do you expect to be the same in the morning?

self portrait with facial lotion war paint, fig. 1

p.d. i feel super vampy today

i don't know what it is.

the miseducation of carol why zou

telling a co-intern today that i could never want children like she does because my work is my children. listening to the lonelyhearts and thinking that the ecstasy of music will always, always surpass the ecstasy of sex. wondering what to make of this new development in which i conflate all my compartmentalized drives (procreative, libidinal) with this thing called "art", without yet having found an adequate expression. meeting people who are well meaning and practical, and strongly desiring conversations about truth and beauty.

superstar

oh, you know, just another day at the costume house picking out props for the boss's impending photoshoot.

an extraordinary case of wednesday morning bedhead

when in doubt

today's project: public transportation, public library, would that i return alive, preliminary studies for potential video, PARTY. i am the picture of responsibility.

got caught in a blitzkrieg downpour

among other things, it turned my heels blue.

current project

i think i may start surreptitiously sneaking in as many pedro almodovar film titles as possible into regular conversation, bonus points if the conversacion esta conducida en espanyol.

examples:
"Crabcakes? What have I done to deserve this?!" [Que he hecho yo para merecer esto?, 1984]
"Mmm mmm, girl was shakin' like a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown." [Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios, 1988]
"Wouldn't you like to explore the flower of my secret?" [La flor de mi secreto, 1995]
"There's nothing I love more than trembling flesh." [Carne tremula, 1997]

scenes from childhood

I used to con the neighborhood kids into using the picnic tables as a runway from which we would jump wildly into the air, with the intent that every time our muscles would be conditioned to travel a little further. I had been reading a lot of The Fledgling, by Jane Langton. I was obsessed with learning how to fly.

upside down

i rode a mechanical bull for the first time yesterday. i fell after a minute, stockinged feet flailing backwards in the air and cursing wildly, but i think being thrown from the bull was the most exhilarating part of the experience. i would place that activity within the category of mosh pits, roller coasters, sex, and other physically extreme activities that violently unground your body for a lethal breathless moment before returning you to life as you know it. in thinking about my own body and the types of situations i seek out, i truly believe that people are divided according to whether or not they understand their body through physical pain. case in point: i once dated a guy who hated roller coasters. accordingly, he wasn't that spectacular in bed.

also, i was recognized this weekend for the naked photos of myself that i used to print three years ago. i've finally entered the curse of the autobiographer--forever haunted by the unknown number of people who have seen me topless wearing a mohawk hat.

to be played at maximum volume

instructions for experiencing where did you sleep last night, nirvana, within the enclosure of a moving car:
1. pull up to a stoplight. start the song.
2. start singing the lyrics, mezzoforte.
3. increase the intensity of your voice at the last stanza. by the last line, you should be screaming. you are unaware of tone. your entire body strains. you are singing from your chest cavity. you fall forward.

instructions for experiencing maps, yeah yeah yeahs, within the enclosure of a moving car:
1. merge from the on-ramp to the middle lane of a highway, late evening. start the song.
2. at the sound of the opening trill, think about leaving home.
3. press your foot against the accelerator. think more about leaving home. notice the sky slowly shifting into night. the lights beside the highway flicker on, fly past you.
4. cry.

charlita chaplin

today i walked into work and resident wacko girl had left me all the chores and a gaggle of helpless photo students. what was a girl to do? put on a mustache for the entirety of her shift. ob-vi-ous-ly.

flowers for peace

a couple of my current fixations:
a. rituals. i love their rigor. i love their excess. i love that they are best performed under some sort of physical/mental/emotional duress. i love that they don't really mean anything in the grand scheme of things.
b. garlands. this motif recurs a lot in pablo neruda. one certain garland also wore red shoes in the wizard of oz.
c. appending 'for peace' to the end of plural nouns. sentences for peace, y'all! if everyone adopted such a mission, do you think we'd live in a happier world?