OVER IT.

I don't know what I'm over. Whatever it is, I'm jumping over it.

My indecisive mind is all over the place. I had way too much tea today, so that resulted in me laying in bed contemplating whether or not to get up or force myself to sleep.

First, I thought I should work on my essay.
Second, I thought about reading Jane Eyre.
Third, I debated on writing.
Fourth, I thought of painting my nails.
Fifth, well at this point I just told myself to get the hell up because I'm clearly not going to get any sleep this way.

Rediscovering old paintings, unfinished comics, drawings and notes to myself with little ideas, finally led me to realize that there isn't enough time in the world. I have so many ideas written down, books I've wanted to write, stories that I've wanted to paint, and overall inventions. At times I feel like my imagination is shedding away. I rediscover and realize that I've neglected it and they all remain in the pages of blogger.com or sketch books crammed in my bookshelf.

Whatever it is that I'm over, please don't let it be my ideas.

Dean's List.

Do you ever wonder if you're doing the right thing?
Possibly in the middle of all your industrious vigor you stop for a moment and think, "Wait, am I going in the right direction?"

I had one of those moments today.

I also looked in the mirror and finally saw my age beginning to show. My eyes were tired and motionless. I no longer had the lively curious eyes I once had as a child.

One time while my mother and I were waiting in a parking lot, I climbed to the front seat and mimicked her. She pulled down the visor and checked her make-up and I copied her movements, staring at myself  in the visor mirror. I want to be a woman so badly. I wanted to wear nylons, and heels and press soft Chanel lipstick across my lips. I remember something distinctly that day though. I looked in the mirror and I tried very desperately to see myself as an adult, a full grown woman. And I did. Except the image scared me. For a split second, I saw bags beneath my eyes, lifeless skin that was losing color and droopy blank stares. I jumped back for a moment and shut the visor immediately. I thought maybe I had watched something that made me see that face in the mirror, because I convinced myself that was not me in the future.. I was going to be that perky sophisticated woman who wore Ann Taylor suits and performed every task with the finest delicacy.

I looked in the mirror today, and I saw the same exact image I did in that car visor as a child. Except I didn't turn away and I didn't deny that was my reflection for a single second.

I'm exhausted.

Yay-sayings.

Little Sister 

Prayer... 
"Oh Lord of the Rings, please help us!"
08/16/12

On the subject of firing... 
Alyssa: "Mom, what if someone punches someone else at work?"
Me: "That's a strange question to ask..."
Mom: "...Usually it will result in termination."
Alyssa: "THEY KILL YOU?"

An attempt to use the word "Humongous"...
Alyssa: "THIS TIRE IS HILARIOUS!" while smacking a large tire.

Attempting to escape boredom on a SF road trip...
Alyssa: "List the first thing that comes to your head"
Chris: "Zimbabwe!"
Alyssa: "No! It has to be something real!"

On the subject of Vegetarianism...
Alyssa: "Is Eden a vegetarian?"
Me: "No, why would you ask that?"
Alyssa: "Because she looks like one."
Me: "What does a vegetarian look like?"
Alyssa: "Sometimes they look Indian."
12.25.11.

Taking the game M.A.S.H. a little too seriously... 
Me: "H doesn't stand for House anymore, it now stands for Hospital"
Alyssa: "I think it's a good thing if we live in a hospital. If I'm married to the Elephant Man that will be good for us."

My Mother 

On the subject of Billy Corgan's past relationships...
Mom: "He dated Courtney Love?"
Me: "Yeah."
Mom: "Gross, she's disgusting, she's such trash."
Me: "Well I figured they're both musicians. Kurt Cobain married her..."
Mom: "So? Kurt Cobain was on heroin, he would have married a trash can."
1.16.2010.

A lesson on letting go...
Mom: "That's always been my motto you know? Bridge under the water."

Misheard...
Aunt: "It's all moist in the morning and it smells all mildewy."
Mom: "Gross! It smells like a wildebeest? I don't even know what that smells like!"
9.13.2009.

