I've begun to believe that we are all truly made of stardust and that sometimes we align and sometimes we shine.
I feel the stars aligning and shining for me right now.
After a month of introspection, living within my head and extracting my thoughts from mind to paper, I finally finished my 20 pages of fiction to fulfill my admissions requirements for the MFA of Creative Writing at Murray State, but I'm in.
It was ugly.
First, I baptized my poor laptop with wine and it refused to be resurrected. I resorted to writing in a journal, and, with the help of my great friends, I got it typed out. Jackie typed most of it and I hijacked several friends' computers to complete the process.
The creative process was interesting. I would wake up in the middle of the night and write, drink, smoke absurd numbers of cigarettes and collapse into heap; completely spent. I decided that if this submission, which will serve as chapter one, wore me paper-thin, that I may not live through the completion of my work. It's cathartic, but tiring, and the lines pour from me like a slow-dripping faucet sometimes and sometimes like a wave that washes over my consciousness; straight from vein to paper.
So..meet Dani:-) She's my main girl. Dani is based on Shakespeare's Ophelia and is in love with a man who will never love her; an immortal. She kills herself in every incarnation, trying to make it work, trying to overcome their obstacles. She finally listens to her gut and her dreams and realizes that she is immortal as well.
I call her Dani in honor of Red Hot Chili Peppers and Anthony Keidis, who I adore, and names only one woman in any of his songs..Dani:-)
So I had to become Dani and we had a strange journey.
Writing is not unlike acting. You get inside the head of your character and explore.
During this process, I thought a lot, forgave a lot and laughed a lot. I want to thank my friends and family who supported me through this process and put up with my crazy ass.
I emerged from my head with some clarity and some intolerance for bullshit. I began to love myself and from there I discovered a world of love I've never known; especially for Dad, who is most like me..and the vastness of that love is immeasurable.
I called my grandmother and had discussions about everything from literature to why Dad doesn't write more.
I talked to dad about his favorite authors, his philosophies, and I've never felt to close to my family.
Dad, if you are reading this, I will tell you what Gran told me when I was just a little, scrawny thing.
"Write! Write like hell!"
I love you and I am so much like you that it's uncanny. You, my love, are inextricably tied to this legacy, as am I. We are storytellers and it's painful to see you bleed it halfway through newsletters and such. You have a Tolkein-like way of describing things and maybe my voice is a little different, but you made me believe in fairies and other worlds. I thank you for that:-)
I draw inspiration from everything right now because, truly, the story of you is the story of me, and, ultimately the story of us all.
We are all made of the same matter; the same stardust. Sometimes we align and sometimes we shine. Right now I am thanking my lucky stars.
I dig this wild ride through the cosmos.
Love and stardust XOXO,
Kara
Friday, December 10, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
A Writer's Manifesto
A writer's life is a curious thing. Like any artist, a writer seeks truth and through fact or fiction, seeks to immortalize those truths into something tangible and leaves that work behind as a living, breathing embodiment of self.
A writer wrestles with himself within the lines of work, struggling to both embrace and detach himself from life in order to examine existence and form new appreciation of it. In the process, the lines of reality blur as the realms of the real, the possible and the ridiculous plot themselves out before us.
Curious minds are, by nature, creative and reality may skew accordingly, if not for balance. One needs a touchstone, an anchor, in order to land; come back down to earth after a flight of fancy.
I could very well become a hermit and resign myself to a life of literary solitude.
Like Dickinson, I could lock myself in an attic and pine away in pages. Or create a Walden for myself, a world away from the fray of the everyday. However, I refuse to become five flavors of mental anguish and one can only live within oneself for so long without losing touch with their purpose. In order to examine humanity and existence, we must walk among it. We must live ordinary lives before we can become extraordinary.
So how do we balance our lives in a way that allows us to make sense of the lives we are living and the lives we create? How do we move through the lives we plot out before us? I'm trying to make sense of that right now.
I feel like a character in a novel, facing an array of trials to test my endurance and constitution. Sometimes I feel like it is my novel and sometimes I feel like I'm not always the author. In all actuality, it is the story of us all.
Every great story begins with a journey, an adventure and characters that do not, at first, realize their full potential. In our own stories, we have our introductions to the world, our struggles, resolutions, and the conclusions we draw from these lessons. We choose to be either dynamic or stagnant. We choose to be either the hero or live quiet lives, but even if we are not the main character, we contribute to the story in the book of life.
We are all searching for meaning, even if our research methods vary. The things that we find meaningful are different and there are many red herrings; distractions that take us off our path.
So if you find yourself caught in a fairytale, or any story, write it down. Write it down so that other characters can learn from your story. Perhaps it's not Canterbury Tales or the brothers Grimm, but if you have a thought in your head, write it. Leave more than your carbon footprint behind you on this little blue planet.
The life that you live is some flavor of human struggle that is ancient as the stars. You, my love, are a unique component of this universe and part of how we make sense of ourselves. So write it! Or use what talent you have to leave your experience behind. Write it, sculpt it, film it, but tell your story, because it is the story of us all.
