Saturday, December 31, 2011


I've been brooding lately, mulling over my potential and skill set and conjuring career plans. A new year, a new direction. Whatever that direction shall be, I needed one, by the start of the year. Call it OCD.  And then it hit me. At first I laughed, and wrote my sister and amusing facebook note about it. We grew up with the same obsession, she'd understand. Yet as I wrote, the more attractive this idea became. Until it actually began to make sense. The varied topics, the far away places, political undertones and scandal. I could be an actress of an unconventional sort, immersing myself in a character I'd make as real as myself. Do whatever it takes. Tie in my love of written words into my desire to make a difference, serve justice, and ignite a spark within people. Step on some toes. Solve mysteries. Perhaps I'll become and investigative journalist.

Monday, December 26, 2011

Guinness goes with everything

I wake to a paw in the face. Why, Cinc, why? Persistent whines tell me he's needy, perhaps to go out, perhaps to play, but the lack of sunshine here brings with it an unenthusiastic start to the day, assuming a certain premature drudgery to an otherwise untainted and ripe day. I know it's not the day's fault I hate it so, but from the horizontal position in my bed I can see it already promises to be colorless and insignificant. Born only to pass the time. Why bother at all, I muse.
I lead the dog downstairs, for my first signs of life have stirred him into a frenzy, a bouncing firework of energy to which I am the match. I open the door, and his boundlessness heads for the small patch of leaves he favorites every morning, and bends, back arched in sweet relief, nose sniffing.  I watch from the door, and my foggy comprehension affixes itself to a likewise desire within myself. After calling the dog back in, I head to the bathroom, already assessing the order with which I will complete the morning tasks. Waking up is a process I've not yet perfected, but the rigid order of objectives is the scaffolding to which I cling for deriving success and satisfaction from the dredging smear that is today. Oatmeal, microwave, bathroom, coffee, retrieve and season oatmeal, water dog, water self, vitamins, eat, drink. In the space of a few minutes, the haze clears, and the caffeinated satiation sweeps the morning cobwebs from the corners of my mind, clearing space for a mild degree of optimism. The promise of a new day. Optimism is the revered owner of my mind, the bustle prior to its arrival hellbent on ridding the streets of this morning's lackluster thoughts and hopeless negativity, the shooing of unaesthetic street people out of my square frame of mind, watching with crossed arms as their draped figures shuffle out of view, muttering of the inconvenience, and of their eventual return. I resume the task list, it's denizens varying more in complexity as I add them one by one, their completion, the key to a successful day.

Sunday, December 4, 2011


Infinity was premeditated, the smooth curve of the figure eight, a finger trace from forever. One two, one two. I can feel this winter on my lips, in the intake of breath as I let it come over me. It's got a taste of clarity I can't really place. It's a new feeling, a winter of cleansing and rebirth. I am a just a baby in this world, watching in wonder at everything that Like stepping out of a hot shower, and watching the steam swirl and flow out of my open window and into the cold outside. High pressure to low pressure. I suppose I've reached an age where I'm able to truly recognize and appreciate what is happening around me without overwhelming bitterness and judgement. Yes I have failed, yes I have struggled. Yes I have lost, yes I have loved. Loved with every atom of my existence, and watched it dissipate, like a puff of smoke into the air.  Yes I have lived, quite the little life in my young years, and inside I know I am wiser than most. Age is the weight you wear around your neck, and it pulls you down to the ground, fallen, at the mercy of gravity. But today gravity has mercy on me, I am just born and I breathe this cold air into my lungs knowing how it runs through me, into my blood, and then out of me. I am an amazing thing today, that I have survived this moment and all the rest. The space between my point of birth and my current state can be divided countlessly, and today I know I have survived infinity. And if I am infinitely old, I'm no older than I was when I first begun. One two, one two.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Wednesday, November 16, 2011


Attachment. It's one of humanity's greatest inclinations, sometimes the least obvious and perhaps most feared of our natural affections. Attachment is a dangerous thing, its the invisible, unscented noxious gas that fills a room quietly and steadily, and no one going about their daily business ever notices its arrival. Only its departure. Attachment is the well-meaning friend with exclusively good intentions, the survival strategy that has persisted through the ages, it's the warm and sunny with a chance of rain, when most people choose not to take their umbrella. The catch to attachment lies in it's intangibility. It takes up no space, and leaves no mark, but when it's gone, you notice your cup was empty to begin with.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Rose colored glasses

I'm not really sure if its a game I'm playing with you, or only with myself, but I do this thing where I pretend I've known you forever, and all of a sudden you become much easier to talk to. But I have to admit it's a rough game, tampering with the natural progression of things like that. Blurring the lines here makes it easier to feel something for you, like a transference of feelings, and suddenly, quite dangerously, I may be feeling something towards you that doesn't belong to you at all. Something that belongs to someone far away, someone who no longer is. That's the worry in wearing rose colored glasses, you don't see the haze even when you've put it there.

Sunday, October 30, 2011


Like a monster who turns his wild eyes your way, bares his teeth and rattles his cage, this shift is a strange one. It screams a throaty yell before in jumps in the ring, beating its chest and daring you to join. This shift is my Minotaur, following me around in the maze, getting ever closer to the inevitable outcome. And I stepped into the ring, knowing what I know, I stepped in ready for the blows.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

You know what they say...

