I have been thinking lately alot about starting a project called "heart on the sleeve", in which I make a bunch of easily applied (read: velcro) patches that have simple emotional statements you wouldn't necessarily say out-loud, and affixing them to my sleeve as different emotional/ personal thoughts arose. I nixed the idea because its adorableness makes me sort of sick, plus I felt that explaining what you were trying to do would take longer than the application itself, and thus would detract from the overall impact of the action. It felt a little obvious, I mean.
I have been also thinking about starting a writing/reading series called "overtly confessional: sharing too much is caring too much" in which, yea, you could read stuff beyond journal entries... thoughts you think that are minute and inane and you would probably never write down in the first place. these little tiny, seemingly inconsequential moments of being. those thoughts you think that make you unique. But I haven't because I think I might be the only one who would want to read at it.
Both of these projects are excuses, metaphors, quick fixes, what have you, for having a crush. That is, I want to share myself with one specific person, but I specifically don't know how, and they don't know me, and its my habit, to have these intense feelings that lead to intense work/projects/trips/plans, these big dreams and imaginings and happenings and the "they" don't ever know that these fictional city-scapes and maps and dimensions and ideas are being constructed around them. Its my bad habit, because this distance is safer, and that constant rush of anticipation, of glances across the room, the agony and heart ache that adds such a silent drama to every chance interaction is addictive.
So I start heartsleeve projects and confessional rant nights. Because I have this energy set to explode. Because I want to share myself with someone, but I'll share me with the whole world instead.
Showing posts with label abstracted goals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label abstracted goals. Show all posts
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The Most Bizarre and Kick Ass Dream I've had in ages
So.
Nym, Una, Pat and I are in San Fran- at least, I think its San Fran. We are lost- there is something we are supposed to be doing, but we don't know what. We find a hostel that looks EXACTLY like the Boys Rooming House from Newsies, and decide to hole up for the night.
Out the window you can see a lake, and you can just barely make out the shore on the other side of the lake. We are watching the news and the shore at the same time- it appears there is a war of some sort, and an anarchist armada is raiding the "enemy" (the "enemy" remains an unknown entity throughout the dream) and attacking them on the shore. ALL OF A SUDDEN WE REALIZE- THAT'S WHAT WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE DOING IN SF!!!!
Pat says "oh hell no. Someone give me a telephone, I've got to fire someone". Apparently, Pat is in charge of the Parks Dept in San Fran, and the "enemy" isn't allowed to use the shore to stage their attack. The rest of us are sort of just jumping up and down saying "we were supposed to be on the armada, what the fuck are we doing just standing here?" and Nym says "Where did those anarchists come from?" and Una replies "There are anarchists everywhere" (which is actually a conversation that happened in real life too).
I then realize that the leader of the anarchist armada is none other than the 60+ year old accountant, Leslie, from my old job at MJM. We get her on video phone and shes cussing up a storm, shouting "I'm fucking rading the hell out of the bastards!". Pat tells her to bring us a boat.
So Leslie comes across the lake in a flying jalopy, towing a canoe.
She is dressed in all black, with a beret, and is full of spit fire. She is chain smoking.
The jalopy is parked outside, and while Nym, Una, Pat, and Leslie are plotting what we should do next, I am remotely activating bombs via text message on my phone and watching out the window as people try to test drive the flying jalopy. The janitor from the hostel approaches the jalopy, gets in, tries to take her around the block, but I can see right away that he's not going to make it and
suddenly I am outside, screaming, running towards the jalopy, as he loses control of it, and it skids round the corner, and down a flight of stairs, and crashes.
And I'm screaming "That was my great grandfathers flying jalopy, its for the resistance" and then Jarrod is next to me screaming "It was my great grandfather's jalopy as well, how could you crash it?"
I storm back into the hostel, all sorts of angry that our magical vehicle is out of service. The others have taken the canoe back into the fray. I'm headed to join them when I run into Rob Lowe in the hallway. I know immediately that he is with the "enemy".
We glare at each other. Oh yes, Rob Lowe and I are having an epic stare off.
