(no subject)
tried to stay really busy on may 6th. never again watch the film, "un chien delicieux." drew happy dogs in sketch book and squares that said shut the hell up, two days later. going home for a month-long visit in 7 days. i have a direct flight down this time, thank god.
note of the semester, graphic design forum is so different than the fine art forum, which is a much too thick and deep with bullshit for me. i have taken fine arts classes to escape the pressure i face in design, only to face pressure of more competition of the strangest type...i don't really get competing to be the weirdest/most suffering/most well-read/most full of shit and able to talk about nothing for the most amount of time.
upon looking through my photographs from diane/nicole journeys in 2007, i noticed at least 50 percent of my photos show interest in structures and graphics.
note to self, i know nothing about being an academic exhibiting sculptural artist, and i don't take it serious enough, and this offends people who do.
i'm surrounded by insincere people, people who have no experience of life, and try to draw relationships to themselves and those who have had life experience, suffering, and meaningful relationships. it's a really strange place to be sometimes, thank god i get on great with design folks, printmakers, and photographers.
get me home to my purple bike-riding mom and my dad's plaid shirts and tall citrus trees, the family smiling stuffed-potato dog, and 16-year old pet goat.
above all the bullshit there's a lot i miss, and a lot i don't.
---
i wish i had this...but below are the lyrics to
one of my favorite songs, forgotten/lost on a mixtape somewhere in gainesville when i was 19:
An old women she just told me
this is the lonliest life she has ever seen
every wrinkle is a monument
meant for dust and decay
the painter understood this
spreading the evening sky with crows
the sky all black placenta
its too big to ignore
pull out the lawn chairs,
and watch the angels rip out their wings
my sweet eternity,
you were more than i bargoned for
i guess all good things come to an end
each breath is a monument
every blink of the eye
or is it like a photograph,
another day gone by
pull out the lawn chairs,
and watch the angels pull out their wings
my sweet eternity,
you were more than i bargoned for
all good things come to an end --- lullaby for the working class