things i've thought, but have not written about

the wintering in my soul, the immense capacity of life for change, the tenuousness of hope, the brightness of the future. how we got to where we are, a stopping point, a layover until some force sends us hurtling off to our next adventure.

what it means to be just, what it means to be real, what it means to be true.

occasional

lately updates to this blog have been haphazard, the reason being my interest in having my personal life on the internet has waned. this is separate from the idea of cultivating an online persona as an artist, an enterprise which i take very, very seriously. but sometimes there are still thoughts that don't fit into this mold of a joyous, working artist, which yearn to be expressed in a form less private than a diary. like how i return to cat power every few months or so, and how her voice makes me melt inside - not that soft romance novel kind of melting, but a violent, hot, viscous jolt in a place somehow inside yet deeper than my body. this woman is ridiculous, and the sound of her voice reminds me that there's something good and powerful in the world, even when we try to bury it, even when they try to bury it. sometimes i'm so caught up in daily life that i forget to visit that place that keeps us real. it takes me there.

grunge revisited

GRUNGE REVISITED by carolarola

lately, my inner self has been throwing a fit of existential proportions, and this is what it has to say:
decay! decay! the city is in a constant state of decay, robert smith's caked on runny teary makeup is all on my mind and i am resenting the parts of me that have become proper and minimal. rather than smashing things, i am resorting to materialism and moodboards as an expression of my inner being, which in itself shows how much i've -eyeroll- become part of the system, but nevertheless, it's time to bring back the grunge. and to start, i've stopped keeping track of how often i wash my hair.

the fledgling

if you must know, i've been busy learning to fly. oh, and listening to a sick amount of the cure.

work in progress

be excited. i think i've stumbled upon something g-ood.

on artist statements

me: i thought of a phrase that will describe my work to pretentious art audiences.
bf: oh cool, what is it?
me: [sounding pleased with myself] "hybrid identities and heterotopias".
bf: heterotopias... that sounds homophobic.
me: no, it describes a pocket of alternative space in a world where everything is homogeneous.
bf: but it has the word 'hetero' in it?
me: yes.
bf: still sounds homophobic to me. the art world hates homophobes.
me: it's a phrase from foucault. they'll love it.
bf: foucault - that homo.

nightdriving

me: that rosy glow over there is really pretty.
bf: it's from a penitentiary.