so this was from my old journal.
this journal feels so cluttered to me.
anyone know of a wonderful layout website for livejournal? i just want something simplistic. blah.
Can barely write. This is a mental state with which I am extremely familiar. Frustration. The intimate, tiresome knowledge of one's own boundaries. There are times the words don't come into my mouth, the feeling hot behind them, the desire all there. But the words themselves twisted and deformed beyond recognition. Tongue tangled against teeth. What if I put them down anyway, mangled as they are, and let the meaning shine through them, in bright pieces, like light through a tree? It matters not what you say- it is the effort, the animating force behind it that signifies- the desire to speak is still there- and that portion of the puzzle will create some modicum of sense. Or so one hopes.
Here lies the distilled essense of loneliness- the fear that one will never be able to find the word for what one desires to say. The word forms only in the darkest pools of one's being The barest outline offers itself from the shadows. A monster is slain.And dream seemed to be a sort of code word. It was a pretty way of saying beyond the reach of conventional possession: unreal because I do not want it to be real. Beautiful and impotent in the way dreams are impotent.
it's all summed up and presented to you.
i have grazes on my collar bones, and a graze where my arms bends. it looks funny. i wonder when they will disapear?
finding myself repeatedly listening to the brillance of paul charlier's composting, and ft paula arundell 'song to the siren' and anything by johnette apoltano. it's all fucking brilliant. truly fucking blissful and raw. it gets to me. grabs you and makes your mind wander through highs and lows. drawing to this stuff is wonderous. it just makes the colours jump and spin off the tip of my brush or pastel in a vibrant array.
i wish i could compose such beautiful, beautiful music that makes peoples tummys flip, and their eyes glaze and they become numb and ever so dreamy and oblivious to anything else but that of the sounds that dance around them. constantly chasing the blissful moments. i want to create an eternal state of desirable, dream-like, not nescarily easily seen if one's eyes took a quick glance pieces. they feel ike this to me. but i wonder if anything else feels anything for colours, lines, vivid little fragments one remembers that wont move from my head. i want to share all this.
we looked at the peach house yesterday. it has funny bricks, old worn, lovely sandstone bricks, a black iron fence, and a garden that walking through could equate to your recommended daily exersise. it had stepping stones. i stepped from one to another.on and on.the garden was very pretty. though the lack of water had obvisouly knocked the poor plants around a bit. it was worn though. the house. the carpet was thin, and you could feel the funny surface under it. it was hard. i felt like i would fall through the floor. paper thin style. and the rooms were jumbled (it use to be lawyers office) so perhaps this the mess distracted from what it could be. but i think it could be lovely. but i think i just like the ideas that run around in my head about playing around with big empty rooms. i think i might try and source out 'hidden track' - how visual culture is going places. 'the book demonstrates how rooms are bing occupied creatively and how items are being trasformed. it presents the diveser exhibition possibilities - a spectrum ranging from live paint to installations and 3d objects. ' - and its got lots of street art -> ... 'and annalyses how these public art forms are being percieved in an international art contect and investigates the fundamentally different forms of presentation'... yeah. sounds good. hope it doesnt cost a fuckload.
i ventured out last night. i need to slow down. sometimes i hate to be alone. even though many a time i am out, and alone, but content with this. seems silly. i hate sleeping now. i need to find something that makes the day come to an end. the fulfillment. the completion of a day. so i feel like i have done something. then i shal sleep.
and why the fuck do i drink? i've never been like this before. so caught up. i hate alcohol.why cant i feel blank? maybe nothing means anything. and i should run away alone. with a blank mind. and so i leave my thoughts with why?
quote:still she haunts me, kaite roiphe.
p.s intake today is:
+ coffee.
+ apple.
+ large capperchino or chai tea.
things that must be done today:
+ get new months magazines.
+ shopping for new clothing pieces (so very very excited about this!)
+ walking harry (my puppy) 2 times today )this morning, and tonight. 1hour each.
+ gym with H for 2hours.
+ put digital camera on laybuy.
+ write job applications.