Perhaps people may not listen. Sometimes they don't hear us, but if we can find a way to tuck our message in pages, hide it within reels, or in lyrics, we can clue them in on what we know. Maybe we can help them seek beauty and truth, when all they find is confusion. Perhaps it is a hard task, but it is a labor of love for fellow man.
An artist's mission must be clearly stated, if ever so subtly, if that makes sense. We cannot scream it, because that is too obtrusive. We must slip it in through the back door, tiptoe through the hallways, find our audience, and whisper to them and sing lullabyes. Whisper words of comfort and truth because everyone feels alone and struggles to come to terms with their own story. If they hear our stories, which resound with universal commonality, they can cradle their own pain and sing them softly to sleep, like little children.
A writer wrestles with himself within the lines of work, struggling to both embrace and detach himself from life in order to examine existence and form new appreciation of it. In the process, the lines of reality blur as the realms of the real, the possible and the ridiculous plot themselves out before us.
Curious minds are, by nature, creative and reality may skew accordingly, if not for balance. One needs a touchstone, an anchor, in order to land; come back down to earth after a flight of fancy.
I could very well become a hermit and resign myself to a life of literary solitude.
Like Dickinson, I could lock myself in an attic and pine away in pages. Or create a Walden for myself, a world away from the fray of the everyday. However, I refuse to become five flavors of mental anguish and one can only live within oneself for so long without losing touch with their purpose. In order to examine humanity and existence, we must walk among it. We must live ordinary lives before we can become extraordinary.
So how do we balance our lives in a way that allows us to make sense of the lives we are living and the lives we create? How do we move through the lives we plot out before us? I'm trying to make sense of that right now.
I feel like a character in a novel, facing an array of trials to test my endurance and constitution. Sometimes I feel like it is my novel and sometimes I feel like I'm not always the author. In all actuality, it is the story of us all.
Every great story begins with a journey, an adventure and characters that do not, at first, realize their full potential. In our own stories, we have our introductions to the world, our struggles, resolutions, and the conclusions we draw from these lessons. We choose to be either dynamic or stagnant. We choose to be either the hero or live quiet lives, but even if we are not the main character, we contribute to the story in the book of life.
We are all searching for meaning, even if our research methods vary. The things that we find meaningful are different and there are many red herrings; distractions that take us off our path.
So if you find yourself caught in a fairytale, or any story, write it down. Write it down so that other characters can learn from your story. Perhaps it's not Canterbury Tales or the brothers Grimm, but if you have a thought in your head, write it. Leave more than your carbon footprint behind you on this little blue planet.
The life that you live is some flavor of human struggle that is ancient as the stars. You, my love, are a unique component of this universe and part of how we make sense of ourselves. So write it! Or use what talent you have to leave your experience behind. Write it, sculpt it, film it, but tell your story, because it is the story of us all.
Perhaps people may not listen. Sometimes they don't hear us, but if we can find a way to tuck our message in pages, hide it within reels, or in lyrics, we can clue them in on what we know. Maybe we can help them seek beauty and truth, when all they find is confusion. Perhaps it is a hard task, but it is a labor of love for fellow man.
An artist's mission must be clearly stated, if ever so subtly, if that makes sense. We cannot scream it, because that is too obtrusive. We must slip it in through the back door, tiptoe through the hallways, find our audience, and whisper to them and sing lullabyes. Whisper words of comfort and truth because everyone feels alone and struggles to come to terms with their own story. If they hear our stories, which resound with universal commonality, they can cradle their own pain and sing them softly to sleep, like little children.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Instructions
http://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bi2pBZGJqj8
Life can be pretty confusing. I'm a woman. Do you think I ever know exactly what I want? Sometimes. So how do we know where to go or what to do?
If someone gave us a specific set of instructions, do you think any of us would follow them?
I'd say, sadly, no. As humans, I believe we are rebels by nature...and it just doesn't work that way because it's not exactly the same for everyone.
So where are our instructions? Where do we look for truth?
Perhaps it is in the plot of a story...cleverly tucked in pages or hidden within reels...a surreptitious set of meanings for the audience...
..But we perceive and create meaning in different ways. It's like reading the "Little Prince." Two people could read it and get completely different meaning from the novel. Read it when you are ten, then again at 30. Your story is different and so the book itself means something different to you.
I believe that art is a component of several things--intent, creation, conveyance, and the evoking of thought, action, or emotion.
In that sense, life becomes pretty complicated, because by that definition, life is art. I guess that's why art imitates life and perhaps it's no imitation.
So maybe art is more like a mirror and the artist's intent gets lost in the whole process..unless it is clearly, clearly expressed. So how do we become a mirror to the world? My best solution is to tell stories. Aesop told fables, Jesus told parables and, perhaps I'm the least of the lowly, but I will tell stories. Stories spin a tale with a face that we can relate to on a more personal level, as humans.
