Home and Back

Driving home
11 A.M.
Black VW
No radio
Exit 171
Fireworks
He shook my mothers hand
My sister tells me I am funny
Half hour in
Standing in the mirror
Dad's horn in the driveway
Church
Walked around the block
Too many people
Standing way too close
The Christmas tree was decorated
And bows were placed on cookie boxes
Ducktape
Off to Aunty Jo's
Smaller than usual
One had a baby
One is in jail
A best friend is borrowed to fill in space
"Plastic Cities"
Scarves and bakeware
Happy 50th Birthday around the lake
The cd skipped
Just as dad was "getting into it"
Sitting on my bed
Cross legged on my floor
I asked if he was proud of me
"I admire your fight Cari, But choose your battles."
2 A.M.
Christmas morning
Gifts were unwrapped
Lottery tickets
Cinnamon rolls frosted
Off to moms
Presents for the poor
Vitamins and toothpaste
Down to Grandma's
An apron and lotion
"For my domesticated girl."
Family over at 6
Off to the cousins real quick
Back again
Egyptian Rat Dance
Text from him
Couldn't stop smiling
Blue gave up
The cousins left
Late night walk
3 A.M.
Monday morning
Breakfast with the girls
Playing in the snow
McDonalds
Up to Blue's for cake and presents
I told him it was over
And stormed out the door
1 A.M. in my car
We kissed farwell
"I know I will always love you."
Driving home
Loneliness seeps in
Tuesdsay morning
On the road
By 11 A.M.

winter solstice

Winter Solstice is Wednesday, December 21 at 10:23 PM Mountain Standard Time. This solstice is a time to celebrate your life, your responsibility to yourself, your power, your talents, your purpose, your vitality and your inspiration. Take note of where you are, what you are doing and who you are with. How is it? If you don't like it, change it. Since we are in an accelerated time, allow things to move and shift and manifest without the need to control or micromanage. Trust that your intentions are well set and step aside to allow them to manifest.

He walked a block too far

I met him outside

We both smiled as we embraced

He took me to a cafe

It was past 10 pm

I told him about my friends

He told me about his

We laughed

and continued to

walking back to my house

In my living room

with the Christmas lights on

Laying on my red rug

We just held hands

and laughed.

I told him that I am finally happy with who I am.

And we were so thankful to have each other in our lives.

 

Text

Me: i cant stop thinking about you! Is that weird?


Him: weird? heck no lady? let me say you are a huge breath of fresh air for me... and thanks for putting up with my romantic cheesy-ness. and...you, me 1 chocolate shake, 2 straws...please?

i am art & words.

i carry these shadows.

i carry them in my arms.

i cradle them and rock them back and forth

to sleep.

i fight with my head.

i fight with my hands.

i work charcoal into pulp dark and darker

to black.

i remember i am plagued.

i remember i am poisoned.

i remember my past.

(all the thoughts i once thought)

pink bows and pearls.

now

pills and cigarettes.

-  -  -

i curse my luck,

my past,

this path i have been on.

these struggles i have.

the pain of e v e r y d a y. 

[not able to ignore.]

burning matches, writing papers, i sit cross-legged on my floor.
just getting through the day.

38,000

If I lost this- I would loose myself.
I would simply let go.

You can call me Darling.

there will be a part of me i will never give away.
i will never uncover,
disclose,
or whisper in the dark.

you will always feel the sense of something missing.
and as the years pass,
nothing will transfigure.

i do not make plans.
i do not keep promises.
i will be yours when i am near;
reclusive as i leave.

my thoughts may meet your mind,
and my voice may kiss your face.
we will talk often and i will always listen intently.
but do not expect me in the morning.

like the ocean fondles the tide,
or the moon rewinds its shadow.
my heart is always running.
i may be coming back around.
i may be spinning in circles.
but i am dancing my own dance.

the deck with one queen and the lack of an ace

i feel like i am choosing my life;
picking up the cards i will play with.
i only have the ones i have been dealt;
and none of them will win this game-
but the rules are you have to choose.

wish you were here

we're just two lost souls swimming in a bowl,
year after year.

as lonely as the shadow on the wall.
i anticipate the empty house.

(since we haven't talk)
darkness seeps in.
easier.

the realization of a deep emptiness inside.

enough to hold all the rain in the sky.
tears no one will notice.

i remember i am alone.

a mother's words-

"you are brave."

-i never thought of myself as that.-

"well you are, most girls wouldn't be able to be as confident as you."

(another foreign words- confidence.)
when no one is around,
you learn all to well of yourself.

