Sitting

Not waiting. Choosing to sit. Making a connection with the stillness. This is okay. This is beyond okay. The acceptance of sitting is mutual among most of us, but what do you do while you sit? Not everyone does the same thing or thinks the same thing. I personally prefer to observe while I sit. Sitting while the sun fades away, the ability and time to watch the sun go down, this is another favorite sitting activity.

I feel that Americans have not yet mastered the art of sitting. We take for granted the system that is already in place for us to unwind and fade out like a light slowly being turned of by a dimmer switch. What if there was, is, a perfectly good bench two blocks from your house that you could go sit on and watch people slowly pass, would you go? Would you choose a 20 minute drive to a local cafe to read a book, or sip on a brand of coffee you have never tried, in order to relax as the day passed?

Sitting, how would you prefer to sit? If you didn't have life, responsibilities, or a schedule to take care of, how would you sit? Where would you go? How would you unwind if there were no TV or music tonight when you got home?

To sit or how to sit? That is the question.

Here in the Shadow of Light

Measurements, Scales, Clocks, and Pales.

Here we are, now we're gone.

Limerent and Lo; I'm IN/in-particular to the flow.

Gluttons for Punishment, Thieves, Pastors, Artists, Poets, and Chiefs.

Swallowed inside the dirt.

Living From Electrical air.

Swimming above and below into the devil's stare.

Challenged by comparison and skin.

Unwilling to express from within.

Shadows Stop.

Values Disappear.

Contained by freedom.

Choices scattered and Scared.

Feeling with chapped hands left and uncared.

This is a passage that is not meant to end.

For now let's carry on and pretend.

Between her Leg

China has a place between her leg with many cheerios and a side of scrumptious delight.

Untitled

PIT, IT IS A PIT. JUMPING, FLYING, OUT OF IT. TRAGIC NOTIONS AND FAILED DEVOTIONS. TAKEN OUT, TAKEN AWAY. SORTED THROUGH, BEGGING TO PLAY. FLEETING MEMORIES JUMPING, FLYING, OUT OF IT.

Just For Breathing

For When the Earth Stops
And Ashes Fall from the Sky
There will Be No Possible Thoughts
And you can wave Goodbye
As Grey sets in
All falls Away
There's no time to tell
And No Time to Say
So while the Sun Shines, Birds Rest and Sing
There's a matter of Preciousness
And Not Forgetting

Toll

It's starting to take it's toll. Time away, time apart.

Nights of nightmare, nightmares of nights, and the unreachable collection of lucid understanding.

Never before have I had such control in my waking life. When I go to sleep at night I dream of horrible things. When I wake up in a sweat or in tears I have no one to tell them too. In my dream last night I finally confessed to my best friend, in the dream, that I could not take Mike being away for two weeks or more at a time. In reality, I can handle it, or at least that is what I tell myself.

There is no wavering thought or amount of insecurity in this verbal confession. My love for my husband is untouched and untainted, but dream life can rearrange your thoughts sometimes and make you wake up from a daydream.

It's all a sacrifice for the greater good. It's also not just about me and my husband's physical distance it is my friends and family too. I do not get to see or talk with anyone enough. I feel distant and estranged very often. You might think writing a letter, e-mail, or making a phone call could solve these issues, but it doesn't. Honestly, all forms outside of being physically with someone are just tortured times. Talking on the phone only makes me want to be around people more.

Writing it down helps, but maybe more studio time would be good too. There is an undeniable truth to dreaming, at least in my life, and I know I need to pay attention to theses signs. Is it time to get away? Should I paint another wall/mural? Should I bribe or threaten people to visit? No, it will all play out as it is supposed to. Unfortunately, I feel ill prepared this time.

New Work

Screwed, Scewed, Full Circle Crap

Dear Mark,

There was a Dear Chicago that struck a cord. Don't worry it is just a song but you can blame Ryan any time you feel like it for all his miserable tones and inconveniences.

You know, my dear friend, how impossible the world can be. You have officially felt the dagger that has the ability to form a person into a jagged type of human being. This last year has really screwed the pooch.

(side note: I just looked over at my dog, who is sleeping, and his eyes are wide open! Frickin weird! I know you can appreciate a side thought like that though.)