Rob Lowe says " I'm having a bad day".
I say "A bad day? Like bad like SOME ANARCHISTS ARE BLOWING UP YOUR SHIT BAD DAY ROB LOWE?"
He leads me into some sort of board room in the hostel, were we spit insults back and forth in escalating volume, trying to "out bad day" one another, when I suddenly stop, all heated from our discourse, and say
"I really want to sleep with you Rob Lowe"and he says
"Me too. Right now?"
I nod.
We sit across the table from one another, and slowly remove all our clothing until he is wearing nothing but a red bra (I tell him I have the same one) and I'm left with only my "World Best Dad" shirt on.
He tells me that seeing Twilight was as bad as the first time he ever went to a meth lab. While conveying this, he is leaning across the table, nuzzling my forehead with his chin. I giggle.
Then, Rob Lowe says "So, you wanna get gang fucked?"
Startled, I look up and say "What, Rob Lowe?!"
He gestures to his body guards, who have been present the entire time. I laugh, and shake my head and say
"Oh Rob Lowe!". He ushers the body guards out, and I wake up.
Awesome, no? And a little frightening.
Viva la revolution!
Nym, Una, Pat and I are in San Fran- at least, I think its San Fran. We are lost- there is something we are supposed to be doing, but we don't know what. We find a hostel that looks EXACTLY like the Boys Rooming House from Newsies, and decide to hole up for the night.
Out the window you can see a lake, and you can just barely make out the shore on the other side of the lake. We are watching the news and the shore at the same time- it appears there is a war of some sort, and an anarchist armada is raiding the "enemy" (the "enemy" remains an unknown entity throughout the dream) and attacking them on the shore. ALL OF A SUDDEN WE REALIZE- THAT'S WHAT WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE DOING IN SF!!!!
Pat says "oh hell no. Someone give me a telephone, I've got to fire someone". Apparently, Pat is in charge of the Parks Dept in San Fran, and the "enemy" isn't allowed to use the shore to stage their attack. The rest of us are sort of just jumping up and down saying "we were supposed to be on the armada, what the fuck are we doing just standing here?" and Nym says "Where did those anarchists come from?" and Una replies "There are anarchists everywhere" (which is actually a conversation that happened in real life too).
I then realize that the leader of the anarchist armada is none other than the 60+ year old accountant, Leslie, from my old job at MJM. We get her on video phone and shes cussing up a storm, shouting "I'm fucking rading the hell out of the bastards!". Pat tells her to bring us a boat.
So Leslie comes across the lake in a flying jalopy, towing a canoe.
She is dressed in all black, with a beret, and is full of spit fire. She is chain smoking.
The jalopy is parked outside, and while Nym, Una, Pat, and Leslie are plotting what we should do next, I am remotely activating bombs via text message on my phone and watching out the window as people try to test drive the flying jalopy. The janitor from the hostel approaches the jalopy, gets in, tries to take her around the block, but I can see right away that he's not going to make it and
suddenly I am outside, screaming, running towards the jalopy, as he loses control of it, and it skids round the corner, and down a flight of stairs, and crashes.
And I'm screaming "That was my great grandfathers flying jalopy, its for the resistance" and then Jarrod is next to me screaming "It was my great grandfather's jalopy as well, how could you crash it?"
I storm back into the hostel, all sorts of angry that our magical vehicle is out of service. The others have taken the canoe back into the fray. I'm headed to join them when I run into Rob Lowe in the hallway. I know immediately that he is with the "enemy".
We glare at each other. Oh yes, Rob Lowe and I are having an epic stare off.
Rob Lowe says " I'm having a bad day".
I say "A bad day? Like bad like SOME ANARCHISTS ARE BLOWING UP YOUR SHIT BAD DAY ROB LOWE?"
He leads me into some sort of board room in the hostel, were we spit insults back and forth in escalating volume, trying to "out bad day" one another, when I suddenly stop, all heated from our discourse, and say
"I really want to sleep with you Rob Lowe"and he says
"Me too. Right now?"
