Wednesday, December 27, 2006

I wonder why...

...the time between posts is so darn long? Perhaps because my internet connection wasn't so good. Well, what's been happening?
On the 14th western Washington experienced it's worst storm in many many years. Where I live we had gusts of wind upwards of 65 miles per hour and planes were grounded for hours at Sea-Tac International Airport. Most families in my neighbourhood didn't experience much to any damage to their houses or property which is thankful. I am sure in saying that my house experienced the worst damage in the block.
We were awake most, if not all of the night and were "blessed" with being able to watch two trees fall in our yard. The first was in the back of the house. We were watching it sway in the heavy gusts of wind, astonished at how far the invisible force pushed it from side to side when one time it didn't bounce back as it had before. There was a crack and the medium height pine toppled over the back fence. This caused damage only to the tree and the dirt around it. Nothing in our back yard (nor the adjacent yard!) suffered any damage.
With our hearts pumping a little faster we shuffled about our dark house listening to the shrieking, howling, horrible wind as it gusted and buffeted our fragile world.
It is times such as these when the fragility of life as I know it is made so apparent. I have no control over the weather, no control over what it does to what I can control. I am simply at it's mercy, and must huddle in whatever form of protection I can muster until it calms down and life slowly reverts to normal.
So, to continue. I was in the hallway upstairs doing something, perhaps coming back from shining a flashlight out the bathroom window to view (what little we could) the backyard and fallen tree when there came another crack-thump! This time from the front yard. My heart flooded with dread and foreboding as I rushed to the living room to find that the stately and exotic eucalyptus had completely eclipsed the view from our picture windows. We were suddenly awash in shock, wonder, fear, and thanks. Opening our front door yielded a face (and doorfull) of eucalyptus branches so my brothers and I ran to my room with the powerful flashlight. Bells that once hung above a shop door clanged in the sudden wind from outdoors as I opened my window to reveal the damage and the blessing. The eucalyptus had fallen, and in doing so crushed our Dodge Caravan and our Kia Sephia in one fell swoop. We giggled from fear as we turned to tell our mother that we were without cars, and went to wake our father.
Previous to this, my mother and I were discussing whether she should go outside and scoot the Kia up against the garage door. I vetoed the idea weighing that it would be nasty if she got whacked with a piece of eucalyptus bark in the process. In retrospect, the Kia might have survived if she'd moved it, but who could say the tree would have fallen in the same place?
My brothers and I spent the rest of the night in the basement tending the fire and sleeping fitfully. Each time a gust of wind buffeted the house I was sure yet another tree would fall and this time come crashing down into our house. It was awful.

Dawn was a long, long time in coming and we passed the time talking, counting out how long it was until light, and napping. Finally there was light enough to see, and I was able to view just how badly our cars were crushed. They were kaput, zip, finito. As the rest of my family slept, I surveyed the backyard tree. It had broken at the point where it would have rested on the fence, thus preventing breaking the fence. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the worried faces of our neighbours, their hands laden with a silver carafe of coffee.
Fortified for the morning with caffeine, my father, brother and I set about cutting our way out to the world. Opening the front door was like a scene from the film, Jumanji, in short, a jungle lay between us and the street. A eucalyptus jungle. It was beautiful and extremely slippery.
We set to the branches with a hand saw and pruning shears, slowly making a tunnel to the street. Underneath the fallen tree was a new magical world just begging to be explored and conquered.
You may be thinking, 'Just a minute, you lost both your cars to this tree and you still view it as a thing of wonder and beauty?' Let me put it this way,if the tree had hit the house, it would have taken out my bedroom, my brother's bedroom, our front door and part of the living room. Probably seriously compromised the building's stability and evicted us at 1 in the morning. I am glad it hit the cars and not the house. I may not be here had it hit the house as I was down the hall near my room. So I take a positive mental attitude and view what happened as God using a bad situation to bless us with many good ones.

So I have passed this Christmas in a very thankful state of mind. All I want are two new (used) cars for my family, I didn't care about what I got. Only that we were taken care of.