I'm not in a good mood, and I'm not being pleasant, and I don't care. I guess this is where I end up burning bridges, but I don't care about those either. I'm just tired of feeling like this, and its frustrating because I don't have much around to distract myself. I would love a decent distraction. I think I'm terrible at being alone, not for any reason other than I require a lot of stimulation to keep me interested in something, and I've never really found anyone, including myself, who can single handedly provide that. And it's not like I have any other viable options either. I'm likely the cause of all this for the sin of having standards. In the spirit of sounding vain, it's such a strange turn how somebody so many people seem to like and find attractive spends every night alone wishing she was out with people. It's times like these that leave me questioning whether there really is something wrong with me.

Sunday, September 25, 2011


I'm appetite free listening to emotion neutral music driving to a place-I don't really care where or whether or not I ever get there. Just spending time walking through stores without a penny in my pocket trying to convince myself that what I need is on the shelves here somewhere. Its unoriginal and exhausting and maybe I'm just here bumping along with everybody else and waiting impatiently for the breakdown. Trying to make things into things they're not. Trying to care when I don't. Deflection, run, and release, my go to move. It's just all...nothing now.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

The Crown Jewel

So here's a little something to all those psych majors out there: Don't psychoanalyze me, dude. I know, I know, you get that all the time. And yes, it really riles your rocket, I know! I used to be one of you. But here's the deal. Ya actually do it, ya her? For serious. Because it's painful for those of us that are too polite to actually SAY this, to deflect your oh-so-penetrating and soul-peery questions. Really, I don't want to hear about my rocky self image or my self-defeating tendencies. I already have to live with them. And trust me, I'm introverted enough to know that they're there.
Maybe I have a odd take on it all, but I think psychiatrists and therapists might be the number one most manipulated group of people there is. Under the guise of genuity, a patient can get exactly what they want. Whether its help, or the fuel for an ulterior motive. The point is, my shortcomings don't need any more attention than I give them. They'll get big egos.

In other news, I had to cover myself with goo yesterday evening. I was shooting with this really cool photographer Allen Cooley, via invite from a makeup artist I've worked with before. She always gets me good projects. But I'm steadily learning that there's always a catch with her: a) she doesn't quite tell the whole story about whats happening in the shoot BEFORE the shoot, and b) whatever she's not saying is always weird and semi uncomfortable. She might be the definition of  "Surprise me." So anyway, goop. So it would look like I was melting. So the first set of pictures, the goop was red, which essentially just made it look like I was eating a dead vampire from True Blood. Not pretty. The second set, we changed the goop to clear, and it was a pretty neat effect. I legitimately can't wait to have those photos. You'll see why!

Sunday, September 11, 2011


What can I say about beauty. This time of year, it sprouts up in patches. Bright green trees, cloudless blue sky background, perfect lighting. My drive home is a small reminder of the beauty in this world, and I'll fill my lungs with as much of it as the moment will allow. The chill in the air as I step out the door in the morning, that reminds me of pumpkins and cinnamon sticks. An exhilarating dance in the satisfaction of solitude. Life is full of beautiful things, some are obvious, and some are harder to see. Sometimes, impossible to see. But there is beauty in the painful moments too, moments that resonate within us. The final straw, the moment where she finally gives up on him. The fact that she never truly will. Que the harmonic. The beauty of pain lets us know we are still living, that we still have our most human attributes. Your beauty is bittersweet darling, I'll always see it, and I'll always let it hurt, because once it let me love.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Star Child

Change is a funny thing. It takes a while, but after all the significant change I see and more importantly, feel, in my life, it's really remarkable how similar the present is to the past. It kinda makes me wonder if I'm standing still or not. Maybe life is a series of circles, and some of us are just waiting for the present to come back around and reclaim us. To be repossessed by the modern age. See, I believe my most persistent problem is in fact the product of my birthright. The reciprocal nature of my self, just a consummation of star patterns, a dual being in a single body, fit with distinct traits palpable to those who have the time. It's here I find the disconnect. My souls are out of sync. One leaves, one stays. One runs, one waits. In an attempt to avoid choosing on over the other, I pursue the dreams and ambitions of both, the development of which is exhausting. I'm the product of the overindulgence and neglect of two souls hell bent on destroying each other.   I guess suddenly, unexpectedly, I'm back wondering if I belong, and IF I belong, then where? and for what?

Tuesday, May 31, 2011


It might be strange how much I'm beginning to want this. My fleeting desire, transformed into reality. I'm breathing it, all of it, till I'm forced to stop. Some will call it vanity, but it might be the first thing I've willingly, urgently even, practiced on my own. The glances in the mirror are shapes, angles, a perfect expression to add to the go to repertoire. I want, WANT to be better. Better than me. Slowly but surely, I am learning what I have to offer and how to deliver it, and it's exciting to gain strides in a way I feel I haven't been able to in academics. The improvement is addicting, the praise, the people, the well wishes and the hype. It's not hard to lose sight of the prize.
So onward, to the third phase of my travels, perhaps the most difficult and busy of them all. With any luck, I will be able to come out of all this a step forward and with a wealth of experience under my belt, and it's truly by the skin of my teeth if I do get out of it. But what's living if your not on the edge, eh? Maybe some day I'll look back and know that the chance I took has led me somewhere great. Who knows. But the truth is, I want desperately to be right about all this. So desperately that I may be running on empty. I honestly feel it may be the first thing I've attempted completely on my own, and everything I've invested in in will come back to me. In a way, it's my strike for independence and success, and I am just not ready to step back and accept failure, accept the averageness of my existence. My plan is far fetched. It's unrealistic. It's downright stupid at times, but what great idea didn't have a few speculators. What gifted mind faced no haters. Remember, I am my greatest critic, and I am the one with the most on the line. Don't think that I'd give it all up without a second thought. If you don't understand the reason, simply accept that there must be one great enough for all this. And here's to that. Cheers. Tampa bound. Adrenaline, up.

Up, up, and away.