Art All Night!

We built this, but we really want to tear it all down.

Postage Stamp Potluck

Etta made a rubbing of Mike's belt. She said "now I will remember this day forever." I'm wondering if this post will help me remember more vividly. I want to remember the way that Carry Carrie Kerry and Johann came in with the cake and the chi chis that I admired but did not eat. I want to remember the way Ray talked about the farm, and told his farm love letter story with a real sense of completeness that I could taste in the peaches. The way Brooke remembered an old love note and reproduced it on the spot. It had the words "I will miss touching your bum" and "I will not miss touching your bum" with illustrations. Corey and Katie thought I didn't wear skirts and I proved it to them by providing witnesses. Dave sealed the deal. Thanks Dave.

New nicknames were born and spirit animals were revealed. Bennyluv mistook Saturday for Sunday and then said, "What, you never played the old Saturday-Sunday Game?" with a mock sheesh kind of tone. Wesley was a river otter. He sat next to Heather, the wolf, who feeds me leftovers. Wesley told a story about a roommate's old girlfriend who came to the house and wrote in lipstick on the mirror, "Dear Ezra. You are an asshole, Fuck you. XOXO, name" He erased it before Ezra woke up, because he really liked Ezra. Later the roommates said, you shouldn't have erased it!

OK, the best thing about the potluck was people kept showing up, which means that new food kept showing up in half hour intervals. And there was secret garlic toast in the oven. I played waitress with the mini baclava. The other best thing was the realization that the people I surround myself with are also sweet note assassins.

Ben helped me make a dream real. There was bonus whispering! We laid in the grass with our heads really close together but our feet really far away. He said that he was still growing into his arms and legs and that they were sore and that he may never get there. I like the idea of growing forever. I don't like the idea of other forevers. After awhile I asked him if his eyes were opened or closed. "Closed." "Me too." We asked about different body parts being open or closed. It seemed like the more important ones were open. I realized that one of my hands was opened, and the other was closed, because if they were both closed I would be lying on a fist. Today I'm tired and grumpy and worrying I am not as open as I thought. Or I'm not as open as I would like to be. I want to be able to "just be" more of the time, without thinking about what may happen, What is happening, what is going to happen next, what does this mean, what does it all mean? Lying in the grass, we were just being, and just being is the most open thing. I like meeting people who can calm me to a state of just being, because those moments are gold and because it has lasting effects. Today I was late for work and I didn't even care.

All Posi, All the Time

We spent the morning trying to figure out what constitutes credit card fraud. Joel was worrying that he may have been a conspirator. He was left with a bad taste in his mouth over a transaction. Things could eat Joel up, really get his mind going.

Yesterday I figured out all of the types I gave to Joel were off, and all of the types he gave to me were off. Like "you seem like the kind of person that does this", to which he responds, "no, that is not me at all."

Kate and I split a buttered bagel and it reminded me of school bagels and how they were fried in butter and tasted like no other bagel. Alden came through my line. She reminds me of Tom Dewing in her subtle gestures. Yesterday I told Ben he also reminded me of Tom Dewing. Heather and I spotted it in his smile, though Heather had only met Tom once. I asked Ben how he spent his last Wednesday but it came out "what was your tradeoff?" with scale weighing hands. He said he was mourning for his grandmother, another speckle towards the Tom Dewing comparison. I often feel turned away by similarities. Stuart reminds me of Greg. TD2 reminds me of TD1. But not this time. Ben is rad.

Kate and I decided to be all posi all the time. When I first met Kate I discovered she was also a storyteller. Something her mom said that she is applying.....What's the good worrying? Does the bee worry about where it will get its honey? Does the bird worry about where it will find its seed?

I think I was already practicing though. I am in loving again. I am capable of crushing again. I did jumping jacks in the break room and asked, "Does this count? Does this count?"

Parental Probs

My mom has had me gripped in a small financial scandal for the last few years. As a result taxes are insanely difficult, correspondence of billing statements and presigned checks riddle my mailbox and I become very stressed out. This week, after not calling me for a few weeks my mom called on strict business at early hours with greeting like, "Amanda: Mom" Its very difficult to talk business with people you aren't supposed to have business with, especially if you do not want to have business with them. In short, I have asked my mom to clear my name, to get me out of New York and stop this child dependent scheme. The problem is, this will result in her having a major income cut, which may or may not force her towards grim financial circumstances. Its really difficult choosing between my own self interest and my mom's financial well being. Mostly because if I go against my mom, she will feel underappreciated, like all of the things she has done for me in the past meant nothing. But that is not the case. It is possible to appreciate the past, but to have a limit of extension. This appreciation can come in all kinds of forms and not have to be linked to favors in kind. Like having to tell a story about an admirable person in sign language class, and walking out crying, realizing at that point of awkward language, that trying to explain my mom and her momness was just too much.

True words were spoken by Paulo Coelho

An old man and a boy are sitting on a bench. The boy is reading a book that the old man wants to see. The boy is fluttering between feelings of annoyance and hesitation. He is afraid the man is either going to bother him or be illiterate and embarrassed. The boy is not prepared for either situation. He reluctantly shows the man the book and is quite surprised at the old man's response.

"Hmm.." said the old man, looking at all sides of the book, as if it were some strange object. "This is an important book, but it's really irritating."

The boy was shocked. The old man knew how to read, and had already read the book. And if the book was irritating, as the old man had said, the boy still had time to change it for another.

"It's a book that says the same thing almost all other books in the world say," continued the old man. "It describes people's inability to choose their own destinies. And it ends up saying that everyone believes the world's greatest lie."

"What's the world's greatest lie?" the boy asked, completely surprised.

"It's this: that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what's happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. That's the world's greatest lie."

Circles

I have been using the phrase "my life moves in circles" lately. When I say that I mean there are links linking to other links in my everyday life. Usually these circles are coincidences; I talk about something one day with someone and then in a very short time after that, that seemingly random conversation topic will resurface before my eyes in a very tangible way. Does this happen to everyone? Here is an example. My cooworker Schyler and I uphold a continuous dialogue about our existing creative projects. I am currently feeling underinspired and have nothing to share. He currently has an idea that he wants to go to a junkyard and gather up lots of broken umbrellas and construct huge wings out of them. He thinks it would be wise for me to go to the dump to find things to play with. We don't have a truck though, so I wrote off our conversation as a garbage sifting pipe dream. And then this morning on my way to work, I walk one block up the street to the main drag, and there in the middle of the intersection, needing desperatly to be moved, is a decrepit umbrella. Is it blue and missing a handle and perfect for gigantosaur wing construction. How does this happen? I don't know. Did Schyler think of this idea because it had been raining for two days and the chances of me stumbling upon a dead umbrella were therefore greater? What would happen if I did not have the umbrella conversation? Would the umbrella still have been in the street for me to notice? Would it have been there but without meaning? I don't know. The circle is endless.

Culture Jamming

This stuff is great to find out about, but will I ever participate in some form of culture jamming? Time will tell...

Barbie Liberation Organization: Either in 1989 or 1993 (the legend loses the year) talking Barbies' voice boxes were switched with talking G.I. Joes' voice boxes so that Barbie said "Dead men tell no lies" and G.I. Joe said "Math is hard."Article on BLO
Guerilla Girls: Group that speaks out against the white/male dominant art world. This is the official website of the group. This is my favorite poster from 1988: