new 06.09.09

"pink sky at night"

our lips are dancing to some silent tune

and your fingers light my skin afire

i see the planet of you in the face of the moon

i see no sanctuary in sight from my desire

i've been told my heart is like the breeze-

it shifts and moves in a moment's time

but you-you satisfy some secret need

i'd abandon the breeze if you were mine

at times i don't know if i have rested

we part, and still i taste you on my lips

i do know this: my interest is vested

and now and then i feel my facade slip

ancient walls come crumbling down

my foundation relaxes at your smile

i'll give you me, bare and unbound

for the assurance you'll stay around awhile

i'm used to thinking you're out of my league

and sailing in the oceans of your eyes

now i'm seeing possibilities

seeing my little lonely boat capsize

and you'll explore the wreckage of me with your hands

you'll search my seas for signs of life

tell me you'll lay aside your maps and plans

and take me in, night after night.

© inkedcupcake@gmail.com 2009

the air was smoking and the streets were dry

"i'm not hurting anyone 

i'm just telling my truth 

and if there if there is something wrong 

then maybe there's something wrong with you.."

+++

Ever have those days (or weeks) where you have plenty of thoughts running rampant in your mind, and yet you bring pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and suddenly everything seems elementary and irrelevant? Yeah, that's where I'm at right now.

There's a lot going on at the moment, and a lot has occurred since my last post. I just don't know where to start or how to start or even IF I should start in some cases.

+++

Sometimes I want to crawl out of my skin and escape myself. I want to be anywhere but where I am, not just physically but emotionally and figuratively. My life is pretty good right now, yet I'm still a little melancholy, and everything is still in shades of grey. 

"In a coffee shop in a city

which is every coffee shop in every city

on a day which is every day.."

I'm trying so hard to get all my emotions and thoughts out on 'paper' and I keep hitting walls. I've been tweeting in lyrics all day because I can't find eloquent enough statements to express what's waging war in my mind. I hear in songs and I see faces in sheet music. My heart pulses to the drums of a favorite song and when my eyes well up with tears, the salt tastes like a tragic ballad on my tongue. 

How can someone feel so happy and so fulfilled and at the same time so empty and monochrome? I'd say it's the nature of things, but everyone is not this way. I find it interesting (coincidental? no..) that two of my favorite musicians both have songs I love with the word 'grey' in them and used in the same context (Ani's "Grey" and DMB's "Grey Street"). 

Maybe I put my stock in the wrong things. I yearn for a kiss or a declaration of infatuation from someone who appears indifferent about my existence. I expect people completely non-spiritual to understand what I mean when I say I feel like my spirit is hazy and flickering. I try to perpetuate the art of an occupation that has long since lost any artistic value.

"i just wish i knew who you were

i wish you'd make yourself known

probably you don't know i'm her

the woman you want to call home.."

+++

So it goes: I light another cigarette, take a swig of wine. I look around the room, watch the candles dance to some melody I've yet to hear. And I want to go to bed and start anew tomorrow as much as I want to stay up and let the sunrise take my breath away.

05.15.09

"gemini/gemini"

he spoke in questions

for which he desired no answers

as i read his skin

traveled the maps of his life

his tongue was hungry

a hunger beyond lust

eyes that studied me, searched

for a window, a wound

unaware that this was new

his energy- electric and afire

until he fixed his gaze on me

the world slowed

through the smoke, the haze

into the mirror and back again

from the glare of the lights

to the glisten of sweat

he was larger than life

but this was not his truth

his eyes spoke in sonnets

of what he never uttered

searched, yearned

for someone to understand

a hunger no mortal thing can sate.

© 2009, inkedcupcake@gmail.com

I have slipped through to the very depths of my soul.

"And if you feel that you can't go on, and your will's sinkin' low

Just believe and you can't go wrong.

In the light you will find the road..you will find the road.."

One of the many things I love about photography is how much it coaxes deep thought of people. One photo can say a thousand things to a thousand different people. And though we can manipulate photos, at the core of a simple photograph is pure truth. A photo of a person? No matter the skill of the subject in portraying a poker face, the eyes never lie. I don't care if you're a ten-years+ successful actor. It is extremely hard to convey a lie in your eyes. One must really commit to the objective of the shot in order to make it believable.