You are a road warrior. You have the ability, especially right now, to build the thickest, largest, and most impenetrable wall known to man. If you want you can shut out anything and anyone you want. I will call all of this phase number 6. Life is a serious of walls, obstacles, a bunch of bull shit you can't see past half the time because the fog that lives there is overwhelming. Just when you see a clearing you know there's something else waiting in the distance to kick your ass. Do not let all of this shut you down. The wall is meant to be tackled, not carried.

My friend, we are all here. We don't go far, but sometimes you do, and when you come back, like I said, we are still here.

Just remember you can always say 'Fuck it' and go a different direction. When you come around there will be a beer waiting, a smiling friend, and an ear to listen. It's all circumstantial at the time and later it makes for one hell of a story.

Sincerely your friend - AB

Thermal Burst

There is a thermal burst inside. Something eye wise inside that buries, births, flies, and dies. A cycle in it's own right keeps the humble child in check and the adult right where it stands. There is a fester of emotions, not feelings, but something deeper when the warmth rises from the pelvic bones, along the sides of your skin, melting your breast just before your heart skips a beat.

Warm summer days or cool places too when the sun strikes down your back and makes you feel like a lizard who's cold blood has been thirsty for heat upon it's scaly skin. The wind and weather have the ability to make your inner emotions soar or simmer. Let the smell on the air foretell your next step, your next reason.

Close your eyes when the temperature starts to change and take a deep breath. As your emotions,senses, and internal language start to communicate as one, exhale. These are the days we need to take better care of and let the days take care of us.

Love.

A diary of.

I love him.

A musical note.

I love him.

Traveling far and away.

I love him.

Simplicity.

I love him.

Keeping me whole.

I love him.

Seeking the open.

I love him.

This is it.

I love him.

Drug

It's like a drug. Traveling out of the country, people that don't understand you, and a universal understanding of the act of gathering new ideas, things, people, and experiences.

I first left the country in my junior year of high school. It was like a needle in my arm the instant we touched down in Paris France. I felt like my senses were heightened and everything was recorded in my memory as clear as an album. From time to time when I feel down I go back in my mind to that first visit to foreign soil.

The second trip to Europe was an itch I needed to scratch, but I left under good intentions. Things didn't go as planned, but the second part of the trip went well and I was fortunate to tag along on a back packing trip to Denmark. Denmark and Germany renewed my senses and healed any damage that had been done. The excitement of travel had been restored.

It's been over three years since I last traveled out of the country and I currently have no plans to, but my husband has the itch too. We want to get away. Maybe we could have the honeymoon we have yet to take, but yet the question remains where? Where to go next? The itch is back. The idea is planted. The drug is dangling dangerously!

(just for the record i have no idea what a needle to the arm feels like other than blood tests from the doctor)

Photographer's Monday (the UNedited version)

The Bass Pro Moment "to put into perspective"

(i found this piece of writing tucked in a pocket. i wrote it almost a year ago while working my part time retail gig and i thought i'd share it now.)

"...you know i love my parents, but i keep staring down that road waiting for my chance to run..."

This song filtered through my head as it played from the speakers above me at work today. As the memories flooded I smiled. All the adventures of a teen to all the mistakes as a young adult, and yes there is a difference between a teen & young adult.

It was a 1986, brown, Chevy Blazer, and I loved it as much as anything that can give you unlimited freedom. That Blazer gave me the freedom to become an independent young woman. That old "Beast", as we liked to call it, got me around my old home town for 3 or 4 years. As of today I'm driving a forest green, two door, Ford Explorer.

"...who can wait for heaven? and who has that much time?..."

The song lyrics continue to stir up thoughts and memories.

Seventeen years old with sunlight beaming down on my face, while I drive my friends and I to our favorite summer retreat, Camp Potawotami. We only had a couple of years left to enjoy each other and we all knew we would soon go our separate ways. We never took a second for granted. I remember contemplating during those years about love, heaven, religion, and just enough politics to get me by.

I was obsessed with "love". In college a good friend discovered and introduced me to the theory of Limerence. He and I shared our stories of tortured feelings and long distance lovers. Over a pot of coffee we confided in each other regularly.

Limerence was a subject that aloud the two of us to talk backwards in order to move forwards. So as the subject of teenage years continued in my head, because the song played on, I remember the air of total innocence during high school. However, in college it was about taking risks and putting the puzzle pieces together.