(you get sick of looking at yourself in the mirror)

nights become very long;
very quiet.

and days are a blur.

sleeping becomes an escape.
a retreat amid the spinning tornado.

and i wonder,
those who encounter the disaster ahead innocently,
do they realize exactly what they have been through when it has passed?

can you grow alone,
amongst a gravel road?

or do you continue to shift in your chair?
keep talking.
eye contact.
listen closely.
(but so far away.)

you leave the room and the relief is brief.

(untitled)

All I have to hold onto
I need to let go
My mind is poison
death to my soul
I live in my body
My head alone

No Need for Art School

Let me walk around on marble floor. I'll learn more than 10:50-4:20 times four.
My professor tells me "good hands, good eyes." The dates and paperwork and goodbyes.
Align. Center, search, discover, input. input. input.
Output.

"The impressionist's emphasis on drawing has only recently begun to be fully considered."

If you truly understand and tap into how color moves with the eye on a canvas or piece of paper - you have the basis for a successful work of art.

Line provides direction. i.e. Degas "Women in a Tub" The composition offsets verticals and horizontals against rounded forms. "Giulia Bellelli (study)"= first uses of ESSENCE, or thinned oil paint! - "Art is vice, you don't marry it legitimately, you ravish with it."

The direction of the pastels application creates both movement and gradation. The blurring of marks vs. the heaviness of paint creates depth. i.e. Renior - "Why shouldn't art be pretty? There are enough unpleasant things in the world."

*diagonals. triangles.*

Pastel sticks are a mixture of ground pigments, white chalk, and water (or binding agent) and, depending on the ratio of pigment to chalk, produce either a smooth or rough finish. It is a way to fuse line with color (merging drawing and painting).

Pastels are loose and unconfined. They rely on the difference between a smudged application (creating a smear of color pushing into the background) and the steady, but broken line (kissing the foreground, the viewers face).

The tonality of the subject and the transition between one color to the next is vital.

"Seurat could make light shoot out, just moving a crayon on paper." -Apollinaire

"There is no such thing as a line or modeling; there are only contrasts." Cezanne
(a passionate man, reclusive, very private- lived and died solely for his art)
"I try to capture the essence in the drawing - then I fill the spaces demarcated by the outline (expressed or not) but felt in every case."

"Instead of trying to reproduce exactly what I have before my eyes, i use color more arbitrarily so as to express myself more forcibly."- Van Gogh

"Art is an abstraction; as you dream amid nature, extrapolate art from it, and concentrate on what you will create as a result." - Gauguin

"The most important element in a picture cannot be defined."- Manet

Apply medium in layers, spreading each color through the entire composition, creates unity. i.e. Monet = en plein air. - "A landscape does not exist as a landscape...it lives in accordance with its surroundings, with air and light, which are forever changing."

11/3

Now that everyone has left my house, I face the girl in the mirror. The girl who ate too much and forgot to take her medication. She is the girl with the lover who speaks to her heart, miles away. The man she has had for so long, doesnt want her anymore. She is the girl who talks about dying her hair, dropping out of school, hoping trains. She doesnt finish her writing homework - two weeks late already. She types too much, thinks too much, and the water never gets hot enough. Her face is too round, her thighs touch, and she hasn't shaved her legs in a while. The teddy on her bed reminds her of the fight she has been for years now. She wants to call her dad. She wants to close her eyes; but these thoughts, this headache above her eyebrows. She thinks about her grandma, about dying, about winter solstice. The plans in her mind chase away her loneliness. She is scared to get up and go to school in the morning. Scared to pick out her clothes. She hates that she hasn't exercised in 5 days. She pinches her sides, and thinks about all the food she ate. She tells her roommate she's okay. She listens to her mother on the phone. She doesnt feel much like talking. Or answering texts. Yet she sends one more- out of desperation. Sadness. Emptiness. She thinks about sending mail. A letter to blue, a box of bars to him. Maybe she should apologize to jake. She could have drank wine with alec, visited brad in riverwest. But she came home early from class, took a nap, covered herself in blankets, tried to get something finished. But nothing is. Not her paper, or her drawings, or her thoughts in her head. The bitter November rain falls against her city window. She cashes in, and calls it a day.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will be better.

They liked this...

Revolution

We, the people of the United States of America, considering the crisis at hand, now reassert our sovereign control of our land.

You say you want a revolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me that its evolution

1. Complete change from one constitution to another

A people-powered movement
September 17, 2011
Non-binding consensus, collective decision
"People's assembly"

2. Modification on an existing constitution

"This is a sharp time now,
a precise time -
we live no longer in the dusky afternoon
when evil mixed itself with good"

3. The richest 1% of people are writing the rules

We're doing what we can
But when you want money
for people with minds that hate
All I can tell is brother you have to wait

4. We are the 99%

"Now, by God's grace,
the shining sun is up,
and them that fear not light
will surely praise it."