The perfect photo can bring people to tears or inspire side-splitting laughter. A photo can start a revolution or bring calm to troubled social waters. Photos can arouse, disgust, touch, or demand introspection. 

I've always been into art and art-related media, but over the years I've become more aware and almost developed a sixth (seventh?) sense for 'seeing in photos', as a friend once put it. With this, my personal photographs have gotten better and more artistic.

I love showing different aspects of a person, place, or object (noun? ha ha..)-ways to perceive something or someone that aren't traditional or aren't the biased representation. For example, I've been taking photos at work over the past few months of my fellow dancers and bartenders. I've focused on things like hands, jewelry, subconscious habits (folding and unfolding gum wrappers, for example), shoes, cigarettes, etc. Parts of 'the biz' that aren't all glamour and glitter and silicone. Aspects of the industry that reveal that these are human beings with human behaviors, not just fantasy objects in good lighting.

What's funny about my work is that I often end up being out of the series of photos if I'm taking them on a trip with friends or at friends' houses. We went on a trip last week to Jerome, AZ, and I took three photos (out of around 150) that involved me in some way: two were of my shoes and one of my famous mirror shots. Ha. But I don't mind being behind the camera for this type of thing. I'm lucky to be in front of a camera for a few parts of my life so when I can show my perception of my surroundings, it's quite satisfying.

I've also met some amazing creative minds through this interest. A few of the photographers I've been blessed to meet are so interesting and passionate about things that it inspires me to be a better, more life-loving person. I know photographers with very different styles as well, so I'm fortunate to learn about each and why each person loves the style he or she loves. I love learning about the interests of others who are very passionate about what they like. My best friend is a huge (that's actually an understatement, italics and all) DMB fan, and I love constantly learning new things about the band and why she loves them the way she does. She's taught me so much-things I never knew I cared to know-and helped me be a more well-rounded person regarding music. I was never a big DMB fan, but seeing her passion and how certain songs brought tears to her eyes convinced me that I at least needed to expose myself more to them. If something (band, artist, animal, shoes-whatever) moves someone, truly moves them, there is something (however small) for you to learn from it. However different we are from each other, we are still the same species and we are stuck here together. It's intelligent and relevant to learn about things that scare, shock, disgust us or make us uncomfortable-these things teach us to look inward and turn the mirror back at ourselves. They force us to examine our own motivations and belief systems to see where we stand and why.

It's a little amusing how so many of my blog entries begin with a concise topic and what appears to be a well-marked path, and quickly progress into chaos and rambling, culminating in some philosophical mantra regarding a lesson learned or to be learned.

I think it's the pot.

Trouble get behind me now, trouble let me be..

I'm staring at a white screen, trying to formulate a witty or at least intriguing introduction to a grossly overdue blog. 

+++
Oh there's an emptiness inside her 
And she'd do anything to fill it in 
And though it's red blood bleeding from her now 
It's more like cold blue ice in her heart 
She feels like kicking out all the windows 
And setting fire to this life 
She could change everything about her 
Using colors bold and bright 
But all the colors mix together 
To grey 
And it breaks her heart...
(Dave Matthews Band, "Grey Street")
On days like today, when everything comes suddenly crashing in around me, and the pressure around my head from the mask I wear becomes too much to bear, it's hard to transfer anything from mind to 'paper' coherently. Everything I want to say sounds like a whine or a cry for empathy, and everything I end up typing becomes deleted shortly after because it translates completely opposite what I'm actually feeling.

The hardest part about being a former ('recovered'? 'rehabilitated'?) depressive is the knowledge that certain things are now unacceptable. One may feel dragged down into the darkest abyss of sorrow, but the former seemingly rational option of suicide is no longer a viable solution. Any attempts at self-injury, physical or psychological, are suddenly abhorrent. What was a comforting assurance (a knife blade across the skin) is now an embarrassing and irrational coping mechanism you cannot embrace. The rushing kiss of a bottle to the lips becomes an obvious escape from the reality you're just too weak to face. All of the things that used to seem such rapid and successful diversions from your deepest pain are now, being a 'recovered' patient, silly and completely impossible.