Between the constant pull of "love", production of art, and new people in and out of my life I managed to record past, present, and future linking thoughts into a series of journals. I needed the journals for my forgetful mind and to link all the insanity of time together. I had my fair share of heartache and I have handed out a good amount of it myself. Following your heart isn't always a clean effort, but that is a whole different matter.

(this is where i left off in my scrap paper journal entry, but i will sum it all up for you now)

All of these thoughts, moments of remembering, were brought on by a cheesy, pop-country, song playing at my part time retail job. I left this writing in a pocket, it eventually fell out onto the floor, laid there for a while, and then I said "okay, time to make sense of this moment in time".

In short, I loved my family, friends and home town but I always felt like leaving. No, I didn't really belong there, and I still don't. I love to visit, it's still home, but simplicity and comfort has always scared me. A domestic bliss has set in around me now and although I'm comfortable in my home here I'm not settled, maybe that's what scares me about "growing up".

It all stacks up into a nice pile of my life. These are my cards and this is my deck I'm dealt. I grew up wanting to run, I ran. I grew up questioning virtue and morals, but now I submit those morals with a righteous level of religious understanding. At the end of that song my mind had gone through a hundred memories from the ages 16, 17, 18, & 19. I ran my own show. I still run this show. Maybe it will all be in a song someday, just not a cheesy, pop-country song.

Paternal Instinct

This weekend was very interesting and abnormal. I spent the entire weekend with my in-laws, I don't really think of them that way anymore they are just family now, and we all had new experiences. I have two amazing nephews that I love with all my heart and miss daily. As of this weekend I'm also an Aunt to a niece who has been welcomed into our family do to new love. My mother-in-law has an eternal soul mate who has welcomed his family into our lives. Now someone is a grandmother for the first time, I'm an Aunt to a little girl for the first time, and things are simply changing quick.

I love kids. I'm rarely nervous about being around them, maybe because I truly relate with those years and have never forgotten my childhood. My new niece is spectacular and opened my eyes to a completely different perspective, in general and internally reflective. I have my moments at the age of 27 and the biological clock ticks away, some days louder than others. It is constantly a conversation piece that most people like to bring up from time to time.

Though I'm personally not ready to bare my own seed, I love to partake in the activities of parental practice. After this weekend I reflect and find myself moved in a way that only an Aunt can feel. It is precious, priceless, and an honor.

I really miss my nephews and plan on seeing them sooner than later, but for now I hope that all three of these children know that there's someone they can talk to, watch a movie with, bake with, or cry to. These are awesome days.

Chuimhneacháin scoth Le linn Times Cosúil leis na

The Trail Stops Here

When the horse's silhouette comes out of the fog

Behind Maple trees and Oak wood protection

A floor of frost breaking in rhythm under your feet

Pressing on into the clearing

Eagle & Sparrow on the same hunt

Sections of blood, haunting intuition

Hanging from a tree, wrapped in calf skins

Second man naked on the ground, white & blue from the cold

Southwestern pride met with native tongue and fright

A child steps out from behind the trees

Tears and shaking the story comes clean

There is a pollution in the air that carries on the temperature

Mother and child safe, not safe enough

Dying down from the night's screaming the fires smokes out

Following the smoke's trail in the sky they move

Protecting the memories of feather beds

Silenced by tragedies of survival

Along the winter path the past tense drifts away

No where left to stay

Making home with blankets and dust

Dive (past tense)

Jolted Spirits
Shaking Crowns

Feeding Fate
Partial Thoughts

Skin Deep
Tailored Ways

Mapping Out
Sorted In

Umbilical Cord
Cut Seeping

Vengeance Blooming
Soiled Sank

Filmed Crevice
Told Sacrifice

Dedicate Over
Sounded Drained

Affliction Here
Waterfall Her

Scars Permanent
Chosen Scars

Sector 12
Chapter 7

Polished Dimly
Orange Peel

Staring Wide
Footprint Forever

Cutting Ropes
Sailing Leaves

Moment Collapse
Story Led

Told Kind
Holding Result

Perfect Evolve
Ended Resolve

Taken Literals
Trashed Peripheral

End Of
Find Fall

Behind Call
Total Mental


photo by: T.Albor

Concepts

The Avett Brothers - Shame

Struck a Cord

Morning to Night Through Eyes and Heart

I have a lover who comes and goes. He comes into our house and wonders around for a day to get his bearings. Once he gets the updates and understands how the house is running he usually stays for a stint. After getting his first day's dose of a home cooked meal and computer fun overload he smiles. It takes the entire first day, but eventually he lets go and smiles.

