I think we're both too broken inside to really take care of each other." I can feel his words against my cheek.

"Do you really think so?"

The only response I get is the tightening of his arms around me.

And then it fades to white.

pigrose

2008-10-29T16:34:00.002-04:00

The Dead Man

2008-10-28T20:27:00.005-04:00

He would only speak of her when the sun was high in the sky. To whisper her name in the clawing dark would bring death. Funny such a man would be scared of these things--a skinny twig of a man, intellect crumbling into his brittle fingers and death rattling in his every breath, coldness seeping from his bones. He dressed in black robes and tied his thin greasy hair away from his sunken cheeks and pointy nose. His lips were so pale that they only existed when he moved them.

"They call me the Dead Man," he said, "because I have lived among the dead for so long, that I have come to look dead as well. But I'm not even thirty years old yet. Hardly a respectable age at which to die." He quickly looked towards the sky, as if daring the sun to move any closer to the West. "The Bone-White Demon Witch, on the other hand, is far older than any can remember . . . and I'm here to warn you. I followed a Troupe of Ghosts. They say she's coming this way." His head bobbed up and down and I was almost afraid his neck wouldn't take the strain (I wouldn't want a head like that rolling around under my feet). "Yep, she's coming alright. You best be on the lookout now."

"Thank you," I said. "That's very kind of you."

Benny, Joe & Sue

2008-10-28T19:53:00.005-04:00

Benny and Joe fell in love with Sue.
Sue doesn't love either of them.

Bone-White Demon Witch

2008-10-27T12:47:00.004-04:00

Bone-white demons feed on our flesh like vultures, picking and gnawing until our souls are revealed. Juicy red hearts become dessert. The Witch stands to the side and observes. Her hands are folded demurely in front of her and the clench of her fingers seems to say "This is necessary."

If only we had listened, when the Dead Man first came to us.

Her eyes suddenly shift to me; the demons have not yet reached me and I lay in captivity, bound by her will. She doesn't understand why I am not struggling.

This is my own fault.

I swallow.

My eyes remain open.

She leans over me, like a mother watching her child sleep, and smiles, a slowly winding movement that holds only malice. Two lips, red as rose petals, stretch open and a drop of blood escapes her mouth. It slides down her chin.

She looks vulgar and unkempt. Evil doesn't suit the soft curve of her chin or the roundness of her eyes. Her hair is frayed from being nibbled on by spiders.

"And what do you have to say to me?" she says.

I cough.

spider-web crowns.

2008-10-25T15:40:00.004-04:00

There is an arch of balloons. If she walks through it, she would be transported into a different world--one made of cotton candy and ruled by crows with delicate spider-web crowns. If she's lucky enough, they would give her one to take home with her. She would like that . . . some cotton candy and a delicate spider-web crown . . . she would be happy with that.

Reaching

2008-10-24T13:26:00.004-04:00

She's sick of having to make herself happy, so she reaches out for something different--a different approach, something that will make her happy, something not herself. Someone else.

But everyone tells her she's reaching for the wrong thing, wrong person. She's making a mistake. She's an idiot to reach for something else, for companionship, for love. She needs to love herself.

She loves herself.

Apparently, she's still reaching for the wrong thing though.

Arrogant line.

2008-10-24T13:12:00.004-04:00

He is not her god--yet he speaks with such authority. He instructs her on happiness.

". . . being happy for yourself . . ." he says and she contemplates the meaning of those words.

She wonders if he realizes how happy she is with herself, with who she really is. She wonders if he realizes how very little regret she actually has in her life. She wonders, vaguely, if he realizes that what makes her happy is trivial at best.

To make her happy can be a simple undertaking, if one looks in the right places. He's looking away from her. All she can see is his back and the arrogant line of his shoulders.

The fact that he's not in love with her is one of the greatest tragedies of her life.

Hug

2008-10-14T14:48:00.003-04:00

Her blood is like the pulsing of the television screen at night when she can't sleep. Softly murmured voices in her ears help her eyes close, but her mind stays awake and she realizes that her arms are too empty. She feels like an open wound, bleeding profusely with no means to stop the flow and all she wants is the pressure of his hands on her back and his cheek on her temple.

. . . In other words, she needs a hug . . . .

Hump & Pink Lemonade

2008-10-12T14:56:00.003-04:00

Dark Smudges

2008-10-09T16:47:00.006-04:00

She keeps rubbing at the dark smudges underneath her eyes, as if they are just poorly applied eyeliner that can be wiped away with her thumbs. Her lips are bruised from worried teeth. When she sits by herself, she can hear her heartbeat in her ears and wonders if her blood is blue instead of red, because that's the way it feels as it rushes through her body.

