Monday, June 28, 2010

Here's your precious oil

"Here's your precious oil"

Artist statement:

"I am not some animal fanatic, but I can't imagine humans would
ever know what it is like
to choke on oil, to be blinded by it, to be weighted down by it
to the point of just dying
because it fills your nose, your mouth, your eyes.

This is acrylic paint and even the smell of it and the feel of it on my skin
sent me reeling,
to be completely drenched in oil
would be torture,
not to mention the problems it will be causing for people soon, too. It will begin to affect more than the animals and natural environment pretty soon."

Friday, June 25, 2010


She wore gauzy clothes that drifted with the wind, in pale shades of iris and indigo, lace dripping off the ends and dancing in the shadows of the creases. In the top drawer of her antique dresser she kept a tiny glass box filled with silver glitter, and she would throw it in the air and dance under it before she left her room. It was the magic that would weave a shell around her, weave a shell that would protect her from the real world.

To her, the real world was everything dark and dirty and scary. The vibrations of her parents shouting, the cold, empty feeling when somebody stopped holding her hand. It was the awkward stares that twisted people's insides, it was the crude jokes of class clowns.

The only place she felt safe was in the water. The ocean was her favorite place in the world, and she felt far more composed floating there than walking on land. When she was above the sand, above the shells, above all that was hard and concrete, she knew life would be okay. In the comfortable rush of the waves, she knew she was born a mermaid, cast ashore and given heavy weights for legs because of some unthinkable sins of a past life.

Please forgive me, she would cry to the sea, Please let me return.
But the ocean's angels only turned their scaled tails away, letting her tears fall in with the rest of the castaways.
You must live the life you've been given
they sung her, you must live the life you've been given.

And when she asked why, they whisper
Because we must, because we must.
We looked back, you see, we looked back.
We are only whole in the ocean, on land we are a pile of salt.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

life changing

i feel like this is important.
i feel like this is new.
i feel like i have said this a million times but this time it actually  matters.

i will be with the people who i love.
the toxic people, the harmful people, the liars, the thieves,
i am leaving them behind.

i will be with the people i love.

Monday, June 21, 2010

a whole new world

"If you want to achieve greatness,
stop asking for permission"

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Walking on sunshine

This adorable dress from fred flare looks just like the one Quinn wears
in the Walking on Sunshine/Halo song!

I finally just saw the first volume of season 1 of Glee!
Now I finally understand the obsession, it just makes me happy,
or should I say,
GLEEful ;)

Happy Birthday

David W. Cerny / Reuters via the Wall St. Journal

A man wrote on a mural of Myanmar’s democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi during an event in Prague Friday to mark her 65th birthday.

To learn more, to join this fight for justice and peace, please go to:

Friday, June 18, 2010


This video made me smile, so I just had to share!

Thursday, June 17, 2010

let go

It didn't take much for her to know it was the truth. There was something in the flavor of the air that day, in the delicate balance of salt and taffy, the rancid smell of the beached whale.  She didn't think about it so much as she felt it.  There was something in the fragile nature of the fog that day, the way she felt as though if she moved, it would shatter around her.

She had built up a life she hated. She had climbed to the top of the great pyramid, stepping on the backs of the people who had built it, clawing at hair and limbs to get there first. And now there were expectations. Expectations and responsibilities. Expectations and responsibilities and committments.

I can't live like this, she thought.
I won't live like this, she said out loud.
Somewhere a seagull let out a low call, and she felt a tiny crab venture over the veins in her foot. The white foam of the ocean bubbled around her, and the swollen waves coughed up seaweed and glass.
I will leave, she realized, I will run away from this grown up world
I don't need more money, I need more life!

Tell them

If there is somebody in your life you love,
truly love,
stop holding back.

Today is the day to tell them.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

joie de vivre

i painted my nails a lovely cream green today- it was from a collection of polishes called "daydream" which i think is so incredibly lovely. i also met a nice boy who is about to embark on travels to asia, which i admire. i hope (but more expect) to see him in the future, which i am excited about. i jumped on a trampoline and dipped my toes in a pool. i went to my third bbq in the last three days, and ate some ben and jerrys and delicious pasta salad. tomorrow i am losing my wisdom teeth but i think it will be okay because i have beautiful friends who are going to keep me company in my painful and loopy stage after. one day of glee, one day of daria, and a friend coming from an hour away to bring me jello. i think this is the wonderful life.
i am exicited for possibilities, for life, for living.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010


She ate oranges with the peels still on. It felt rebellious and tough, and she knew it was good for her. She figured it into her health karma count- it counteracted the cigarette she indulged herself in each month.
(Even though the taste made her cry. Even though the process of lighting it haunted her. Even though she despised the memories that flew out of it in gasping ringlets.)

The blackened ceilings in her childhood home, holding her mothers shaking hand as the cancer devoured herfragile lungs. But she couldn't help it. It was an addiction, but not to the smoke. To the luxury, to the glamour she felt when she held that trash between her fingers, lifted it between her lips.

She felt like a trashy bohemian  poet, the kind of girl who would try to sleep with Kerouac and Ginsberg. She would fix herself black coffee, poured in a stained, chipped mug, and balance a blank notebook on her lap, a pen held delicately in her right hand, waiting for the words to come. As the bitter taste collected in fuzz on her tongue, she waited for the words.

They never would come.

Then she would become frusterated, angry, furious. She would lick her lips and tug on her earlobe, she would wring her bony fingers until her fingernails were white. She would stop her feet and talk to herself, trying desperately to birth some revelation on the human condition.
The only passion she felt came from the lack of life in her.

She wanted stories to come, she wanted words and thoughts and life to just spill out of her.  But as she neared the end of the cigarette, all she ever got was hacking, a cough that echoed her mother's last sounds. A cough that haunted her, that made her crush the ash onto her notebook, burning a hole in it.  She would down the little coffee that was left, and be jittery when she stood.

Then she'd go inside, grab a few sleeping pills,
and get the best night's sleep of the month.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

this is your sign

Go. Go. Go.
What are you waiting for?
You know what I'm talking about.
I say "Yes" to you,
this is the sign you have been waiting for.
Go. Go. Go.

Monday, June 7, 2010

i read glamour and the guardian

"i don't have to be your baby i don't have to be your baby..."

i am unbelievably obsessed with this song right now.
(starts at about 0:25)
i love the slam poetry part:
the speaking, the fierce independence, the energy.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

nobody's barbie

stitching with some sass.


you better believe i won't.
and you better not either

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

time to pretend

I am pretending to be in a fairy tale, a vagabond, a reader, a writer, an artist...a person who lives her life without regrets and a person who lives for love.
And it's true, I think I am pretending less and becoming more.

What are you pretending to be my loves?