went to the beach today, needed to deal with everything that’s happened recently.  I’ve been talking with a couple close friends of mine about the beach, about the sense of home and at the same time the sense of renewal it brings.  The beach always feels like an old friend, when you’re driving down the road and the hills part for the first time and the ocean stands vast and extravagant, it feels like seeing an old friend for the first time. One that’s been waiting patiently for you to come back, one that will always be there after you have to leave.  It was night when I went, the sand was cold and the water was colder; but listening to those waves crash–imagining them crash over me.  It was like nothing was wrong.  I once again find myself searching for balance.

Got any spare change?

I’ve spent the past couple of days sitting in a place of creativity.  Much has changed for me these past few weeks, so much so that it is hard to remember that it has only been a couple of weeks.  I can’t tell you yet whether or not it’s been a change for the better, I don’t know.  But I know that all of this change has brought about a new-found sense of observation, and contemplation.  I’ve written a new poem which hasn’t happened in a couple of months, it seems.  And I’ve been focusing diligently on a new painting I’m making for a friend of mine.  It’s odd how discerning the meaning behind art and creation is really discerning the meaning behind ourselves.  Whatever this is, I hope the creative shell holds out for a while.  More importantly I hope that I can find a way to balance it with my everyday life.  But then, I guess that’s what all artists hope for.

Waking up happy

It’s raining here. I woke up and opened my door and heard the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in three months. I’m sitting here now just listening. Listening.

I feel calm.

New Semester, please.

It’s funny.  Every semester I start with the best of intentions.  And every semester it sinks down to a general milieu of overwhelming stress.  I’ve said it before, I’ve been told several times.  The problem lies in the follow-through.

Of course I’ve never tried to do the same thing with my own car, that would be just silly…

Melody Lane (Narcotics Not Required)

As a proudly self-proclaimed music geek, I think we’re way overdue. I can think of a couple places in Texas where it’d just be funny to surprise drivers, “…do you hear Smoke on the Water??”

Wouldn’t be nice if it didn’t matter?

I’ve recently read an article about a negatively-charged e-mail that has been circulating about Barak O’Bama. The e-mail is claiming that O’Bama is ‘a Muslim plant that’s trying to take over America,” Mr. Obama told voters the other day at a rally in eastern Iowa. “If you get this e-mail from someone you know, set the record straight.” O’Bama’s committee has taken every step possible to deny these “slanderous” words. “The first [letter] is signed by three Iowa ministers, a nun and a church elder, who write, “Senator Obama is a committed Christian who found Christ long before entering politics and has been outspoken about his faith ever since.”

Obviously these allegations come Mr. O’Bama’s name, and his ethnicity. And it is incomprehensible that people would make such gross generalizations about someone based on something as non-descriptive as a name. But I think what really bothers me is that Senator O’Bama went to such great lengths to deny that he was infact muslim. Since when did beign a Muslim keep someone from being President? Since when was it required that you were a christian to be President? Wouldn’t it be nice if it didn’t matter?

One Down, about 800,000 to go.

 So I’ve just finished reading Perks of Being a Wallflower.  Marla recommended it to me, and bought me a copy for my birthday.  It’s a book she swears by, because of how well she can relate to Charlie the main character.  I can easily see where she’s coming from–this book is written for outsiders.  Like Catcher in the Rye before it, Perks is focuses on one adolescent boy just sort of trying to survive the messed up world he lives in, and trying to understand why it’s happening.  Charlie is a hero for the lonely-hearts.  If you understand what I’m talking about then you’re probably one too.  The writer, Chbosky, does a very good job of writing in the voice of today’s contemporary generation.  There seems to be a focus on hyper-reality–writing without holding anything back.  Chbosky uses this voice with artistic pinache.  (yeah that’s right pinache.  I dont’ care if it’s an effeminate word, I’m a writer and I’m allowed).

It’s kind of amusing how simply Charlie is constructed–he is what every kid in high school wants to be.  He is incredibly smart, he can defend himself from bullies, and he has amazing friends who appreciate him for exactly who he is.  He didn’t have to change himself for anyone, he just had to find a crowd that would except him.  I guess it’s why so many people can relate to him.  Even still, Charlie is not as simple as all that–I think it’s the complexities Chbosky includes is what makes the audience really feel for him.

Bottom line, if you’ve ever felt lonely or maybe that the word just doesn’t quite understand.  Give this book a read–it’s short, should take you about twenty minutes really.

Ekphrasis

There is a specific style of poetry that deals with the subject of art and interpretation. The poet writes about what they see in a piece of art, they try to get at the story behind the painting. I’ve never really dealt much with this style of art, it’s not that I don’t like it, but for the longest time I’ve always felt that ekphrasis deal too much with “high art” which can be kind of limiting. That was until I met a poet who came to my class to talk about her book consisting entirely of these specialized poems. She taught me that at the core, words and colors share a meaning. And that the best words and the best colors exist in the same place, it simply up to the audience to interpret it, when this is achieved the place of the artwork does not matter.

I’ve started work on my own series of ekphrasis that I look forward to posting here. I’m doing mine on my favorite kind of artwork: tattoos! Tattoos are written off as uncultured, at best. But when it comes to artwork very few styles of art have more intrinsic meaning, or more powerful stories than the piece of art you wear boldly on your body.

This piece is about a portrait of Beethoven I saw on a man’s chest. I was not able to ask him the meaning or significance of his artwork therefore the following is my interpretation. I hope you enjoy it.

Beethoven

Because he sawed off his own legs
when he realized he couldn’t hear. And because he
pounded the hammers against the floor until the notes
took root. He laid in the grass of his apartment floor
his body prostrated out among the leaves and twigs,
he picked them up in his hand and listened to the crunch.
this is how his body ended: in the sounds of the birds
and twigs and the river that followed him on his long walks
down the lane. His body ended in vibrations,
beautiful grotesque vibrations.

 

It is for this reason you’re pounding Beethoven
against my sternum. My body begins and ends in vibrations
the vibrations of Beethoven and his wild eyes staring defiantly
against the world that I can’t hear either.

Leadership

I’ve been wondering lately what it takes to be a good leader. I wonder because for the past month, I’ve been in a leadership role and I have been feeling like I’ve been a doing just a really bad job. I have continually trying to teach myself how to be a better role model and how to handle the challenging situations, but I keep finding myself wanting…I feel like I know where my problem is, I just wish I could figure out how to fix it.
It is easy for me to come up with creative ideas–it’s easy for me to be passionate about something. My problem is (and always has been) in the follow through. It isn’t from a lack of trying or a lack of understanding–in fact I believe it comes from the very opposite. I have learned how to be a good communicator, I have been taught how manage time and priorities; but I think I’ve grown complacent…it’s as if, just because I studied, it means I don’t have to keep practicing. I look back on it now and I can see a pretty consistent trend–I really don’t like to practice. I can look back at so much of what I have learned and consequently stopped learning and can trace it back to how much I just don’t want to practice. I only hope it’s not too late to change that.

Incidentally, my dad is moving across the country tomorrow morning. My mom and sister will be following him over the next couple of months. My thoughts are constantly with them–this huge transition has taken it’s toll on all of us. Good luck Dad, see you soon.

Something more like me

my Blogspot account was beginning to move away from the message I want to portray so I figured it’s probably easier to start a new one, not to mention all the neat tools I can do with this site. I’ll be here from now on, please adjust your bookmarks accordingly.