So maybe when I'm elbow-deep in snot, watching "The Notebook," it is really a story of hope..hope that maybe one day I'll be loved in a lifelong sense..in a pee-my-pants-perfect kind of way...but maybe it won't be perfect and maybe it will be messy, but nothing will ever happen if I don't do anything.
Nothing happens in a stagnant pool, but if we can learn to ebb and flow and reflect the world in our waters and likewise, learn from the stories that WE tell and from those told before, maybe we can be hopeful and spread stories of hope. Maybe one day the world will see that it's all about our individual stories and how we understand and connect with each other. Because we are all in this together.
If you don't believe me, just listen to NPR. Every great news story has a face. Every great comedian adds a personal story to their act. Every cook has a personal touch to their recipe.
So when we live through this romantic comedy that we call life, what do we leave behind? It's our carbon footprint and our story...and hope.
Life can be pretty confusing. I'm a woman. Do you think I ever know exactly what I want? Sometimes. So how do we know where to go or what to do?
If someone gave us a specific set of instructions, do you think any of us would follow them?
I'd say, sadly, no. As humans, I believe we are rebels by nature...and it just doesn't work that way because it's not exactly the same for everyone.
So where are our instructions? Where do we look for truth?
Perhaps it is in the plot of a story...cleverly tucked in pages or hidden within reels...a surreptitious set of meanings for the audience...
..But we perceive and create meaning in different ways. It's like reading the "Little Prince." Two people could read it and get completely different meaning from the novel. Read it when you are ten, then again at 30. Your story is different and so the book itself means something different to you.
I believe that art is a component of several things--intent, creation, conveyance, and the evoking of thought, action, or emotion.
In that sense, life becomes pretty complicated, because by that definition, life is art. I guess that's why art imitates life and perhaps it's no imitation.
So maybe art is more like a mirror and the artist's intent gets lost in the whole process..unless it is clearly, clearly expressed. So how do we become a mirror to the world? My best solution is to tell stories. Aesop told fables, Jesus told parables and, perhaps I'm the least of the lowly, but I will tell stories. Stories spin a tale with a face that we can relate to on a more personal level, as humans.
So maybe when I'm elbow-deep in snot, watching "The Notebook," it is really a story of hope..hope that maybe one day I'll be loved in a lifelong sense..in a pee-my-pants-perfect kind of way...but maybe it won't be perfect and maybe it will be messy, but nothing will ever happen if I don't do anything.
Nothing happens in a stagnant pool, but if we can learn to ebb and flow and reflect the world in our waters and likewise, learn from the stories that WE tell and from those told before, maybe we can be hopeful and spread stories of hope. Maybe one day the world will see that it's all about our individual stories and how we understand and connect with each other. Because we are all in this together.
If you don't believe me, just listen to NPR. Every great news story has a face. Every great comedian adds a personal story to their act. Every cook has a personal touch to their recipe.
So when we live through this romantic comedy that we call life, what do we leave behind? It's our carbon footprint and our story...and hope.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Life is Knowing Your Ass From Your Apron Strings
The day you wake up and realize what really matters is an unusual day and a day of celebration. I speak as a changed woman; a woman who has not withstood the terrors of war or pestilence or anything so violent, but a woman who has stared her own worst fears in the face.
Fear is a curious thing, really, and nothing is ideally operable under it's circumstance. Fear is not a motivator, but a reactive agent. It is a blazing, fiery red flag. To face fear is to stare at it's flag, watch it as it marches into your life and look at it not as the enemy, but as an indicator of something else. Fear is internal. What makes us fearful? Is it ever rational and what is a healthy response to fear?
I'm not an expert and I'm not sure but I think that fear is never a rational thing because in a state of fear, no one can be rational. No one can be fearful and live a purposeful life.
So what are my fears? I guess it's time to come clean. My fears were many and my myriad of trepidation was completely ridiculous. Let's start with the most silly.
I was afraid of blowing up to ridiculous proportions and that no one would want to look at me, be my friend, or ever love me. So why did I feel that way? I have struggled with my weight my entire life. The fact of the matter; as a matter of fact, is that people love me and could care less what I look like, or if I had my own zip code.
I was the one who could not stand to look at myself. I was the one who hated myself and put myself..my own body..through years of torture and starvation to try to fade away..to shrink within myself. Years of diets, different flavors of the same denial of self, left me empty, hollow and weak. I've tried everything from popping pills, laxatives, starvation, regurgitation, and drowning it out with alcohol (which by the way, makes you hungry.) So what was I really thirsty for?
As I nearly faded away into myself..into a life less extraordinary..I was full of doubt. I never thought I could be anything remarkable and, moreover, I compensated for what I lacked with an exaggerated fascade of self. I was a woman hiding behind a mask of fake self-assurance.
I was an actor. I felt like a fraud.
To be quite honest, I'm not much of a bartender. I am also the worst waitress in the world. I am a complete idiot most of the time. I am clumsy and trip over my own feet. I have created new levels of dumbassery, really.