Some people wait their entire life for a time when they can speak in poetics. Usually in books and movies it's after the main character has traveled through a larger chunk of their life going through trials and tribulations. Only after failing at the most important task at a crucial point in the character's life do you see all the moments peel back into a moment or series of moments in complete clarity.

I live in what some people would call a "suburban" surrounding. The surroundings dissipate when he comes home, and when he's gone it's just a series of houses outside the window staring back at me. He leaves because he carries the burden of many responsibilities on his shoulders and he is completely aware. Right now he knows he's the bread winner and dreams of a day that I can stand on my own again, financially, to provide for not the both of us but for a greater dream we share.

There's a feeling of hope that emanates from everything of his that surrounds me in this house. This is a temporary shell to hold our 'things'. We live here in harmony until the next move or challenge. He has bad luck and sometimes only I know the remedy, and I hold that power on reserve. There are many flaws in this man who leaves me often, but for the greater good, and I undoubtedly love him.

So the next time you come home to the person in your life or next time that someone comes back into yours try to remember how precious the time is. Try to remember the little things. Try to remember where they come from, what they've been through in their day, week, month, and if they don't open up ask them how they are. Nurture is a strong word, but a powerful action and sometimes we forget to use it. Try to stay within a poetic realm so that you can always say and do what you need to. Let things flow and let them know.

Subconscious Slumber and Pale Mood

I am waiting for the fall.

I am waiting for it all to come down on me.

The heavy drops & unpleasant cold air.

I need the weather to suite my mood.

I need it as much as I wear this diamond ring.

I am patient and full of pain.

I am worried and full of fear.

Wash it all away with the water.

Open up the clouds for a shower that might cleanse me.

File away these emotions once more.

Let tranquility set it, numbness once more, for my sanity.

I am waiting for it to fall.

I am waiting for it all to come down on me.

Odd Movies, Crazy Concepts

Currently I am sitting in front of my television watching Jane Eyre, a terrible mini-series of 18Th century turmoil and misconceptions. This is not the popular version of 2006, but the 1983 version that is fuzzy on the TV and full of terrible camera angles. For some reason I'm still watching and if I know myself well I will be watching the rest of the episodes without hesitation.

Then there is another film that I tried to watch but only got about 15 minutes into, 'Time Bandits', a complete let down. I admit that I had assumptions about this film and that the imagery might be worth the torture, but not so much. I will say that the film's special effects were not sub-par but if you decide to check out the film do not get your hopes up.

Recently I finally had the privilege of watching 'The Road'. I read the book over a year ago. It's not a long book but it took me over three months to read. Post apocalyptic is the setting of the book and movie, but the underlining symbolism, metaphors, and character are still confusing, maybe even lost. There is a lot to read into. There are underlining themes of religion and yet even more going against it. Reading into things is easier for me than my husband and this film could not have aggravated him more. I remember a similar feeling at the ending of the book, an open ended ending, and still in the movie it leaves you unanswered in thought. Not a bad film by any means, but I still recommend reading the book first.

Last, but not least, is the documentary I've also recently watched, Cocaine Cowboys. You will learn a lot from this documentary and it's almost overly informative direction. Starting in the late 1970s and into the early 90s it explores a decade of corruption, fierce social debauchery, and the insecurities of a society running free. Setting in Miami during those years and exposing the links from city to city during the explosion of cocaine use in the U.S. it tells us about Miami's major roll during that period of time. From New York mobsters to Colombian drug Lords the documentary explores an explosion of money linked to some of the most major drug operations ever pulled off in the U.S.

Enjoy the links and please don't judge me by my strange choices in films and such. I have pretty horrible taste in movies from time to time, but never the less exploring any medium will wake up your senses and maybe even help your creative juices flow.

For COWBOY...

This is your fucking nightmare

This rope that hangs from my neck

I strung it up myself and gently close my eyes

There you are
BELOW me.

My hands do not sweat

My mouth not dry

My nerves completely calm

There you are
BELOW me.

I am a man

A man who has triumphed

An individual with nothing to loose

There you are
BELOW me.

No unexpected tears or scheduled screams

No thoughtful act

Clear of mind

There you are
BELOW me.