I nod.
We sit across the table from one another, and slowly remove all our clothing until he is wearing nothing but a red bra (I tell him I have the same one) and I'm left with only my "World Best Dad" shirt on.
He tells me that seeing Twilight was as bad as the first time he ever went to a meth lab. While conveying this, he is leaning across the table, nuzzling my forehead with his chin. I giggle.
Then, Rob Lowe says "So, you wanna get gang fucked?"
Startled, I look up and say "What, Rob Lowe?!"
He gestures to his body guards, who have been present the entire time. I laugh, and shake my head and say
"Oh Rob Lowe!". He ushers the body guards out, and I wake up.
Awesome, no? And a little frightening.
Viva la revolution!
Saturday, February 2, 2008
notes
a day of contemplation. Quiet. No one to speak to but strangers and the dog. No relationships beyond my various concrete functions: strangers: customer. dog: caretaker. No one thinking of me, not of me. Not abstractly of me. Wondering if that means anything- or, moreover, wondering if it should.
Didn't quit smoking, but it doesn't much matter. Instead watched a movie that was a moving love letter to Paris. Ate breakfast alone. Walked the block. Tried to take unflattering self portraits. Succeeded.
Thought of wading through life- life manifesting as fog. And of vanishing, or at the very least, dispersing, within it.
(This isn't a study in sadness, but more just a study. Non linear thought processes. What strikes you when you look at the sky, etc etc. An exercise in parceling out "random", with a vague attempt to piecemeal it together into "something"- find and incorporate the piece about the barren trees with hands and fingers composed on the train. tie thoughts into knots.)
Didn't quit smoking, but it doesn't much matter. Instead watched a movie that was a moving love letter to Paris. Ate breakfast alone. Walked the block. Tried to take unflattering self portraits. Succeeded.
Thought of wading through life- life manifesting as fog. And of vanishing, or at the very least, dispersing, within it.
(This isn't a study in sadness, but more just a study. Non linear thought processes. What strikes you when you look at the sky, etc etc. An exercise in parceling out "random", with a vague attempt to piecemeal it together into "something"- find and incorporate the piece about the barren trees with hands and fingers composed on the train. tie thoughts into knots.)
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
things to be found, pt 2
goals, in the concretely abstract
1) the more love you give, the more love you have.
we studied love in depth a few summers ago (well, as much as anyone or group can study such a thing). An overriding conclusion was reached: if you really love someone, there must be a pure subtraction of the ego. A submersion of that which will benefit you in an effort to selflessly urge the one you love to pursue that which will make them happy (the stickler for most people is that, sometimes, while loving them is good for you, it may not be what they want. And if you truly love them, then, in an ideal situation, you would still continue with that same level of care and wish them the best. Doesn't happen often though). Not to the degree in which you damage yourself, but in an effort to truly attain a perfect sense of emotional grace- because thats what love should be, right? Mutual aide, a balance, a sense of longevity and symmetry and true altruism. Because that's how all of us long to be adored. Because once you strip away the games, the manipulations, the twisted cords of miscommunication, boredom, stagnancy, and self doubt, all that should remain is this pure, energetic vine of connection. Because that's how all of us deserve to be adored. This lesson must be brought back to the forefront.
2) getting/learning the most one possibly can from being humbled. Despite (or, better yet, because of) the heart ache of it.
3) continuing study of what makes the emotional physical, and how feelings can manifest into concrete actions/objects/places/maladies/miracles.
1) the more love you give, the more love you have.
we studied love in depth a few summers ago (well, as much as anyone or group can study such a thing). An overriding conclusion was reached: if you really love someone, there must be a pure subtraction of the ego. A submersion of that which will benefit you in an effort to selflessly urge the one you love to pursue that which will make them happy (the stickler for most people is that, sometimes, while loving them is good for you, it may not be what they want. And if you truly love them, then, in an ideal situation, you would still continue with that same level of care and wish them the best. Doesn't happen often though). Not to the degree in which you damage yourself, but in an effort to truly attain a perfect sense of emotional grace- because thats what love should be, right? Mutual aide, a balance, a sense of longevity and symmetry and true altruism. Because that's how all of us long to be adored. Because once you strip away the games, the manipulations, the twisted cords of miscommunication, boredom, stagnancy, and self doubt, all that should remain is this pure, energetic vine of connection. Because that's how all of us deserve to be adored. This lesson must be brought back to the forefront.