She blinks.

Tired shoulders and aching knees and tangled hair in her face . . . life has become so small . . . .

Bird & Worm

2008-10-01T15:53:00.001-04:00

I know this worm who likes to have tea with a bird named Arthur. The worm has no sense of self-preservation. But that's ok, because the bird named Arthur is a vegetarian.

Stand: Electric Boy

2008-09-28T20:01:00.001-04:00

When he stands next to me I can feel the air between us and wish it wasn't there.

Down the drain.

2008-09-28T13:02:00.002-04:00

birds cry & statues give roses

2008-09-26T19:40:00.002-04:00

really a cliff

2008-09-26T11:43:00.000-04:00

He found her in her room, thrown across the bed like a forgotten doll. Her dress bunched carelessly around her legs. Her arms slung out like they were made of rubber. Her cheeks were as a white as the bedsheets they rested against; her fingers, such long fingers, clutched at the sheets as if her bed was really a cliff and she was holding on for dear life.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Trying to forget how to breathe," she whispered.

"Why?"

"Because I thought it might be better than remembering how to breathe."

"Oh . . . is it working?"

"Sorta."

chandelier & flydragon

2008-09-26T11:30:00.002-04:00

Stand: Blind Boy

2008-09-23T21:43:00.001-04:00

When he stands next to me, I am short and see-through.

Stand: Ghost Boy

2008-09-23T14:39:00.001-04:00

He stood next to me last night and I could feel the cold from his body.

"It's Goo Goo G'Joob"

2008-09-17T21:58:00.000-04:00

“It's Goo Goo G’Joob”

When The Beatles first released the song “I Am the Walrus,” it was, at once, a strange conglomeration of pop culture and references—a whirlwind of seemingly nonsensical words that equally charms and confuses. In the year 2007, the movie Across the Universe was released. Using songs by The Beatles, the script constructs the love story of Jude and Lucy and reflects the culture of the 60’s (circa Vietnam). The movie features remakes of classic Beatles songs, some resembling the original with unerring respect while others deviate from the creative with questionable results. “I Am the Walrus,” in particular, is reconstructed with the help of musician Bono (lead singer of the alternative rock band U2) and, on the surface, appears to respect the original work. However, listening closely, the tempo is slowed down, the singer’s voice is apathetically boorish, and the lyrics are unusually altered, giving the song an entirely different feel and even a different—and very negative—meaning.

Listening to the original version of “I Am the Walrus,” the pace of the song is steady and clear. The rhythm is controlled, but still retains a looseness that allows the words to flow effortlessly—and expertly. In the movie version, the notes swim through a Technicolor ocean, trying desperately to intensify the psychedelic aura of the words. It succeeds, perhaps, in its visual format; yet as an auditory piece, the song is no longer an equal blend of silliness and bravado, but a weepy façade of a counter-cultural figure.

Secondly, John Lennon’s voice is distorted; yet, the honesty is still heard in the phrasing and pronunciation of the lyrics. In the newer version, the listener is left with Bono’s thinly controlled whine and unsatisfying hippie impersonation. He squeezes the sounds out with too much effort, and, as a result, the tone slides along clumsily; his performance becomes strained and awkward, and downgrades the original enigmatic tone of the song. The persona of the singer becomes stereotypical. The original honesty—the endearing quality of the song—is lost.

Finally, the main injustice of the cover is the anomaly of “koo koo kachoo.” Originally, John Lennon chants the phrase “goo goo g’joob” (thought to be inspired by James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake). Although it is commonly misheard as “koo koo kachoo” (a phrase that is actually featured in “Mrs. Robinson” by Simon and Garfunkel which was released just months after “I Am the Walrus”), the difference is unmistakable if one listens carefully. By mispronouncing one phrase, Bono opens the question of intent: why? Besides being easily noticeable, the knowledge of the correct phrase can be accessed via the Internet and various Beatles anthologies. If the mistake was purposeful, was he trying to make an allusion to “Mrs. Robinson”? The movie’s inspiration is The Beatles; to veer off course in such a way is confusing and irksome. It takes the experienced listener and diverts their attention away from the main story. Even more insulting is the thought that Bono is merely ignorant of the mistake. If so, his musicianship could be debated. As a professional artist it is his responsibility to treat the derivative work with certain veneration. Perhaps he was too lazy to do the research (i.e. listen to the original song)? In this case, Bono’s performance did not live up to the standard The Beatles created.