Now I can feel myself being grasped and sucked backwards into an endless vortex of emptiness and pain and hopelessness, and yet all I'm able to do is go limp and let myself be taken. I can only give in to my pain and ride out the storm, no matter how much it hurts, because I truly see no other option. What should be a happy achievement-the absence of suicidal or self-detrimental thoughts-gives me a very hollow solace. My tears, once hot, now burn my cheeks. My hands, which once searched for anything sharp within reach, now clench and unclench and claw at my temples, desperate to extract the thoughts that plague my mind. The stomach, in knots, which was once appeased by the quick punch of whiskey to its sides, now turns in on itself, searching for an escape from a nameless torment. 

And the heart....the heart. The heart that slept in silence and chill, safe behind walls that took years to build. The heart that knew so much inexplicable pain that it imploded, and died inside. The heart that felt neither stab of pain nor rush of warmth, that merely hiccuped, if that, in the presence of instability. The heart that rested on still waters, now exposed and vulnerable to the deepest, darkest sorrow..nothing upon which to lean for balance, no chemical or physical injury or liquid courage on which to depend to steer it through the storm. My heart is now forced to accept the brutal hands of growth wringing it out and strangling it in their grasp. They envelop it, gnarled and dry, made of only truth and realism, rubbing it raw when it feels its weakest. 

And this is how 'recovery' goes. One is never truly 'over' depression. You just learn new ways, sane and reasonable ways, to deal with the difficult times. You have to first accept that there will be more difficult times ahead, and just because you've managed to overcome the biggest obstacle (life), you aren't in the clear. The hardest part about not wanting to die anymore? Realizing that now, you have no choice but to live.

+++

And these are the things that flood my mind and cloud my vision on days like today. When I come home, collapse on my bed and stain my bedding with salty tears and remnants of eyeliner. Days when, sitting on my bathroom floor, my head against the cool wall, my cheeks hot and my eyes puffy, I'm forced to accept that this is what I chose. This is life, in all its ambivalent glory and raw honesty. This is the ups and downs, the side to sides, that I chose over the emptiness of death. I chose to crawl, then stand, then traipse, and finally to walk towards a future that involved my presence rather than the absence of me. 

It gets difficult, and I still have a hard time just accepting that sometimes things go badly, but it comes with the territory. In my blood is a certain genetic torment and restlessness, and I must be aware of it and know how to direct it. It is much, much easier to press a gun barrel against your temple or hold a bottle of narcotics in your hand than to step out of the darkness and stare into the mirror. However, once the ripping of your insides and the throbbing of your head subside, and you realize you're fully feeling things, everything becomes much easier with which to deal. It is surviving, and trudging onward, that display courage. The cowardice is not in being afraid to pull the trigger-it's in the belief that the trigger steers your destiny. 

You steer your destiny. 

Dark clouds may hang on me sometimes 

But I'll work it out..

(DMB, "Dancing Nancies")

+++Yes, there's a DMB theme to the lyrics accompanying this blog. The concert's tomorrow. :)

booksmart devil

I know. I've been a blogging slacker.

I've just actually had a quite wonderful few days/week, so I have had neither time to blog or anything poetic and witty to say. 

And wouldn't you rather read an engaging blog than one that just shuffles through the mundane parts of life, however uninteresting they may be? The only way that question (which was rhetorical, BTW) should get a 'no' answer is in the case of photo documenting one's day-which is something I'm actually planning on doing soon. ;)

My camera keeps beckoning to me when I leave every morning. It calls to me to take it out and embarrass myself by taking photos in starbucks and on the road and again at work. I'm going to do it, but just be warned- my life isn't that compelling. I guess in a weird way it could be. Maybe all the things I think are boring are really freaky and I just have no idea how high on the freak scale I am? Hmm. Food for thought.

Tonight's agenda:

+hit up the ol' J-O-B for a drink or two with a girlfriend (no, I can't stay away even after a 5 hour workday. See masochism).

+Pinky Ring at Bar Smith downtown. Score! Good music, good people, good energy. And great fucking weather. The last few times I went it was goddamn cold. And you can't not go on the rooftop. It just doesn't work that way.