2) getting/learning the most one possibly can from being humbled. Despite (or, better yet, because of) the heart ache of it.
3) continuing study of what makes the emotional physical, and how feelings can manifest into concrete actions/objects/places/maladies/miracles.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Monday, January 7, 2008
Things to be found, pt. 1
Ball room dancing skills
the funny in the form of actual concrete written word or video format, rather than floating in the murky ether of bar time conversations
my hands, my time, and all other things hereto thought impossible
escalator to the stars
less money
lost money
lost lovers
music, music, music, my voice, (and again) my hands
air outside this room, these walls, this city, this country, this world
all moments impossible to repeat
music and video and screenplay writing software
formulas and language self created and defined
the dirt, the mud, the snow, the barren field, the tallest tree
these bones extended, stretched, and prone
the core, my core, a core- strength without steal, love without hate, the warmest/ darkest place and point
that room we've dreamed of, it was red with fire, it was dusted with age.
purpose that pulsates
my room lit with stars
Drawing a line from moment to moment, action to action.
Cause and effect
Solitude
naps in the middle of the day
busy-ness vs. business
2008 is the year of the Orphan.
the funny in the form of actual concrete written word or video format, rather than floating in the murky ether of bar time conversations
my hands, my time, and all other things hereto thought impossible
escalator to the stars
less money
lost money
lost lovers
music, music, music, my voice, (and again) my hands
air outside this room, these walls, this city, this country, this world
all moments impossible to repeat
music and video and screenplay writing software
formulas and language self created and defined
the dirt, the mud, the snow, the barren field, the tallest tree
these bones extended, stretched, and prone
the core, my core, a core- strength without steal, love without hate, the warmest/ darkest place and point
that room we've dreamed of, it was red with fire, it was dusted with age.
purpose that pulsates
my room lit with stars
Drawing a line from moment to moment, action to action.
Cause and effect
Solitude
naps in the middle of the day
busy-ness vs. business
2008 is the year of the Orphan.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
up and coming, coming up
This is the time for plan making. Because what could be better than actually doing projects? Why, planning said projects. A stall tactic you say? No shit.
Winter settles in. This means a plethora of things- namely that my room will soon become finger numbing cold, and my bed will quickly become the only skin-safe spot (remember that playground game 'lava monster'? Well, it going to go much like that. Wear four layers of clothes and hopscotch across islands of furniture until you are burrowed completely below as many covers as you can acquire) Ideas of hibernation, songs about snow and solitude, hot spiced beverages, and slow dancing will all evolve into concrete yearnings or happenings, and morning and night will seem closer- creating the semblance of a touchable sky.
The hardest thing about my favorite time of year is that it is the time of year that, aside from dressing up the cats in reindeer ears and having moominpappa story time with the friends, I have the least amount of energy to get.things.done.
Not this year though. Goddamn, not this year.
To do then. Done. (till the wheels roll off)...
Winter settles in. This means a plethora of things- namely that my room will soon become finger numbing cold, and my bed will quickly become the only skin-safe spot (remember that playground game 'lava monster'? Well, it going to go much like that. Wear four layers of clothes and hopscotch across islands of furniture until you are burrowed completely below as many covers as you can acquire) Ideas of hibernation, songs about snow and solitude, hot spiced beverages, and slow dancing will all evolve into concrete yearnings or happenings, and morning and night will seem closer- creating the semblance of a touchable sky.
The hardest thing about my favorite time of year is that it is the time of year that, aside from dressing up the cats in reindeer ears and having moominpappa story time with the friends, I have the least amount of energy to get.things.done.
Not this year though. Goddamn, not this year.
To do then. Done. (till the wheels roll off)...
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