Friday, June 23, 2006


I cannot begin to express my delight in Summer. It is a time of adventuring, reading, water, and general Huckleberry-finn and Tom Sawyer madness.
How ever I find myself more and more drifting towards being an adult in the summer time. I've got no job, and plenty of time on my hands. That drives me crazy, or at least a part of me. The other part of me embraces the freedom under the reasoning that it provides plenty of time for making jewellry, Moogles, Sewing, Knitting, Crocheting. I find that I also work better when I'm around other people also working regardless of the fact that we may be working on completely different things. It's the creation of those things I think, that stimulates me. Inspires me.

Monday, May 1, 2006

MAH! "I hate wait." -Inigo

I applied for a voulenteer crew position on the brig the Lady Washington, and after three weeks of waiting, I'm going a little crazy. One would think they would contact you if they needed more information/etc. But not a word. Maybe they are like my theatre, so busy/understaffed it takes a while to get to little things like, voulenteer applications. Oh well. Paitence is a good thing to practice. Yet, I wouldn't mind even a "we're a little busy, but we'll get to you before you want to go so you can go this summer." kind of e-mail.

C'est tant pis pour moi! Mais, c'est la vie!


Saturday, April 29, 2006

La vie Boheme

Recently I've been mulling over the idea of why the "Underworld" is so tantalizing, so facinating. As a christian, you aren't allowed to have sex before marriage, don't swear, don't do this, don't do that, obey the 10 commandments.
It is all about what you put into your mind. When I put, oh I dunno, Avril Lavigne in your head all the time I end up feeling twice as sad and depressed as when I pressed the play button. However, when I put christian music, or music with hope in it's message, I feel uplifted and less depressed. Often I am tempted to get my ear cartilidge pierced, get a tattoo, live like a demi-bohemian. Make out, say what I want, etc. etc. etc.
The point is this; living like a bohemian is to celebrate chaos. It is to ignore the small voice of the Holy Spirit, which, I believe lives in everybody. The bohemians just don't listen to it. That's why they celebrate chaos, rather than cosmos. They stand "naked" to the world, perhaps wearing a chulla, screaming the worst kinds of profanity which aren't even eloquent. They are the bohemians. I have dipped my fingers into that world, tasted it's bitter-sweet flavor. Like chocolate and tobacco. Red wine. Old red wine. And yet, it leaves me wanting, lacking, empty and alone. With little or nothing but the next good time to celebrate rather than perservere through the bad times with the hope of tomorrow. Tomorrow is ALWAYS better. Always. Being bohemian doesn't fufill who I am and what I want to say.
I want to speak with intellect, with people who think. I want my art to reflect what I see in the world, what I think of the world, and who I am. Or who I quest to be.
I want to be a woman of confidence, of intelligence in a world of chaos. I want to be cosmos. I am an artist, I can't deny that. I believe in being just a little crazy, rather eccentric, because it lends variety to life. It makes each day interesting.
You don't have to know what you're making, just as long as it turns out. You don't have to know, just be willing to quest, and change.
Confidence is a must, though not arrogance.
Self-respect is a must, though not piety.
Tolerance is a must, though not to the point of allowing the world to trample you.
Questioning and listening to your mentors are musts as well.
Being true to you is vital, although weigh well what the heart says with what the head says.

Tuesday, April 4, 2006

Boy at the Bus Stop

The sweet faced boy's hands are strong
sharply filed nails claw the ends of fingers
which, move surprisingly gently
Eyes limned thickly with black
a vertical spike rifts the left one.

Like painted tears on a carnival clown
Why is he so sad?
A black handcuff encircles his left wrist
while a cross graces
the right-hand toe of his Converse All-Stars
That is the one visible thing we have in common,
except his are high-tops and
mine are not.

Monday, April 3, 2006

3. 8.06

The world this morning was like a Myiazaki film.
Fog blanketed the horizion, muffling most sounds. Subduing people.
Some piece of machinery beat a couplet tattoo. Sounding like a wooden mallet on a slab of steel. It remined me of Iron Town, guards hearalding the arrival of Lady Eboshi and her convoy. Whereas that felt warm, welcoming, bustling; to day felt like it was disjointed, aloof.