Remembering Sadie Hawkins 1985...
Me: pointing at a dance photograph "Who's Quiet Riot?"
Mom: "Some band. Had to get those because Granny wouldn't buy me a Judas Priest shirt. She was all 'Oh, no...that guy betrayed Jesus..' and refused to buy it."

My Grandmother

A zombie version of "They ask for a hand and take a limb"...
Grandmother: "It's like someone asks to hold your hand while they are chewing on the other one"

Family, Friends and Loves

Remembering the days of bartering... 
Chris: "Remember when people used to barter for massages?"
Lauren: "Then someone started raping people and messed it all up."
Joseph: "Nah there's an adult services sections now."

On the subjects of Hoochies...
Me: "Aren't those girls cold?"
Sam: "No... Hoochies don't get cold"
Chris: "Is it because they don't have any souls?"
VGA's 2011.

On a rabbit's diet...
Me: "Did you know rabbits can actually eat newspaper? I read it in the rabbit book, I'd think too much would could kill them, you know from all the lead in the ink."
Chris: "Really? I thought it was because of all the bad news..."

Staring at a flyer of NBA All-Stars...
Chris: "I don't know why Whitney Houston isn't on here. She's my favorite All-Star."
2008!

An explanation of Sweetness...
Me: "Chris, why are you so sweet?"
Chris: "...one time my Mom made a cupcake with sugar and I ate it?"

Jacqui and her burro... 
Me: "Yeah that's a nice car."
Jacqui: "You know, I'd like to own a donkey...they're just practical."

Discovering Highland Park...
Anna: "Did you know DOG is GOD spelled backwards?...Oh look we're in Italy, again!"

A first concert...
Me: "Is this your first concert?"
Erin: "I...uh...have been to a...um...rodeo?"
8.27.11.

A day at the Observatory...
Erin: After making weird motions with her hands "Don't look at me like that, I was born this way. Lady Gaga said so."
8.27.11.

A mans dying wishes...
Toddy: "if i should die while i'm awake... while i'm going i want to think of the times i was a kid playing outside the house, while my grandpa watered the grass, my grandma cooking in the kitchen and the sun was setting i'll go a happy camper if i can think of that those long summer days when you're a kid...seems like the evening took forever to come.. i always enjoyed that time in between"
8.29.11.

On Italian literature...
Dr. McCormick: "Italian? Oh no. I only speak dead languages."

Believing you're English...
Me: "Do your best British accent"
Thomas: "Gov'na Gov'na chip chip cheerio!"

Member? Member that time?

Once while I was heavily inebriated I wrote out this philosophical theory on a napkin. I read it the next day and it didn't make any fucking sense. Really, it didn't make ANY fucking sense. I don't even think the words I used formed a full sentence. Nonetheless, I laughed it off, ripped the napkin into shreds and vowed never to leave evidence of my drunken ramblings.

I'm reviewing my livejournal and guess what I found?
You betcha. Another drunken rambling.

You Are Here.

There are stack piles of luxurious architectural magazines that are collecting dust in the garage.

In the spring of 2011, I was introduced to experimental poetry and John Berger. Things such as Flarf, and other forms of expression without the conventional, frankly boring, rhyme scheme. After reading Berger's Ways of Seeing, I was confronted with an issue that I did not discover until one day I found myself with my face completely planted in an Architectural Digest magazine.



I have lived in apartments all of my life, and the occasional houses I did live in we had rented for no longer than 6 months. I stared at the piles of magazines I was collecting of luxury homes and wondered for a moment why I was so infatuated with them? Did I want to be an architect? An interior designer? By the time I was 19 I drafted a blueprint of my most ideal home. It had 5 bedrooms, three floors, a two-story garage, a game room/theater and a library. I stared at those blueprints hoping that they would lead me closer to what I really wanted.


But what was it that I wanted? I was attending college for a degree in English Literature not Architecture. Yet I could not break away from these magazines that had my jaw floored in mystification.

Suddenly it hit me: It wasn't the house.


Not only was I collecting years worth of luxury home magazines, but I also collected fortune upon fortunes from cookies. I had to ask myself: Why are you doing this?