In summation, what was once a quirky statement on humanity’s constant need to find meaning in everything becomes an almost mocking rendition of, not only the original Beatles creation, but also of the 60’s. By altering the tempo and lyrics, the song loses the very essence of its purpose. The singer’s attempt to personify a counter-cultural figure is cringe-worthy and laughable at best. Bono’s effort to recreate a classic failed because his alterations did not enhance the original foundation that John Lennon built: they depreciate the spirit of the song and the culture that it represents.

listen too

2008-09-14T19:43:00.003-04:00

daunting words
of insomnia
whisper in the dark--
I listen too closely.

Free to good home: one life.

2008-09-14T12:10:00.001-04:00

I used to feel pretty when you looked at me. But now I just feel like an idiot, an old friend who's standing in front of you with waving arms and a pestering smile, saying, "Hey, pay attention to me!" And all you can do is look around me--through me--to someone standing behind me: to her.

I am invisible. I've told you this before and you tried to slide around the subject but you breathe irony too often and your words felt empty. I just can't win. Why do I still exist? There must be someone out there who can fill up this wasted space so much better than I can.

Free to good home: one life.

That's how the ad would begin. I suppose potential candidates would question the quality of this life and I would be forced to tell them the truth: that this life needs repair. And I would lose their interest. No one wants a life that's on the brink of falling apart. Hammers and nails and lots of glue don't seem to be working anymore.

This life will fall apart.

Moon Halos

2008-09-10T16:18:00.001-04:00

She's standing in front of him, looking up at his face and thinking she might have to shield her eyes, because there's a full moon hanging above his head and the clouds are like antique lace, thin and worn. If she stands out here too long, she might get moonburned.

"I just don't always feel like it, I guess," he says with a shrug. Shadows hide his face, but she can see the outline of his jaw and she knows he's smiling crookedly.

She blinks and the moon becomes a halo. She wonders if he's her guardian angel, or if he's just a fallen angel trying to get in her way, cause a little trouble.

That's when she suddenly notices the awkward silence ringing in her ears. "You're probably waiting for me to leave, uh?"

"No, that's ok. You can stay as long as you want. But if you do stay, can we go back inside?" He brushes a mosquito away from his arm.

She opens her mouth to say "Okay"--her feet beg to move back towards his door and they almost fulfill their wishes--but her Sense and Sensibility won't release their iron grip on her emotions. "No, I've got to get going. It's too late, anyways."

They say their goodbyes, exchange a hug that ends much too soon for her, and he tells her to call him sometime during the week.

As she stumbles towards her car, she decides that he must be the fallen angel and she wonders what shoved him over the cloud. Was it the Hand of God? A vengeful ex-girlfriend . . .?

He probably just tripped and fell.

ice cream in the summer

2008-09-10T16:09:00.002-04:00

They're sitting next to each other on a noisy bus when he turns and says "Why do you have to be such a secret?"

She's not sure what to say, so she shrugs and mumbles an answer that she won't remember later. She will remember his eyes though--days turn into years when she looks in his eyes. And she forgets to be embarrassed; the walls around her heart slide away like ice cream in the summer, the evidence of her fear melting down her face. There's no reason to be unhappy with herself, no reason to wish she was someone else, someone more pretty or clever. She's already pretty and clever when reflected in his eyes.

She likes it that way and they ride in familiar silence.

"You give me chills," he whispers later, his arms around her and their legs entwined. She's not sure when it happens, but their bodies--souls?--move together, two clocks ticking at the same time, and when she finally leans back she can't fall asleep because her heart is pounding against her skin and her body is tense, trying to hold him closer--but it's just not physically possible.

So she holds him with her love and hopes that it will be enough.

Burned

2008-09-04T00:24:00.000-04:00

She didn't know who he was. He stood so still and held so tightly, arms wrapping like a snake, squeezing life from her lungs and heart. She let go too quickly, or so it would seem, because she's sitting alone and wondering what really happened. It's like a blur of a speeding car, wiping color and light against her eyes. It fades with a blink, but she can still feel the wind in her hair and taste the smell of fuel in her mouth (so dry from lack of use. She needs to talk more, but there's no one to listen). Black asphalt reflects her life: burned and scarred and laid bare for others to use. She'd rather be the road than the car, though.