"About Us | OccupyWallSt.org" Occupy Wall Street | NYC Protest for American Revolution. 13 July 2011. Web. 07 Nov. 2011.

Lennon, John. "Revolution." Rec. 13 July 1968. The Beatles. George Martin, 1968. Vinyl recording.

Miller, Arthur. The Crucible (Penguin Classics). London: Penguin Classics, 2003.

artist?

I used to create drawings, with charcoal sticks and gummy erasers. Whatever I was going through, I was still proud of my work. Each piece spoke a little more of what was inside- of my struggles and emotions. Drawing made me happy, freed me in a way nothing else could. I always knew I could create beauty, even when my head was dark and ugly. It was the gift given to me by God. My work challenged me, won awards, put me into the college of my choice. It was what I had going for me.
But now- now I feel like vomiting before my 1:40 figure drawing class. I pull at my clothes, my hair, my skin; digging at my surface for a sense of security. My confidence dwindles as each hour approaches class. Sometimes, I just leave. I walk out of the art school I worked so hard to get in. And when I'm out, I feel I can breath again, after holding my breath for so long. I dont know if its the stuffy art crowd that gets me down. All of them so distant and iconic. I feel beneath them, and I feel they know it. Their eyes judge my old, thrown-together wardrobe. I am not hip enough. And my work- their eyes skim over, noses higher in the air. I am not good enough. My complex tarnishes more everyday. This, paired with my loneliness- only leads to self hatred. Maybe if I was skinnier, or bought new clothes, then i could work harder and create what they wanted me to. I am foolish for stating that. But its in my head. My damned artist head.

figure drawing conversation

who would i be if i never met him?

Fall 2011

i die with the leaves
spinning downward from my life in a golden crust
(rebirth)
i sleep with decay
each breath a grim prayer to the higher power
(recreate)
i will live again

bears

i wish i could hibernate like the bears. fall asleep in my bed and wake up months later. but i am the one who couldn't change pace. i am the one left wondering the barren forest, searching for a life that does not exist anymore.

Someone

Come and make me real.
Touch me and wake me up.
Hold me-
Tell me my heart is beating.
Kiss my forehead,
Stop the spinning.
Hold my hand-
Bring me back;
Back to You.

Mirror

My skin,
Its not my own. I tug at my clothes,
they dont sit the same.
The mirror,
Ill shatter on the floor- if i look one more time
At that girl.
Still on autopilot.
I curse such a thing. Never should i be this way,
Not a way at all.
Avoiding the pain,
The reality. Not able to stay in my mind,
It spins and spins.
Where will I go? I used to know so much.
I used to know you.
I spin.
And i know it is him,
In the back of my brain. Stealing my shine,
By spitting on my soul. I held the bars,
He pinned on my shadow.
Played the games,
To pass the time. Sweet time,
So lost.
Lessons learned?
I pray.
This hike up this hill,
I will trek to find myself.
Out of this hole,
A damned ugly hole. I'll face my fear,
I swear i will. And keep all my promises.
I'll get back to myself.
And then get back
To You.
And its not for You.
Its for me.
Your a gift to me. I accept,
Once i accept the girl in the mirror.
The one starring back at me.
Broken on the floor.
No more.

(finally in september)

which way do i go?
i exhaust my options,
tire them out til the only one with life
becomes my answer.
how do i start my morning?
drinking coffee
half a cup down, warm it with more
full to the top.
where do i live?
in my kitchen,
where my mind and hands work together
feeding my soul.
how do i get through the day?
on my own,
what ever that means,
i dont know who i am yet.

i am love

break free
let me be
take a breath
i own myself
i am myself
becoming myself
through free fall
and tears
lust
and sorrow
where is love in my vocabulary
its in everything
i am love
true
strong
delicate
independent
emotional
fiery
overwelming
love
no more of this for you
this for this
this is for me
life is short
my legs are shorter
i must run from this
run with the moment
every moment
and create those memories
nostalgia is a curse
my middle name
a way of life
always remembering
but drawing from everything
pulling the feelings
from emotion
from love
i am love

(draft from the past)

i wait for the sun to shine
and i wait for you to call
and i wait for your name to come up
on my computer screen
while i wait for the sun to shine
i paint the color yellow
as i listen to alexi murdoch
and page france
while i think of you
as i paint the color yellow
i walk back and forth to school
and my feet try not to slip
and my hands try not to shake

2 AM

there is something i love about 2 AM
being up driving around your small home town
no traffic; blinking lights
the only places with moderate life are the bars
and when you drive by, the energy warms you
because those people are up at 2 AM as well
and maybe they feel the same way
the way your eyelids hang; exhausted and glimmering
removed from the body like the beacon of the lighthouse
and your body just slumps, yet pulses
each breath a meditation
it is so quiet
and the air is turning
from midnight to dawn
gravity shifting
and maybe your on the moon
everything around you floating up to the sky
becoming stars
numb shining stars
i am one of them.