You want this

I want this

This is the moment

There you are
BELOW me.

It's all felt in one quick drop

Never forget the gut drop

No dummy here

There you are
BELOW me.

Foot Forward

Momentum Met

Rope Tight

There you are
BELOW me.

Look close

My eyes are open

As you look up

There you are
BELOW me.

Snake in the Grass

S.
S.
S.

On you...

S.
S.
S.

For you...

Tickle,
Tickle,

S S S S S S S S ....

FOR YOU...

s.s.s.s.s.

Tender for you...

S. S. s. S. s. sssssssssssssssssss

Crying...

S.

All for you...

S. S.

S. S.
S. S. S.

DRY LANDSCAPE

The desert sun beats down through the car windshield melting my pores and freezing the air like a burning brick wall. The dusty wind blows across the flat land and rolling highway just as a long white paper, like a bandage from the bruised earth, dances in the wind between the cars.

Feet dripping wet inside my boots and air conditioning making it just tolerable enough to continue moving. From the beast of a furnace mouth rises another chapter in the day. Forcing each inch in this minute-to-minute world forward for a bit of progress until the temperature’s digits start to fall.

Setting sun with all its momentum propels the rainbow into effect setting the scenery into something majestic and unforgettable. The colors today are purple, pink, orange, and just a pinch of blue almost as if the rainbow chose the colors her self. Somehow the sky knows just what colors the human race needs to set the mood and setting for the perfect ending to a day.

No dagger or dragon tongued warrior could escape this poisonous night that falls on each person in a totality, a moment of utopia, that frames out a day. No beginning or end will ever be like this one. Your pores slowly shed the wax it was dripping while the fire was high in the sky and they open up to a gradual cooling so that you may endure an evening of rest.

Crazy we are, the ones who live here. It’s madness, insensible, unreal, and rebellious to walk the cracked ground with no water to run to. East coast deserters, lost souls to some, here we stand, finding our Wild Wild West ways in an attempt to tame the untamable one last time.

Holding the heat in our hands, the natives to the transplants endure the raging abyss of sand, wind, heat, creatures, and salt together and with a smile. Parked car, conclusive thoughts, the sun officially sets behind the silhouettes of jagged prehistoric rocks, mountains of history, simplifying the image of a place so vast, unstructured, and sometimes forgotten. Here’s to the sun for never forgetting.

JOIN US THIS SATURDAY!!!!!

Expectations

Through the years I have had many friends. As most people experience in a lifetime some friends come and go, some are there every step of the way, and some you may not talk to for years but as soon as you get on the phone you pick up right where you left off.

I always held my friends to the highest. I put most of the friends I admired onto pedestals. When I was in my sophomore year of college I lost my "best friend". Although she did not die, she tore down a structure that had been standing so long between us that I had no idea what would be on the other side.

It has been years now since I broke off my first friendship. With time I have embarrassed a level of jaded understanding that has now allowed me to fully understand what kind of expectations are realistic. Although the definition of a friend seems to be well understood throughout most people I think that I was at fault for most of my friendships ending. I have a tendency to see people for what they are truly worth, what they have the capabilities to achieve, and what talents could hurdle them into the future. When you stand by and watch someone you care about make mistakes it is hard to understand and sometimes even harder to accept. That pedestal you put your friend on has a crack in it now and you feel betrayed that it might crumble from beneath them.

As years pass by I have discovered that sometimes the best thing to happen to a person is total dismantlement. To have all illusions destroyed and sometimes their environment too. I think I'll call it "The Human Condition of Natural Disasters". After you stand by and watch people hit an all time low yet slowly rebuild and even bigger and better castle there's a new understanding of expectations.

I am fortunate to have many solid, understanding, talented, and caring friends in my life. The definitions have changed, the meaning is different, and the outcome of those friendships is spectacular compared to my adolescent, premature, ideals that surrounded friendships before. My childhood friends who I still communicate with are omitted from that statement.

Unfortunately I am not sure how clear I'm being with these thoughts. What I would really like to touch on is the personal acknowledgement about expecting too much out of people. Setting your personal standards, for yourself, as high as you wish is your business, but you need to make sure that you do not project those values onto other people. It is too overwhelming to invest so much energy into a group of people to simply have the outcome exactly what you feared most. Instead, I am not saying you shouldn't support or be there for your friend, you need to give up that right, or entitlement, to voice or act on how you feel because in the end it will not be your decision, life, choice, or action.