But why? How the hell did I manage to make it through college, facing even the mathematical nuances of calculus, and graduate with honors. I'm an idiot savant. I'm the rain man of Murray, KY.
That's enough for now. I have to go to work now and try to know my ass from my apron strings:-) Color me a little more perceptive.
Fear is a curious thing, really, and nothing is ideally operable under it's circumstance. Fear is not a motivator, but a reactive agent. It is a blazing, fiery red flag. To face fear is to stare at it's flag, watch it as it marches into your life and look at it not as the enemy, but as an indicator of something else. Fear is internal. What makes us fearful? Is it ever rational and what is a healthy response to fear?
I'm not an expert and I'm not sure but I think that fear is never a rational thing because in a state of fear, no one can be rational. No one can be fearful and live a purposeful life.
So what are my fears? I guess it's time to come clean. My fears were many and my myriad of trepidation was completely ridiculous. Let's start with the most silly.
I was afraid of blowing up to ridiculous proportions and that no one would want to look at me, be my friend, or ever love me. So why did I feel that way? I have struggled with my weight my entire life. The fact of the matter; as a matter of fact, is that people love me and could care less what I look like, or if I had my own zip code.
I was the one who could not stand to look at myself. I was the one who hated myself and put myself..my own body..through years of torture and starvation to try to fade away..to shrink within myself. Years of diets, different flavors of the same denial of self, left me empty, hollow and weak. I've tried everything from popping pills, laxatives, starvation, regurgitation, and drowning it out with alcohol (which by the way, makes you hungry.) So what was I really thirsty for?
As I nearly faded away into myself..into a life less extraordinary..I was full of doubt. I never thought I could be anything remarkable and, moreover, I compensated for what I lacked with an exaggerated fascade of self. I was a woman hiding behind a mask of fake self-assurance.
I was an actor. I felt like a fraud.
To be quite honest, I'm not much of a bartender. I am also the worst waitress in the world. I am a complete idiot most of the time. I am clumsy and trip over my own feet. I have created new levels of dumbassery, really.
But why? How the hell did I manage to make it through college, facing even the mathematical nuances of calculus, and graduate with honors. I'm an idiot savant. I'm the rain man of Murray, KY.
That's enough for now. I have to go to work now and try to know my ass from my apron strings:-) Color me a little more perceptive.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Sleeping Beauty
Have you ever noticed that once in a while life seems like a novel or a cinematic caper? It's times like these that knock my head out of the clouds and send me plummeting back to our little, blue planet. So why am I so distracted?
I will chalk it up to misplaced importance of minor details.
So here I am, one of billions, placed on planet Earth which is merely a speck in the sky; a tiny cross-section of an unfathomable forever of stars and stardust. So what?
Who cares about some poet on a bar stool? Who cares about some chick slinging beer and the occasional feature article? I say that as though the words sling carelessly from mind to Microsoft Word, which is not the case, fortunately.
So how careless are our lives and how short is our visit on this planet?
I am the eternal multi-tasker, but I've come to the conclusion that it's not what you do, it's what you do effectively. Sure, I can make drinks, write, and take pictures...
..but how good am I, really?
It's like trying to talk on the phone while you are eating, watching TV and writing a paper..something is going to get lost in translation or you will choke on your yummy sugar-free chocolate truffles in the process.
So much is lost in translation and the confusion is rooted in concentration of thought. If your energy is scattered, your thoughts will be too and that confusion will resonate in your communication. Also, your scatter-brained self will no more know how to tie your shoelaces than calculate algorithms. So what's my name again?
So, I start tomorrow knowing I am a novice and knowing that I am no more than a bag of bones, a mass of carbon-based matter until I can concentrate my energies on something more than the life I thought I wanted, the life validated by someone or something else. It's like asking someone to place value on a lily. It's beautiful and delicate, but what can you say about it, really?
So, we need to be persons of conscience and substance.
So, are we mavericks? No. Are we particularly different than those who have gone before? No.
Like everyone, I've first blamed my parents, then blamed my society, blamed my world, blamed the media, blamed boys, blamed everyone else but the person who was really to blame...
..me.
So this is the story of someone who can finally look at herself in the mirror. This is the story of a girl.
This isn't a fairytale.
Have you ever read the original Grimm's fairy tales? It's more like that. The stories you heard in youth were a watered-down version of the original. I guess that's life, huh? Check it out someday. They are pretty cool. It's not always a happily ever-after and the plot is a little messier along the way, but doesn't that make it all the more beautiful when it comes to the climax?
So, I've realized lately that I have some explaining to do...mostly to myself. You're probably wondering how a girl can graduate with honors and still be a complete idiot. It's mostly about awareness.
I'm beginning to wake up.
I will chalk it up to misplaced importance of minor details.
So here I am, one of billions, placed on planet Earth which is merely a speck in the sky; a tiny cross-section of an unfathomable forever of stars and stardust. So what?
Who cares about some poet on a bar stool? Who cares about some chick slinging beer and the occasional feature article? I say that as though the words sling carelessly from mind to Microsoft Word, which is not the case, fortunately.