Sleeping Alone

2008-09-02T22:58:00.002-04:00

The awkward open
feeling of empty arms
makes me feel like a stranger
in my own bed.

such bloody guilty palms

2008-09-02T00:12:00.005-04:00

You didn't break my heart because it was already broken, dear. It was made of glass, you see, and someone accidentally stepped on it. It sits in my chest, shattered and broken, trying desperately to reflect my soul as a whole but only succeeding in shedding little fragments of it at any given time. What you did was take your hand and shove that broken glass deeper into my body, crunched them against muscles and bones, and now I'm left to pick the pieces out, one by one, like a puzzle laid out on a table waiting to be put back together again. The problem, though, is that you pushed so hard and some of the fragments stuck to your palm--such bloody guilty palms, that make you look like some messiah trying vainly to rescue me. The puzzle is incomplete: now those fragments of me are stuck in your skin-in your soul, in your mind, in your body. In your heart. And that's where they're going to stay until you pull them out, one by one, wincing as each one falls, and you pluck me out of your life.

Lollipop Moon.

2008-08-31T13:20:00.003-04:00

There is a cavity
Throbbing in my heart
And You, my dear,
Are the lollipop.

I need a heartbrush
and some heartpaste.

First it was a cavity.
Now it is a crater.
The hole left over
From cannon fire.

I am the moon.
The day burns my eyes
but I only cry at night.

Paul Turtle

2008-08-30T10:57:00.002-04:00

Every morning, Paul Turtle wakes up and blinks three times. He then pushes his head out into the sunlight and blinks four times, quickly and distinctly. With a yawn, he looks around for breakfast and fancies himself a cup of coffee (two sugars, please) and a warm cinnamon roll. He whistles suggestively at Mrs. Caroline as she passes him and he smirks at her blushing green cheeks. He's a ladies turtle, after all.

Bruised

2008-08-29T11:34:00.002-04:00

The story below this ("Harsh Kisses") reminded me of this drawing and poem that I wrote a few months ago (sometime around Valentine's Day, before I started using this blog and was confined to the prison of Myspace).

"Bruised"

Sitting on the edge of his bed,
And he can't even tell,
That what she wants
Is a heart-shaped bruise
Outlining her lips.

Harsh Kisses

2008-08-29T00:49:00.005-04:00

You pray for someone to see it, whispering the wish against chapped lips and stinging cheeks. And when it shines too bright and concerned eyes are looking at you, your heart freezes up and you try to remember why you wanted someone to see it in the first place--this ugly jealousy, gnashing its teeth and sputtering false curses. This is too unfair but that's the way it is, darling, and there's nothing you can do about it sometimes. Just wait out the storm, feel the rumble of thunder in your arms and the rain pelting against your skin like harsh kisses in the night and know that storms don't rage forever.

You break time when you hug me.

2008-08-27T15:38:00.004-04:00

Time doesn't work around you because you break time when you hug me. Clocks stop, watches shatter and Father Time has a heart attack. A week turns into a month, a month will be a year and a year will be a lifetime. Eternal love lasts only a decade, but its worth does not correlate to its length. The sentiment is there--stronger than you can imagine, pushing up through the weeds and cracks in the concrete, drinking the sun and water, fighting ruthlessly and ignoring the rules, because rules wouldn't dare go near you. Rules equal lost and you're too important to lose.

Lips Are Lips

2008-08-26T08:38:00.004-04:00

We listen to songs that are familiar because they make us feel like someone. This song reminds me of you, a whirlwind of something or other that I can never quite grab. There's a fire that burns around your eyes and I really wish I couldn't see it, not when I worry that you're looking in the wrong direction. Eyes are eyes, but lips are lips and they wander too much in my opinion. I should learn to keep my mouth shut, because they don't make strong enough tape these days. Friendship isn't a word anymore; it's a feeling, an open field with fresh smiling daises in one corner and fried autumn grass in the other. Which one am I standing in?

expectations like warmth

2008-08-25T09:14:00.003-04:00

She sits, with hands and cheeks on fire and lips made of promises. She doesn't know what to say though, when he speaks to her like that. People didn't talk like that anymore. Did they ever? She's not so sure. Of thoughts. Of life. Of bodies. Of her. And even, maybe, a tiny bit of him. It's standing on the edge of a cliff and wondering if that's an ocean down there--or is it cold, hard stone, a rough landing that will break bones and hearts. Expectations are too slippery to hold down these days. We all bring them too high sometimes, like a bird trying to reach the sun. It's too cold down there and expectations like warmth. She tries to hold them at the level of her eyes, but then she blinks and they're gone before her eyelids even begin their journey.