Home.




I held onto these images hoping that one day I would build and find my own home. Really, I was buying into this product that each image was selling: You are Here. You are Home. You are exactly where you want to be.

Every moment that I spent staring at the pages of these magazines I was being mystified by this false impression that these images are right where I belong. There are no families in these pictures, they are all empty - move in ready. (Above) Look at that desk, cluttered with images of smiling faces, fond memories, and treasured books.

For a moment I was convinced that putting myself in these images would change everything. I tore out the pages and depicted what these pages meant to me, and solidifying the paper to glue was like inserting the key to the lock of my freedom. I packed the magazines up in box, threw the fortunes away and never looked back (of course unless one of the magazines required butchering).

I held onto two fortunes:
"All we are, is the result of what we have thought." (and more importantly, "what we have acted on")

the other was "To do nothing, is the be nothing." These I hold to be very true.

As of now, I am twenty-three years old...still searching for my home, but I know for a fact that it is not within the pages of an Architectural Digest Magazine.

Get out of your Head and into this Party...

Called Life.

You were expecting a pants party weren't you?

What am I talking about? Life isn't a party. I guess it depends on what kind of party person you are.
I've taken this metaphor beyond what I intended.

I made three U-turns today.
Three.

All so I could get to this goddamn coffee shop I've been wanting to try for the past 3 months.
By the second U-turn I thought, "You know, if it's really going to be this much of bitch you might as well just hit up one of the 5 Starbucks lined up along both sides of the street."

Suddenly this ferocious voice came from within, "Dammit! You are going to that damn coffee shop! TRY NEW THINGS!" I don't know where this imprisoned house wife came from. I sounded like I've never tried coffee in my life.

I walked in, stood staring at the menu for a good 2 minutes and thought, "Jesus, these prices are ridiculous...but they sound so delicious"

$9.45 later, I'm sitting in a booth glancing around the room to gather what kind of place this is.

The people are young - mid twenties to early thirties. All business casual. I pulled out my Heart of Darkness and for a moment felt really intimidated. I didn't know what to do with my plate when I was finished, and debated if I should leave a tip. I left my dish on the counter, gave my thanks and walked out hurriedly. The sun was bright enough to make me squint and I was smiling as I felt one of those refreshing Californian breezes.

I walked out of that coffee shop severely concerned. I spent so much of my brain power worrying about if I was doing something properly that I completely missed the point. I wanted to go there because I thought I'd thoroughly enjoy it, and clearly I stressed myself out to the point where I did not. I walked to my car still sipping on the remains of my Eagle Roca, scraping the bottom of the cup for chunks of chocolate like an oblivious child.

Then I realized that was exactly where I needed to be - in that moment.

The Fence

I talk to my grandmother as if she is still alive. It almost seems as if I pray to her. Its easily confused. I pray-talk to her the same way I used to pray-talk to God as a child. My confessions brought me comfort without judgment, and my pleas were put at ease with the feeling that someone actually listened and relieved whatever burden I carried.

I have lost an enormous amount of focus. I find myself searching for these answers that lead me into more questions. At the end of the day, I remain the same with the irritably ringing inquiry, "Could it be, that everything you thought you knew was wrong?" A pure fallacy, if fallacies can be pure. Untouched I suppose... I found myself envying Don Quixote because his illusions seemed so real. To be honest, I was entertained by most of his illusions, but at the same time - jealous of his conviction. I wanted to be enraptured by something, at some point almost anything. I believe that's why I spent so much time sitting next to a tree or lost in the mountains, hoping that it would offer me a moment of transcendence. Art hasn't faired so well. I hit a wall thinking, "Maybe any sort of conveyance of man will not do?" To tell you the truth, I miss God. I miss our relationship, and I find myself destroying any possibility of allowing myself to be entirely devoted.

Hesitation has never lasted so long. I find myself doing it for as long as I can hold until I am forced to reckon with it's presence. 

I'll admit, I'm always scared so I vacillate back and forth hoping that when the time arrives I run in whichever direction my heart takes me and hope that my instincts function for every reason they are supposed to.