So how careless are our lives and how short is our visit on this planet?
I am the eternal multi-tasker, but I've come to the conclusion that it's not what you do, it's what you do effectively. Sure, I can make drinks, write, and take pictures...
..but how good am I, really?
It's like trying to talk on the phone while you are eating, watching TV and writing a paper..something is going to get lost in translation or you will choke on your yummy sugar-free chocolate truffles in the process.
So much is lost in translation and the confusion is rooted in concentration of thought. If your energy is scattered, your thoughts will be too and that confusion will resonate in your communication. Also, your scatter-brained self will no more know how to tie your shoelaces than calculate algorithms. So what's my name again?
So, I start tomorrow knowing I am a novice and knowing that I am no more than a bag of bones, a mass of carbon-based matter until I can concentrate my energies on something more than the life I thought I wanted, the life validated by someone or something else. It's like asking someone to place value on a lily. It's beautiful and delicate, but what can you say about it, really?
So, we need to be persons of conscience and substance.
So, are we mavericks? No. Are we particularly different than those who have gone before? No.
Like everyone, I've first blamed my parents, then blamed my society, blamed my world, blamed the media, blamed boys, blamed everyone else but the person who was really to blame...
..me.
So this is the story of someone who can finally look at herself in the mirror. This is the story of a girl.
This isn't a fairytale.
Have you ever read the original Grimm's fairy tales? It's more like that. The stories you heard in youth were a watered-down version of the original. I guess that's life, huh? Check it out someday. They are pretty cool. It's not always a happily ever-after and the plot is a little messier along the way, but doesn't that make it all the more beautiful when it comes to the climax?
So, I've realized lately that I have some explaining to do...mostly to myself. You're probably wondering how a girl can graduate with honors and still be a complete idiot. It's mostly about awareness.
I'm beginning to wake up.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Love is a Smorgasbord
The Lonely Genius
All so real
Tangible
Reachable
Plausible...
Yanked away
Taken back
Discounted
And debunked
And I sigh
and wonder
Where logic
And love meet
..If ever
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire”. --Emily Bronte. "Wuthering Heights."
Unrequited love is like having dinner at your favorite restaurant but not touching your favorite dish. It's like going to Disneyland and standing just outside the gates, smelling the overpriced concession food and hearing cries of mirth. It's like Christmas morning when you open your presents, only to find that you didn't get your Easy Bake Oven..I wanted one of those so bad and never got one. I suppose this sparked my early obsession with the culinary arts...but I digress.
..It's the nearly reachable, nearly-within grasp feeling, followed by disappointment and the subsequent carb and drinking binges.
So then there was the last of my loves..and one that when I fell, I nearly got a concussion...so to speak. When I fell for him, I was knocked senseless.
So how do intelligent, independent women fall for this? How do we fall in love and why do we call it falling?
Falling
I believe we call it falling because there is something of an illusion and smoke-in-mirrors in the beginning. There is a bit of trickery behind a sly smile, a wink, a touch.
So why are we so beguiled by a wink and a smile?
I mean, I'm a pretty savvy gal, but I get weak in the knees like anyone else. So what sleight of hand steals our hearts? What cruel twist of fate makes it untouchable?
Perhaps it's the romanticization of relationships and that crazy propaganda that's been going on for centuries that tells us that it's gonna be mind-blowing, all-encompassing, pee-your-pants perfect. This goes for both sides of the coin. Since both men and women seek perfection, little will be satisfying for long. It's like eating a good meal. You're really into it until you're full.
..but that's not love; going meal to meal.
Perhaps love is like a smorgasbord you never get bored of...
Food for thought.
Reading: Depressing love story quotes
Listening to: Wilco
All so real
Tangible
Reachable
Plausible...
Yanked away
Taken back
Discounted
And debunked
And I sigh
and wonder
Where logic
And love meet
..If ever
To Love and Lose
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire”. --Emily Bronte. "Wuthering Heights."
Unrequited love is like having dinner at your favorite restaurant but not touching your favorite dish. It's like going to Disneyland and standing just outside the gates, smelling the overpriced concession food and hearing cries of mirth. It's like Christmas morning when you open your presents, only to find that you didn't get your Easy Bake Oven..I wanted one of those so bad and never got one. I suppose this sparked my early obsession with the culinary arts...but I digress.
..It's the nearly reachable, nearly-within grasp feeling, followed by disappointment and the subsequent carb and drinking binges.
So then there was the last of my loves..and one that when I fell, I nearly got a concussion...so to speak. When I fell for him, I was knocked senseless.
So how do intelligent, independent women fall for this? How do we fall in love and why do we call it falling?
Falling
I believe we call it falling because there is something of an illusion and smoke-in-mirrors in the beginning. There is a bit of trickery behind a sly smile, a wink, a touch.
So why are we so beguiled by a wink and a smile?
