dream

yelling at my father. i throw a wine bottle at him, it shatters, he picks up the pieces and pushes a shard through my left hand until it is cut up and bleeding. everyone said i deserved it because i was yelling.

live chickens for sale

after a weekend of succumbing to my parents' insistence that they buy me things (alexandra wallace, eat your heart out), a corner of my workspace now looks like a microcosm of chinatown. everyone who has come by has been gracious enough to not comment on my assertion of ethnicity.

p.s. the theme of my diet this week is "just add water". i am making my way through lots and lots of cup noodles.

press release

i'm not going to grad school this year. the results of my applications were split into two piles, one teeming with debt-ridden financial aid packages, and one expressing sincere regret that i was not among the 2% admitted. and as an artist who doesn't expect to sell physical objects to wealthy benefactors, and who has worked way too hard to become self supporting at the age of 22 and 11 months, debt was not an option. instead i am planning to move into a larger place with room for a studio, by the ocean, and continue creating for opportunities next year, or a couple of years down the line. if my goals as an artist are to be self sufficient, continuously creative, and publicly recognized, well, i can still enable 2 out of 3 goals from where i am right now. the summer is nearing, and i am forging right ahead.

we now return to your regular scheduled channel surfing through twentysomething life.

winning

this is by far the best shirt that i have found at my neighboring goodwill. tuck it into a schoolgirl skirt and daydream about hot trysts in cool forests.

art projects a-brewing

fund me here!

p.s. this is currently my number one contender for album of 2011. i'm a sucker for anything shoegaze. will the raveonettes unseat them when their album comes out on my birthday? the drama!

dream

i am given bags of pink cake balls which turn out to be ferrero rocher eating bunnies in disguise. one of them gets into a pile of ferrero rocher and bounds around in a ferrero rocher wrapper. i chase after it trying to whack it with a book.

so there you go. i am a girl who dreams about candy and bunnies.

the powers of horror

even though i grew up in a hippie area of texas and am fairly privileged and empowered now, this is why i got the fuck out of dodge. this is also why i will go to the grave kicking and screaming that misogyny exists in its worst forms, and will the real feminists please stand up.

love story

la threw a nasty tantrum this winter. it poured for days, the sky was gray, and i finally understood why the stereotypical chinese used water for torture. last week on the day when smog and rain fought for atmospheric dominance, and a homeless person took off his pants on my nightly busride, i received a phone call offering me a chance to relocate. clouds thundered in my heart. the next day la, trembling with the penitence of an errant lover, parted its clouds and sent birdsong through my window. the sun shone, it was perfectly temperate, and i could even swear the smog has lifted, because the colors in the trees seem brighter than usual. it has been like this for 3 days. i should threaten to move to the east coast more often.

wino forever

in case any of you were wondering, oprah winfrey's tv channel (OWN) does in fact include work by white people (post-racial sociopolitical analysis another day). i know this because in a burst of desperate channel surfing i landed upon a presentation of little women. the book was immensely formative for me, though i have no idea how other girls of my generation relate to it. were they all too busy with the boy band du jour? do they even know the book exists? i am of course jo, the bookish firebrand who sells her hair and takes up with an older gentleman, but how i desperately wanted amy's vocation and beth's grace. meg was always horrible.

today according to camerafone

smog-filled morning prescient with rain. i continue my friday tradition of subverting normative work dress.

leaky faucet behavior

my mother emailed me today to say that she and my father were visiting california for their spring break, and i started crying. crying because parents, i've realized over the last two years of living alone, are the only two people in the world who make it a priority to be unconditionally nice to you (that and older siblings, younger brother dearest). you'd think that this isn't a quality hard to find in other people, but it is. people can be nice, but rarely unconditionally nice, offering up themselves no matter who you are or what you have done. or maybe i'm just jaded from living in the city, where crossing strangers on the sidewalk is like brushing up against 200 grade sandpaper. crying from lack, and crying from relief.

thought

is what sets me apart from other women an internal sense of savagery? or is it what keeps us alike?