Neon Gypsy: creative

Showing posts with label creative. Show all posts

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

Thursday, May 27, 2010

I have made a decision to live fantastically, phenomenally, ridiculously. There is not enough time, there is simply not enough time. So many words, so many thoughts, so many visions that jolt from my body, that rattle my brains and veins and bones. I cannot type them fast enough, I cannot count the lose papers, ripped and bent, that litter my school bag, that carpet my floor. They are covered in sketches and scribbles, notes for the future and reflections on the past.

I have dreams of rooms where the ceiling is simply a billion balloons, held up by lace. The left wall is covered in mirrors, and the right wall is covered in televisions. The televisions will be playing a continual loop of people checking themselves in the mirrors, and people staring at the ceiling, wondering when the balloons will fall.

"My life is my message" said Gandhi, and I will write that on my arm until I remember. I can't get everything inside of me, that is throbbing and pulsing and aching and crying, out fast enough. A lifetime is a blink in this sea, where I am beating against the tide, swallowing the water, coughing up salt and vomiting sea glass in the most beautiful way I can.

Catherine Campbell, “In Our Nature”

I can. I can. I can. I can.

There is not enough time to give birth to all I see. And so my life will be my art. An ever evolving, growing, changing, wonderous, terrifying masterpiece. I am at a frightening moment where I feel as though I can physically shape my world, create it. Life is an experiement, one of those fantastic explosions of light and color so magical you want to froget how you got there and just stay frozen in that heat, in that feeling.

You must create that feeling. I must be that feeling. Be the light, the heat. People will want to be frozen in your moment, in the time you shape when you are around them. Look at your life, look at it in the expressions on the faces of those around you.
Realize what you can create, who you can become, who you already are.

Existence is influence

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

tender is the night

To her, the most touching moment was when the waves licked the shoreline, when the shells tumbled out of the womb, thrown out into the wide wide world. The earth teased, revealing only reminents of its mystery, giggling at the idea that humans could discover it all. She wished she was a mermaid, so she could be in on the secret too.

She liked taking naps, making pancakes, and the boy who lived next door. He was her favorite person in the world, and nobody could ever understand why. He walked with a swagger, he cursed and spoke in mumbled fragments, and he wanted to be like everybody else, a trait she despised. But one day, she had gone to drop off something at his house, and she saw him, a shadow through the doorway of his younger brother's bedroom. He pulled the comforter up to the boy's chin, he kissed his forhead, he whispered goodnight. And when his brother yelled "wait!", he turned, and checked under the bed, in the closet, in every drawer and outside the window for monsters.

She had an odd fear of feeling safe. When she was absorbed in fear, in stress, in worry, she was able to forget herself, able to forget her sadness, able to forget that she was more than her worldly accomplishments. She shivered when she was alone, feeling the thoughts ring in the back of her head. She could never trust the right people, and was constantly consumed by this wait for pain, this patience as she watched the guilitine come closer to her neck. Dependancy was worse than death.

She always felt guilty when she broke hearts. Not only for those she hurt, but for herself. Everytime she got to know someone she would bring herself closer, closer to them. Laughing and touching their shoulder with her forehead, smiling when nothing was funny, looking into their eyes and trying to find their souls. She loved knowing people. But she was always let down when she realized how little they knew about her. Then she would become cold, and they would question. She hated questions. The relationship that had never begun was destroyed with her silent frustration, an emotional atomic bomb. Everything deteriorated into dust. Everything gone.

photos via marie claire italia editorial, march 2010