I mean, I'm a pretty savvy gal, but I get weak in the knees like anyone else. So what sleight of hand steals our hearts? What cruel twist of fate makes it untouchable?
Perhaps it's the romanticization of relationships and that crazy propaganda that's been going on for centuries that tells us that it's gonna be mind-blowing, all-encompassing, pee-your-pants perfect. This goes for both sides of the coin. Since both men and women seek perfection, little will be satisfying for long. It's like eating a good meal. You're really into it until you're full.
..but that's not love; going meal to meal.
Perhaps love is like a smorgasbord you never get bored of...
Food for thought.
Reading: Depressing love story quotes
Listening to: Wilco
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Life: It Flutters By
I'm not one to take inspiration in the form of dead insect carcasses, usually..but this week is different.
A little girl laid a dead butterfly on my bar and I was reminded of what I learned about butterflies in elementary school.
http://www.monarch-butterfly.com/
Life is short, sis, you gotta wing it!
So the monarch butterfly's life cycle is only 8 weeks, with exception to the fourth generation, which lives an additional four months, migrates to Mexico and finds a mate.
Okay.
So wouldn't you feel really gypped if you were generation three, breathing you little butterfly death rattle when your little butterfly niece gets to fly to Mexico, live more than twice as long as you, find herself a Latin lover and migrate north to continue the family name?
So I guess this applies to humans, too...
Live Life Like You've Got 6 Weeks to Live
My newest mission in life is Mission Monarch, which means living life like I've got six weeks to live.
I think this is pretty reasonable.
I mean, you never know when you're gonna be kicked off the island or be extracted from your mortal coil, right? So why deal with bullshit? YOU DON'T HAVE TIME FOR BULLSHIT...EVER.
So, here are my rules...
Your Mission, if you Choose to Accept it...
A little girl laid a dead butterfly on my bar and I was reminded of what I learned about butterflies in elementary school.
http://www.monarch-butterfly.com/
Life is short, sis, you gotta wing it!
So the monarch butterfly's life cycle is only 8 weeks, with exception to the fourth generation, which lives an additional four months, migrates to Mexico and finds a mate.
Okay.
So wouldn't you feel really gypped if you were generation three, breathing you little butterfly death rattle when your little butterfly niece gets to fly to Mexico, live more than twice as long as you, find herself a Latin lover and migrate north to continue the family name?
So I guess this applies to humans, too...
Live Life Like You've Got 6 Weeks to Live
My newest mission in life is Mission Monarch, which means living life like I've got six weeks to live.
I think this is pretty reasonable.
I mean, you never know when you're gonna be kicked off the island or be extracted from your mortal coil, right? So why deal with bullshit? YOU DON'T HAVE TIME FOR BULLSHIT...EVER.
So, here are my rules...
Your Mission, if you Choose to Accept it...
- If you ever think, "I don't have time for this," don't do it! It's a waste of your time.
- Don't waste your time with obligatory social engagements that will bore you to tears and cost you money. I mean, if you are in your best friend's wedding, sure. That's pretty important, but, if the thought of your ex's new fiance's wedding breaks you into hives, don't go. Someone else can sit at the single's table, get way too drunk and make an ass of themselves...
- Don't let them walk all over you. If you don't respect yourself, sis, no one else will. So tell that really hot guy that won't tell any of his friends you have been doin' the nasty for a whole year to go screw himself. On the other hand, be nice and keep his number..just hold out for something better.
- Take risks. C'mon, lady, you're only on this mortal coil for a limited-time engagement. Get on it! If you really want something, make it happen. I'm not saying that you should tell every tall, dark and handsome, "Is that a heat-seeking missile in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" But you know...How many times have you regretted not saying anything? Think about 7th grade, senior year in high school, that hot guy in your college poetry class...
- It's not all about what they want you to be about. SO..break the rules! Wear white after labor day, ignore the TV and celebrity gossip, eat chocolate for breakfast, be single by choice, don't have kids (or do, but name them something really cool and teach them to play the ukulele)...The only expectations in life should be your own and it's better not to have them.
- Do something crazy. I don't mean something that they may actually put you in the loony bin for, but do something outrageous every once in a while! I want to go sky diving (and I'm totally-shit-my-pants-scared of heights, but I'll do it when I've got money and a pair of adult diapers on.)
- Watch this..http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bi2pBZGJqj8
- Call your grandmother. She'll tell you "like it is" and you've only got her for a little while.
- Be kind.
- Sing at the top of your lungs, be the first on the dance floor, eat dessert first, don't dessert your friends and always have a good attitude..because it's all about your attitude.
Watching: Random Youtube music videos
Listening to: "Do You Love Me" by Guster
Reading: Charles Bukowski poems
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Prince Charming Global Positioning System
Society emphasizes the importance of coupling up. So what is the perfect pairing and how do we know? I've kissed enough frogs, so I'm content sitting this year out on the bench while everyone else plays the field..but who is Prince Charming and how do you hone your internal PCGPS (Prince Charming Global Positioning System)?
Let's explore some theories, y'all.