90. (draft from the past)

My room is a mess, so i lay on top of everything, on the almost-floor, with my blanket.
I drink hot coffee in exchange for clothes because my room is swelling with heat. 90 degrees. My face is damp around my nose and chin.

Sick of This

I watch the people go by, smoking a broken cigar,
begging in my head, for one of them to take me with them.
It is 8:46 on a Saturday night, my last weekend in town.

Blister

I am blistered.
from the friction in my life.

(untitled)

have you ever cried so much your head hurt
your stomach hollow
your eyes swollen
your arms hanging from their sockets
and all you can do is lay
and let your mind spin out
like a top thats been spun
the winding
the coming undone
as your head pounds unbearably

Home

I enjoy the idea of home. But I have never been there. But the idea is a part of me. The idea of being grounded and belonging to something bigger than myself.
I believe i came from a home. A home between three birch trees, on the edge of a field, looking out to the river. A romantic place, where the front door lead to my bedroom i shared with my sister. I remember the baby blue carpeting and picture window.


But then i lost that home; it slipped through my fingers- although i held on so tight. The painful shards I still carry in my palms. And i can feel the bitter soreness when i try to grasp again.


I have learned to build a home in another place. (because everyone needs a some place to belong) I build the home with my heart- in my heart. I dont have to hold onto my home there, and it will never go away. And my many homes exist- they become my heart.

Why?

I continue to write this story for the girl who looks in the mirror every morning and makes up excuses. This is her reminder.

"Because dreams don't have to hurt like life does." -Yellow

p h o t o b y t h e w o n d e r f u l : alec schuppel

Here I am.

with a suitcase full of feelings.
and the clothes on my back.
my heart is on my sleeve.
but i hope you cant see.
cause i feel lost when your around.
and when your not
i become hopeless.

vultures

i dream of vultures.
watching me with their haunty eyes.
seeing through my shades of pink and orange.
to the bloody insides.
the places that are dying.
the sores festering under leggings and braided hair.
my yellow jacket and blue beret.
they wait for me.
and watch the deterioration.
only they can see.
only i can feel.
the vultures and i.

vomit

I want to be good. I want to be good to you. Not so fucked. Fucked by love and those other emotions.
I hurt people. I know I do.
But I am so grateful for those who stay in my life. Who deal with my bullshit. Those who love me for all of my faults. For all i have done. to their precious souls.

I know i have been treasured. and I have been saved. I have taken my chances and thanked my lucky stars. I have been loved unconditionally and torn apart recklessly. I have been misunderstood and stepped upon. And i have been taken forgranted. But i have loved. and still do. To the deepest degree. Shattering my own heart, to create new ones. brave ones. Memories people wish to hold onto. and keep in a different part of their minds. a special part. but only memories.

And i hurt so bad. My tears are bitter. a curse upon my own selfishness. confused and reckless.

but i cant let you go. i cant let anything as beautiful as you go. so i let the beauty of our broken relationship consume me. and intoxicate me. and drown my lungs out. until i float to the top of my very own mess.
i damn myself. because i know i could be happy.

i come to the conclusion i should not love. because my deep and passionate love is also fatal. self destruction. double homicide.
i love so much. but hurt all the same. i dont lie. not anymore. i mean what i say. i just cant always follow through.

writing my life out. a stream of consciousness. not so conscious. a story of impulse and tragedy. the kind where the main character is to blame for the downfall. the crime. the accident. the unhappy ending.

Tragedy

The longer i go through this life of mine, and the more people i meet, the closer i come to understanding my life as a tragedy. with the fall of the main character, the irony and despair.

lovers letter

like cursive on a letter from your lover
each word flowing to the next
painfully carving out the distance
the longing you have tried to suppress
left beautifully on the creased paper
i wish to dismiss you
to let you be
just a tender thought
a stained memory
locked away
untouched by reality

0 to 3

When I come home,
I feel crazier than I did before.
All of my needs are shrugged.
All of my hopes are dissipated.
I am more alone,
more angry,
more depressed.
I am a let down.
I am a disappointment.
I have taken three steps back,
Zero steps forward.