+ change my art school subjects to the correct subjects.
anyone know of a wonderful layout website for livejournal? i just want something simplistic. blah.
Can barely write. This is a mental state with which I am extremely familiar. Frustration. The intimate, tiresome knowledge of one's own boundaries. There are times the words don't come into my mouth, the feeling hot behind them, the desire all there. But the words themselves twisted and deformed beyond recognition. Tongue tangled against teeth. What if I put them down anyway, mangled as they are, and let the meaning shine through them, in bright pieces, like light through a tree? It matters not what you say- it is the effort, the animating force behind it that signifies- the desire to speak is still there- and that portion of the puzzle will create some modicum of sense. Or so one hopes.
Here lies the distilled essense of loneliness- the fear that one will never be able to find the word for what one desires to say. The word forms only in the darkest pools of one's being The barest outline offers itself from the shadows. A monster is slain.And dream seemed to be a sort of code word. It was a pretty way of saying beyond the reach of conventional possession: unreal because I do not want it to be real. Beautiful and impotent in the way dreams are impotent.
it's all summed up and presented to you.
i have grazes on my collar bones, and a graze where my arms bends. it looks funny. i wonder when they will disapear?
finding myself repeatedly listening to the brillance of paul charlier's composting, and ft paula arundell 'song to the siren' and anything by johnette apoltano. it's all fucking brilliant. truly fucking blissful and raw. it gets to me. grabs you and makes your mind wander through highs and lows. drawing to this stuff is wonderous. it just makes the colours jump and spin off the tip of my brush or pastel in a vibrant array.
i wish i could compose such beautiful, beautiful music that makes peoples tummys flip, and their eyes glaze and they become numb and ever so dreamy and oblivious to anything else but that of the sounds that dance around them. constantly chasing the blissful moments. i want to create an eternal state of desirable, dream-like, not nescarily easily seen if one's eyes took a quick glance pieces. they feel ike this to me. but i wonder if anything else feels anything for colours, lines, vivid little fragments one remembers that wont move from my head. i want to share all this.
we looked at the peach house yesterday. it has funny bricks, old worn, lovely sandstone bricks, a black iron fence, and a garden that walking through could equate to your recommended daily exersise. it had stepping stones. i stepped from one to another.on and on.the garden was very pretty. though the lack of water had obvisouly knocked the poor plants around a bit. it was worn though. the house. the carpet was thin, and you could feel the funny surface under it. it was hard. i felt like i would fall through the floor. paper thin style. and the rooms were jumbled (it use to be lawyers office) so perhaps this the mess distracted from what it could be. but i think it could be lovely. but i think i just like the ideas that run around in my head about playing around with big empty rooms. i think i might try and source out 'hidden track' - how visual culture is going places. 'the book demonstrates how rooms are bing occupied creatively and how items are being trasformed. it presents the diveser exhibition possibilities - a spectrum ranging from live paint to installations and 3d objects. ' - and its got lots of street art -> ... 'and annalyses how these public art forms are being percieved in an international art contect and investigates the fundamentally different forms of presentation'... yeah. sounds good. hope it doesnt cost a fuckload.
i ventured out last night. i need to slow down. sometimes i hate to be alone. even though many a time i am out, and alone, but content with this. seems silly. i hate sleeping now. i need to find something that makes the day come to an end. the fulfillment. the completion of a day. so i feel like i have done something. then i shal sleep.
and why the fuck do i drink? i've never been like this before. so caught up. i hate alcohol.why cant i feel blank? maybe nothing means anything. and i should run away alone. with a blank mind. and so i leave my thoughts with why?
quote:still she haunts me, kaite roiphe.
p.s intake today is:
+ coffee.
+ apple.
+ large capperchino or chai tea.
things that must be done today:
+ get new months magazines.
+ shopping for new clothing pieces (so very very excited about this!)
+ walking harry (my puppy) 2 times today )this morning, and tonight. 1hour each.
+ gym with H for 2hours.
+ put digital camera on laybuy.
+ write job applications.
+ change my art school subjects to the correct subjects.