Knight in Shining Armor Theory
You gals know this is bullshit just as well as I do. If you can't get yourself out of a jam, some guy on a white horse isn't gonna save your ass. Plus, once you are riding off into the sunset, he may give you an aside like, "Ummmm...I'm still with someone, but we're breaking up...", or "So I can crash at your place, right? I've got my toothbrush in the saddlebag."
Just because a guy rushes in to save the day, doesn't make him Mr. Right. It just means he has good timing.
Kiss Enough Frogs Theory
Okay, so this is what every mom tells their daughter when she is drowning in a pool of her own snot, consuming an entire pint of Haagan Daaz and has her keys in hand to run to the store for pint two. Drop the Daaz, sis. Mom may be partially right on this one; however, it's totally cool not to kiss the frogs.
I mean, wouldn't your life have been easier if you figured out two weeks into your relationship with that artist guy that he was sucking you dry of emotion and money. It would have saved you several hundred dollars, months of feeling sorry for yourself and the subsequent pity pounds you put on. Keep your skinny jeans. Keep your girls night out. Lose the losers.
Field of Dreams Theory
This one's pretty common, too. Remember "Field of Dreams?" "When you build it, they will come?"
So I get this one a lot from happily-marrieds or from friends or from dad. When the time is right, they'll just show up.
Okay, what kinda Houdini sorta soul mate am I in for, huh? Isn't that kinda creepy? What? Is he watching me? Seeing if I'm ready?
*Cut to:
Kara in the brand-new office of a brand-new job. She is surrounded by puppies and kittens and has whittled her waist to a size 3.
Enter Houdini Soulmate in a puff of smoke with cool sound effects.
Kara: Who the hell are you and where did you come from?
Houdini: Don't be so hostile, sis. I'm the man of your dreams.
Kara: Really? Where's your apron and spatula? Do you have a massage license? I thought I told God when I was 5 that you would be a bit taller and bring ice cream.
Houdini: Okay, I'll go to the store. What's your favorite?
Kara: Aren't you just supposed to know? Geez? Do I have to do all the work? I think you should leave. I've got a lot of work to do and the cloud of smoke that you hopped out of is freaking out the puppies and kittens.
*Houdini disappears in another cloud of smoke.
So, what I'm trying to illustrate here is that even if the timing is perfect and the guy seems perfect, we are all skeptics and sometimes have unrealistic expectations.
My Theory: The Comfy Blanket Theory
So I have this theory that when I find it, it will feel like home. It will feel comfortable, natural, easy. To expand upon this theory, I think it applies to all aspects of my life. When it's right, it will seem like I made it home.
So do we find our home? Do we make a home? Who knows. I'm too obsessed with tweaking recipes right now to worry. Gazpacho, anyone?
Listening to: "Polyester Bride" Liz Phair and "Borne on the FM Radio Waves of the Heart" Against Me!
Watching: "500 Days of Summer"
Reading: Random photo publications and my own horoscope
Let's explore some theories, y'all.
Knight in Shining Armor Theory
You gals know this is bullshit just as well as I do. If you can't get yourself out of a jam, some guy on a white horse isn't gonna save your ass. Plus, once you are riding off into the sunset, he may give you an aside like, "Ummmm...I'm still with someone, but we're breaking up...", or "So I can crash at your place, right? I've got my toothbrush in the saddlebag."
Just because a guy rushes in to save the day, doesn't make him Mr. Right. It just means he has good timing.
Kiss Enough Frogs Theory
Okay, so this is what every mom tells their daughter when she is drowning in a pool of her own snot, consuming an entire pint of Haagan Daaz and has her keys in hand to run to the store for pint two. Drop the Daaz, sis. Mom may be partially right on this one; however, it's totally cool not to kiss the frogs.
I mean, wouldn't your life have been easier if you figured out two weeks into your relationship with that artist guy that he was sucking you dry of emotion and money. It would have saved you several hundred dollars, months of feeling sorry for yourself and the subsequent pity pounds you put on. Keep your skinny jeans. Keep your girls night out. Lose the losers.
Field of Dreams Theory
This one's pretty common, too. Remember "Field of Dreams?" "When you build it, they will come?"
So I get this one a lot from happily-marrieds or from friends or from dad. When the time is right, they'll just show up.
Okay, what kinda Houdini sorta soul mate am I in for, huh? Isn't that kinda creepy? What? Is he watching me? Seeing if I'm ready?
*Cut to:
Kara in the brand-new office of a brand-new job. She is surrounded by puppies and kittens and has whittled her waist to a size 3.
Enter Houdini Soulmate in a puff of smoke with cool sound effects.
Kara: Who the hell are you and where did you come from?
Houdini: Don't be so hostile, sis. I'm the man of your dreams.
Kara: Really? Where's your apron and spatula? Do you have a massage license? I thought I told God when I was 5 that you would be a bit taller and bring ice cream.
Houdini: Okay, I'll go to the store. What's your favorite?