ZombeH.

I wake up from the same recurring nightmare.

There is a movie theater that I attend regularly, the main rows are slanted and the rows against the left side of the theater are lined with bar stools and tables higher than comfort permits. I run into some old friends, an old admirer that never let go, and a couple that I can't say I relish in seeing. The movie begins, and within a few minutes of the roll of film, the screen breaks off into black spots and the film reel has torn the production into pieces. A unified moan erupts from the group, and we are all escorted into the main lobby for delays.

I fixate my eyes on a janitorial door, teal and beaten along the edges of its steel exterior. In the background, the banter of my old friends plays as an encouraging murmur to pursue my curious mind. I know this door, I've seen it many times. Everyone is laughing, I turn around to survey the room, and in a singular moment, I am not present. Haven't you ever felt the same? Where the room swirls about you in a heated rush and you realize that you've been alone all along? I place my hand on the steel door; It's colder than I remember, ice cold.

It's unlocked.

The knob of the door quickly releases the moment I direct my attention to the second door, nearly a foot away from the first steel door. I'm not surprised by it's absurd location, in contrast it is of an old wood texture, similar the the front door of a rustic cabin, except parts of it remain splinting and the door has been pushed beyond its frame. I push the door awkwardly against its natural structure and manage only to move it several inches beyond its original swing from the hinges. I squeeze through and recognize the corresponding hallway, flickering with fluorescent lights, and a multitude of broken furniture piled against the wall. Suddenly the sound of running feet against the cement floor approaches me. A young girl with her the lower half of her hair shaven reaches for my arm, "You've taken too long..." Without question, I don't bother asking her name, at the moment I can't bring it to mind, but I trust her and follow without hesitation.

After turning almost every existing corner in the building, we reach an elevator. This place is desolate and seems to serve absolutely no purpose. I attempt to recount how many turns we took, or navigate my route to return. Instead I rub my sweating palms with the tips of my fingers and observe my unknown friend beginning from the ground up. She's wearing platform shoes, these things Rockabillies used to refer to as Creepers, along with two layers of unnecessarily ripped fishnets in the colors of red and black. Her plaid skirt is almost entirely covered by what looks like an old boyfriend's torn Nekromantix band t-shirt, and by the time I reach her face, which has been mouthing the words to a song that she is quietly singing to herself, she smiles. She's snapping her fingers to a beat I knew a long time ago, and she raspily laughs at my obvious observation, "You seem uneasier than usual. Is it my new threads?" "It's just something I would have experienced with in high school maybe," I replied. "Rhonda and I scored this new VDub bus, you'll love it. It came packed with a drag queens dream wardrobe and three rifles, one which I'm sure will bring you back to the old stomping ground."

The elevator rings in its arrival.

The electricity is buzzing, and by now at the second ring as the elevator opens its door, I've already forgotten my attempts to remember where I am. Again, there are multitudes of broken furniture as we exit, and the girl breaks off the last remaining leg of a dining room table with a nail stuck protruding from the tip. She smugly smiles to herself and says,"Ah, last one." At that very moment, a woman with mangled blonde hair silently drags her feet from behind the pile of furniture. Her eyes have sunken into her pale rotting skin, and her mouth is salivating with blood. I am mute, utterly speechless and I am unconsciously walking backwards into a wall pointing behind my nameless friend. In one swift motion she swings the leg of the table directly into the temple of the zombie and she shakes the creature off with the edge of her new platformed shoes like a flimsy piece of toilet paper. She looks at me concerned, "What? Don't act like you haven't owned the place, sweetheart." She turns to run down the hall, and in fear I yell, "Wait!... Please, I need some time to pull myself together, I don't know where I am." The nameless girl tosses her hair to one side, exposing her shaven head and replies, "You're in your old stomping grounds sweetie, and you've been gone far too long." She grabs my arm once more, and I break away to keep up with her pace. We reach a similar teal steel door, with what looks to be dented from bullets shot from the opposing side. The girl stops for a moment prior to opening the door and bluntly says, "Look, the shit you saw back there isn't anything you haven't seen before, so you better get yourself together now or escort yourself back to that waste of a shitland you were spending your time in earlier." I nod, mostly because I don't even remember how the hell to get back to the theater and secondly, because I can't help but admit this is more exciting than anything I've done in the past five years. She smiles again, a face I'm beginning to become quite fond of, "Look alive, darling," and she swings the door open for me.

