disposable.

The storm has raged outside. I'm in love with the snow. This storm has allowed me to reflect and see things in a crystal clear light. I'm trying to be strong, but this feeling of isolation is the only downfall to this blizzard. 

I'm in the mood to create something. For the first time in quite a while I'm actually feeling creative. I find inspiration in the smallest thing. In a book, a new hair clip, or in a dingy couch I saw on the street. It's strange how my creativity only increases when I am feeling emotionally worn out. It has always been my way to deal. It has always been my escape. I have to remind myself to smile. My life is moving and I'm not going to stop it this time. :)

I went out last night, during the storm, and on a moment of impulse I bought a disposable camera. I'm always paying homage to the snapshot, and the fading art of analogue. Spontaneity is no longer appreciated. People expect instantaneous. How are you supposed to capture that unique moment when you can delete it a moment later. I am looking forward to developing it, my friends smiles were so wide that night. :)

I am not your doll.

Lucida

"The photograph is literally an emanation of the referent. From a real body, which was there, proceed radiations which ultimately touch me, who am here; the duration of the transmission is insignificant; the photograph of the missing being will touch me like the delayed rays of a star." Roland Barthes.

Creature Fear

I woke up this morning from an exhausting sleep. They are all I seem to have recently. I don't need an alarm; I usually wake just before it starts to ring. And so it was this morning, my internal alarm went off. It tells me to get up, to force my pained limbs to move, to succumb to the morning hours. But I don't want to. I'm exhausted. I've pushed myself to far once again. It's a give and take. If I am doing nothing I am discontent, and if I do to much I exhaust myself, body and mind. I'm beginning to feel like a newborn deer, or a small rabbit. I'm so afraid of the world yet curious of what it holds. If I could hide in the grass away from my predators, I would. 

How strange it is that I am excited for the forthcoming snowstorm. I'm picturing an unearthly quiet, a slight chill in the air, and a white light coming through my curtains that implies a certain snow. And all the while I lay in bed encircled by the arms of my boy. 

Winter Windows.

via lolita

Peter Bialobrzeski

Polaroids of sunny places, silly print stockings, winter, 6:30 am coffee slave, little rabbits that I carve into wood, and Peter Bialobrzeski's Indian sunrises. 

Feeling the weight on my shoulders today. To much to do and the hours are ticking by. Sometimes, playing hooky is just what the doctor ordered. Lets hope I'm going to be able to get out of this rut soon. In the mean time, I'm going to station myself in the print-making lab until I create a masterpiece! 

I've been carving bunnies into wood-blocks at all hours of the night. I'm fast becoming neurotic. 

 

peace.

Re: Stacks.

  

"It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away
Your love will be
Safe with me"

It is a hard thing to understand, pain. It is impossible to contrast one persons from another. So it is sufficient to say, that in my case, I would consider mine to be holistic. Something that is ingrained within me. I have dealt with it in many different ways, whether it was self inflicted, or acted out. I soon came to realize the absurdity in them all and so I would be back to dealing, if not with a few more scars than before. I hated myself at times. There was nothing of worth in me, or so I felt. I looked for ways to let it go but soon I had become so entrapped within myself that I was lost completely. What is worse? Death or living dormant within oneself? Because, I was there and it was only after my crying mother pulled me from the bathroom floor, completely sick and lost in my head, that anyone really came to notice my suffering. Even know I am forever dealing. I don't take medication because there is no worth in an artificial high. So I create my own. It is in my art, in a blue sky, or in a soft smile from the one I love, that I can allow myself to be happy. It's not full proof, but it's all I have. I have always been a survivor, its something my mother instilled in me.

Why do others feel the need to enforce my insecurities? I am already hurt enough.

The only thing I have is my love, it may be small but it's pure and beautiful.

standing on the sea-weed water.

He is like my sunshine. His eyes have the ability to see me clearer than anyone ever has. He sees me, understanding my pain, and yet still accepts me- loves me. When I go to those dark and isolated corridors of my brain, he finds me and pulls me out. He installs a confidence that I never thought I would have. It scares me how much I depend on his warmth, how much I need his light. There are studies that claim some people become clinically depressed in winter, for the lack of sun. I'm originally from a sun-drenched place; Mississippi's winters are short and never dull. I fear that if I lose my sun I will collapse within myself.

And I did  lose him once, for a short time, to a selfish and terrible thing. It was in the dawn of our relationship and I feared I would never hold him in my arms again. I would not fight for him, or do something to belittle myself, my mother taught me better than that. But I longed for him, I realized there was no being whole without him and I worried he would never realize that. He hurt me greatly; whats more, he did the same thing my own father did before I was even born. He left. This has always been the root of my pain, my abandonment.

Now I realize the difference between the two. I see it clearer than I did before. He, my boy, came back. Patient, and forever looking to make  up for his past mistakes, he allowed me to let go of my anger, my pain. I will never understand fully what possessed him to do what he did, and I believe it was out of the fear of something new, something that can only be love, our love.

I really am an old fashioned girl; my ideas are truly romantic, despite my cynical nature. I hate how I find it so hard to be myself. But whats a girl to do when she fears pain and abandonment? She is forced to build up an impenetrable shell that cannot crack, because the inside is fragile and frightfully close to breaking. I hope I am strong enough.