Cher Coeur

Listen to the rain
feathers falling
peace descending

Listen to the rain
Quietly blanketing
the world in tones of grey

Listen to the rain
we walked, under my umbrella
I listened to the rain

You walked away
under my umbrella
I listened to the rain

You went somewhere
I cannot let myself go
I listened to my rain

Listen to the rain, healing, soothing.
Listen to the tears I cried, healing, moving
without you.

You've found me naked Dearheart. You've done things; I let you do them. Now I sit, ensconsed in my place of solitude, in a pool of tears, reflecting on what I have done and what I will do.
My soul is as sad as my hair is blue. Water is the best place for thinking. For reflecting on the past and scrying the future. My mind is as rippled as my reflection. Please forgive me.
Please set me free.
Please love me.
Please don't ever leave me.
S'il vous-plait?

Four pictures.

I am dark and terrible. Consumed by visions of ghosts, tormented by the night. By people. By Men. The one over my left shoulder looks like Dearheart. I hide my eyes, trying not to see the deamon, but crying all the same. See the blood-spatter tears on my throat?
I wear black lace, raven feathers, silent silk.
My eyes are ugly, my hands are hideous. I am cursed with womanhood and beauty.
Run away you men. Here stands nothing but pain and trouble. A festering woman who is tortured by ghosts of her past.


People are NEVER whom they, at first, seem to be.
-A. Curtiss


The true test of any college student, to prove if you have properly assimilated into life on campus is if you can navigate the endless throng of humanity with a plate of food or a cup of hot beverage.

Journal Page

Stagnation is death

My heart bleeds thorns, razor blades of pain.

Je suis le cadeau que ne personne merite.

Mission Statement

The more I quest and question life, the more I discover how little I actually know. College is supposed to be an amazing time of discovery of you as a person, and I would submit that you may discover things ABOUT yourself, but you choose things, paths, directions in college that ultimately shape you. You create your self. Who you are. You must have a set of vices though. A "mission statement" if you will, that will be edited and revised over time but what you based it on will remain.

1st Peter 3:15

If you are truly and deeply a Christian, when you write, or make any sort of art for that matter, it will come from your world view, regardless of the number of times you mention God or his name.

What is in your deepest psyche will come out in your art.

Personal experiences are held within a person,
as you go through life, memories surface
Secrets lurk behind your soul's windows
How can you hold such dark spirits within?
Soul Searching
finger tendrils
running over old scars
opening unhealed wounds

Purging Thorns
Removing festering thorns
spikes, knives, spears
cleansing dirty blood

Salt sweet tears
chasing away fever
unwilling duty

Pruned branches shiver
in the cool breeze of spring
loss leaves room for new growth


Spilling confessions
in the black-blood-ink tattoo
on the pale white skin of the page
crossed with,
little blue veins
carrying the life-blood words

Wednesday, February 22, 2006


Is it not sad that I should feel more at home among the silent, verbose tomes of the world's poetry and non-fiction?
Should my company not be among my peers? But who, are my peers? I have non that match my age. I have only those older than who are of my mental peerage, and I state that no to boast.
More or less, I am alone in the classification of my youth. Hamlet lends me consolation when I am depressed. Sonnets when I am in and out of love. Athol Fugard, a feast of exquisitely chosen words.
With whom may I meld minds? With whom may I quest the stars in the heavens? Discuss philosophy, art, religion, faith, science, life?
None that are here now. None that are in my love.

Friday, January 20, 2006

Time Warp

Wow. That last post seems like so long ago. But really it wasn't that long. THe Diary of Anne Frank opens next Friday and hopefully we'll have the set painted and fixed to the director's liking.
I got to knit for the show though. Anne makes her father (Otto Frank) a scarf, which she knits in the dark after she's supposed to have gone to bed. After two years of knitting, it's really difficult to go back on your instinct and let some of the stitches fall all the way to the bottom of the scarf. To make YO's for the sake of increasing without thinking about it. It's really rather a cute scarf, made from random bits of yarn that begin and end without planning.
I'm also making a sweater for Mrs. Frank to wear later because she knits during the show, so why not make a sweater and a half? It's really cute, but not done yet.