A woman with a brightly pink boa feathered scarf jolts up from the sunroof of a Volkswagon bus and screams, "My love! You've returned so soon! I hope you would enjoy a cup of tea along with a fashion consultation, because your outfit is the sorriest piece of material I have ever laid eyes on." I look back at the nameless girl, who has nodded in consent and follows behind me. The woman hurries to the sliding door of the van and greets me with a hug, "I trust that Violet has escorted you violently?" The girl, which I now know as Violet broke in, "We met an old friend in the hallway, this one is a little shook up." "Strange," said the woman, "it's not like you haven't owned the place." I laugh, frankly because I don't know what in the world these people are talking about and lastly I want to cut crap and get straight to the point. "Violet says you have a rifle for me. If we see any of those things again, I want something of my own" I reply. "Yes, yes! Of course, of course...follow me," the lively woman says as I step into the bus. The bus is decked out in loads of gaudy clothing, almost as if a Vegas spewed the entire show casts clothing from the 1970's. The woman is digging through a pile of hats and scarves, throwing them behind her and tossing them in every other direction. "Ah! Here we are!" she presents the rifle to me like it is the holy grail, delicately holding the barrel with her two forefingers. "What the fuck am I going to do with a .22, daisy kind of do fucking rifle?" I stare at the woman infuriated, and her reaction is not nearly as reassuring as I would have liked it to be. "Why, there you are! Welcome home, my love! Mouth filthy as ever!" she replies. In an excited rush, she scurries over to the front of the bus and above the drivers seat she presses the button of a garage door opener. "You'll be glad to re-visit your pets!"

As the garage door opens, I can see the stationary feet moving, some with a broken ankle limping and pressing against the slowly opening garage door. Violet slides open the bus door and pushes me out with her. I nearly drop the rifle in awe, Violet nudges my shoulder harshly and says, "Don't worry, I've seen you use that thing like it was a multi-tool." Three of the creatures began to enter the garage, Violet still holding onto the table leg as if it were a bat looks back at me and says, "I'll let you have first pick!" I can't move, my feet feel as if they were cemented into the ground, I can feel Violets eyes continuously peering back at me waiting for my move. Impatient, she abruptly swings at the first creature hitting its lower jaw. She attempts to remove her weapon as cleanly as before but rips the creatures jaw from its sockets. The creature, with only its upper set of rotting teeth continues at Violet and she swings again hitting it dead center between the eyes. I look around the garage to find the other two creatures, and see only one directly headed my way. I've regained the control of my feet now, and I turn around to meet the dead eyes of another creature against the wall. Before I can think, I shove the barrel of my rifle into the eye of creature and shoot twice into its skull. The barrel removes swiftly, I slide it from the head of the creature and turn around to be confronted by the other that had initially set its sullen eyes on me. I shoot from afar and my hits fly straight through the chest and do not stunt the creature for one minor second. Violet runs to the bus and slides the door shut, leaving me with the creature dragging its hungry body nearer. As it approaches within close contact I grab my rifle by the barrel, crouch to the floor and swing the buttstock to the only functional ankle of the creature. With a loud crack, its ankle breaks and the creature collapses to the floor. With its arms still grabbing at me, I swing the rifle at alternating shoulder blades repetitiously until the the brittle bones are severed and empty my entire load of ammo into the forefront of the creatures head. My rifle is covered in complete mush, and dripping in velvet colored blood. I look down at myself, disgusted in remnant flesh that is covered all over my clothing. Finally, I look up, dropping my empty rifle to see the horizon blackened by the dead closing in.

I awake, panicked. My palms sweating and my hands tingling from being asleep. It is 4:46am.