That's a jam packed agenda, I know. I'm in high demand. Time to pull out the paparazzi-deflecting sunglasses and purse in which I hide Nicole Richie.

I got my labret done. Not entirely sure why, since I've never been big on facial piercings. I guess I've become more particular about, as well as am running out of, room for my tattoos. I counted my piercings yesterday and realized I have ten. Ten! For someone 'not into piercings' that's a pretty decent number. Huh. Who'd have thought? 

Sorry about the line across it. My Photo Booth gets temperamental sometimes. One of my friends pointed out that my dermals and labret now make a perfect triangle around my throat chakra. Unintentional but beneficial spiritual gain is always accepted.

I also went on an awesome mini-road trip with my best friend up to her hometown. Her dad has all sorts of cool western and kitschy stuff at his house, so I took a few crappy pictures with my phone. This is a neat little donkey... um, thing (?):

I'm also working on a wicked painting for my other dear friend's birthday (um, it was actually the 27th of Feb, so it's a little late. I suck at life). It began with one direction in mind and ended up taking a completely different one (amazing what a little herbal assistance will do) that's more twisted and odd. Which is good. I'll post photos when I finish it.

That's all. I'm tapped out of interesting for today; come back tomorrow.

xo

go ahead, cornelius, you can cry.

Oh gnat-like tiny bugs who fly into my apartment when I leave my patio door open, why do you torment me so? 

Must you perch on my freshly baked brownies? The bunch of bananas on my counter? Is there nothing else in my apartment with which you can satisfy yourself? 

And please, when I'm two inches from my bathroom mirror applying liquid eyeliner, I'd appreciate it if you flew away from my exposed eyeball. Thanks. This is a difficult enough task when under the influence of marijuana. Flying tiny things by one's eyes does not a safe situation make.

+ + +

Now that that's done with.

New fierce heels:

What's that inside? Oh yeah. They're fuckin' UNICORNS, son. 

The jewelry haul..

Yes, it's Bambi on my bracelet. Yes, I will rock it with my head held high. Who doesn't like Bambi??

Ooohh..Fender pic earrings. Yum. It was a battle between these and some heart shaped pics with colored dinos all over 'em. Fender won out, of course. Come on now.

And possibly the best for last..one of my all-time favorite movies ever. Didn't you just wanna be there?? Classic.

I didn't need to get all that shit at Hot Topic, but I did. What do you do.

Oh, and if I never see another Twilight anything again, I'll die happy. What a ludicrous, over-dramatic, sloppily metaphorical piece of poorly executed drivel. And the special effects? Oh.My.God. Words can't even adequately express how 1993-era-made-for-television-sci-fi-movie they are. 

And FYI:

-vampires do NOT sparkle. Wtf.

-here's a good way to remember what 'vegetarian' means: you eat nothing with a face. 'Vegetarian' vampires wouldn't eat animals. They'd eat plants and legumes. Like the rest of us vegetarians. And then they wouldn't really be vampires. Which brings us back to..

-vampires DO NOT SPARKLE. Are they myspace glitter graphics made by fifteen year-olds? No.

-What self-respecting vampire drives a suburban soccer mom's crossover sport utilitywhatever? It's very unimpressive and sad and actually quite humorous to see a 'vampire' screech up to bullies to save the day in.....a volvo? Hmm. Not quite the effect they were going for, I think. Did the big three see through your thinly veiled excuse for a vampire flick and refuse to loan you a muscle car? 

If that's the case, there's hope for America yet.

-enough with the cloaked abstinence metaphors. Everyone gets it. Except the people preaching it, obviously.

-vampires do not sparkle.

-what looks to be premature ejaculation probably is. Don't pretend it's some animalistic craving for the lead female's blood. I see that look and familiar shudder all the time-right before the guys make for the bathroom to clean up. Just like 'Edward' did. Hmmm...

-vampires don't sparkle. 

+ + +

I'm off to cast my best friend's chart and spent some Q time with the pups. Watching Interview With the Vampire, natch.

I leave you with a great comic from explosm.net :

..as well as a pic from La Planete Sauvage (Fantastic Planet), because if you're not high, you'll wanna be while watching this movie..:

Actually, I don't know how anyone can be sober for certain movies, but that's another blog. 

xox