Kara: Aren't you just supposed to know? Geez? Do I have to do all the work? I think you should leave. I've got a lot of work to do and the cloud of smoke that you hopped out of is freaking out the puppies and kittens.
*Houdini disappears in another cloud of smoke.
So, what I'm trying to illustrate here is that even if the timing is perfect and the guy seems perfect, we are all skeptics and sometimes have unrealistic expectations.
My Theory: The Comfy Blanket Theory
So I have this theory that when I find it, it will feel like home. It will feel comfortable, natural, easy. To expand upon this theory, I think it applies to all aspects of my life. When it's right, it will seem like I made it home.
So do we find our home? Do we make a home? Who knows. I'm too obsessed with tweaking recipes right now to worry. Gazpacho, anyone?
Listening to: "Polyester Bride" Liz Phair and "Borne on the FM Radio Waves of the Heart" Against Me!
Watching: "500 Days of Summer"
Reading: Random photo publications and my own horoscope
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
A Love Letter to Myself
We just wrapped a Love Letter to Myself, a Jesse Gilstrap film. I had never been involved in film and had never acted, but fell in love with it. In the process, I fell in love with Isabel, my character. Isabel is in a long term relationship with Peter, a manchild who is emotionally unavailable and views Izzy as an object rather than appreciating her for her best qualities within. Jesse said I reminded him of Izzy. After wrapping, I realize that he was right. I am Izzy. Those who know me well know that a similar struggle has shaded my past relationships, for the most part.
I also realized that I am also a lot like Jack, who is a truth-seeker, a man who searches for answers and identity in several different ways, only to find that the truth was staring him in the face. He's always running; propelled toward some unknown destination. He wrestles with himself--his views of religion, relationships, sex and friendship.
There are no spoilers here, only my own admissions about myself.
Within these truths, I found clarity and a bit of peace. So I decided to take interference and ambiguity out of my equation. I have decided to take a step back, delve deep and focus on introspection. In order to do this, I have to eliminate many things from my life. My first step is a difficult one; no boys for an entire year. I will not give my love away. I have to focus all that energy on my own life and love myself. That's not to say that I won't love. I love my friends and family and they are my always in my heart. I am saying that I will not lose focus of who I am or where I am going. I cannot cross paths with another and lose sight of my own journey.
What next? I have no idea. I will simplify my life. I will hone my abilities. I will rediscover what I love about myself and become more of what I love than what I feel obligated to be.
So who are we, really, after we cut out all the bullshit? What is it that lies beneath the realm of expectation and mainstream propaganda? I guess that is my journey and I am going to write about it. Perhaps you will follow along. Perhaps you will begin your own journey. Perhaps you are already at your destination, but I'm pretty sure that no one ever gets there. It's the yearning, the striving, the listening, the observation, the introspection and the wise words of poets and prophets.
Elizabeth Bishop wrote, in her poem "One Art", "The art of losing isn't hard to master. Most things seem filled with intent. To be lost, their loss is no disaster."
So, I'm gonna start to lose. I'll lose the things that don't matter.
Listening to: "Sky Blue Sky," the album by Wilco
Reading: random poetry (but have added "Eat Pray Love" to my reading list.)
Watching: Love Letter to Myself
Mantra: I am a mirror to the world
I also realized that I am also a lot like Jack, who is a truth-seeker, a man who searches for answers and identity in several different ways, only to find that the truth was staring him in the face. He's always running; propelled toward some unknown destination. He wrestles with himself--his views of religion, relationships, sex and friendship.
There are no spoilers here, only my own admissions about myself.
Within these truths, I found clarity and a bit of peace. So I decided to take interference and ambiguity out of my equation. I have decided to take a step back, delve deep and focus on introspection. In order to do this, I have to eliminate many things from my life. My first step is a difficult one; no boys for an entire year. I will not give my love away. I have to focus all that energy on my own life and love myself. That's not to say that I won't love. I love my friends and family and they are my always in my heart. I am saying that I will not lose focus of who I am or where I am going. I cannot cross paths with another and lose sight of my own journey.
What next? I have no idea. I will simplify my life. I will hone my abilities. I will rediscover what I love about myself and become more of what I love than what I feel obligated to be.
So who are we, really, after we cut out all the bullshit? What is it that lies beneath the realm of expectation and mainstream propaganda? I guess that is my journey and I am going to write about it. Perhaps you will follow along. Perhaps you will begin your own journey. Perhaps you are already at your destination, but I'm pretty sure that no one ever gets there. It's the yearning, the striving, the listening, the observation, the introspection and the wise words of poets and prophets.
Elizabeth Bishop wrote, in her poem "One Art", "The art of losing isn't hard to master. Most things seem filled with intent. To be lost, their loss is no disaster."
So, I'm gonna start to lose. I'll lose the things that don't matter.
Listening to: "Sky Blue Sky," the album by Wilco
Reading: random poetry (but have added "Eat Pray Love" to my reading list.)
Watching: Love Letter to Myself
Mantra: I am a mirror to the world
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)