Supporting your friends is simple. You should be there for them when they call or really need you. There is no pressure between the people that "choose" to hang out with you. I love the saying "You can't choose your family, but you can choose your friends".

My husband has been a new guide into trust, trust with strangers, new people, new possible friends, and he has taught me that it's okay to be picky. Sometimes I trust people too much, so much in the past that it's gotten me into dangerous situations. We all learn from things ending and beginning. Hard times with people make us stronger, it will be the social experience that continues to mold us. Too many of us take for granted the simple things that we can do for each other. Sometimes it is as simple as a phone call instead of a text. It is nice to know what your friends think about you, but not EVERYONE is your friend. Put up a wall for a while and the ones who are meant to get through will. I sound jaded, but I think if you truly live your life to the fullest you are meant to be a bit jaded, in a way it's wisdom. Choose carefully, on all counts.

Expect nothing and you will most likely get all that you will need. Last but not least do not forget about your good friend karma. Karma is instant and just when you think you've got it beat she'll sneak up on you like a cobra and swallow you whole. Be true, be you and you're friends will do the same.

Cheers!

Coming Full Circle...

"You may not know where you are going, but you will end up where you are supposed to be." This is what my mother used to say to me growing up.

Often I felt lost, confused, and turned around as a teenager or young adult. I did not feel like I fit in and it was even harder for anyone to understand where I was coming from most of the time. I was not an outcast or a black sheep really, instead I was on my own, but not a loner either. Everyone knew who I was or had heard of me, but I was not defined by a "click" or stereotype.

Although I seemed to lack a label or reputation I didn't mind most of the time. I was a child who preferred to be myself and whatever came with that. My parents really did a great job enriching me with certain qualities as an individual that I used to roll my eyes at in the past. I have known their influence for a long time and acknowledge those understandings with them on a regular basis.

At one point I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I knew that there were a lot of things that I would enjoy or be good at, but only one occupation would allow me to put all my interests into one job. If you don't know by now that I am a photographer then this is it. Now you or anyone can know that I am a photographer and why I became one.

Considering that I graduated college in 2006 I consider myself a professional from that point on, although I did at least four years of professional shooting before that. Really I'd say I've been doing professional photography for eight years. How I came to understand the business is a true tale of growth and patience.

I started shooting photography as a child, for fun. My father was the first person to mention that photography might be a good path for me to take. When my father made the suggestion I was only 10 or 11 years old. I wasn't sure and didn't know what to make of the idea.

In high school my best friend, Beth, took a photography class. I remember her excitement for the course and after I saw her archive from the first couple of months I knew it was a class I was going to take too. My next birthday my mother and I split the cost of my first camera, the Canon TX.

My first photography teacher was Mrs. Waldschmit, Mrs. W. Mrs. W started each of her students out on the right page, the traditional page, shooting all manual before she would even entertain the idea of digital. I will forever be grateful for her approach to teaching. We all learned basic photography but with college level expectations. There were weekly critiques and constant conversations about each element to photography. She was hard on each of us, but I remember really almost hating her from time to time. Mrs. W and I still talk from time to time and I'll cherish her friendship forever.

When I was accepted into Art School everyone was a bit surprised. No one doubted my abilities rather the choice of Art School over a regular or local university. Through the next four years I had many professors and fellow students that each played a roll in shaping my artistic style, knowledge, and passion. Art school ended though, just as all things eventually do and I was thrown out into the abyss of society. Managing to float I acquired jobs that had nothing to do with art or photography.

Underwater photography was my passion and it was all I ever really wanted to do. So eventually I started to work for underwater photographers as an assistant and tried to merge all of my ventures aside photography. I really didn't know where I'd be going with any of it, but I was always facing forward.

A lot of time has past and I now live in Vegas working for two photography companies both shooting and editing for them and yet I'm holding a 9-5 in retail during the week. Coming full circle I am clear of mind when I discuss my desires and drive for photography, but life has ultimate control of my direction. When I think it's going in one direction I take a job to make rent and all of a sudden it takes me in a completely different direction.

This strange, awkward, woman is still a reflection of the student from years past. Truthfully always a student. I'm pretty good with driving, but when it comes to life sometimes I'm directionally challenged but I'll always end up where I'm supposed to be.

Process

I feel like a lot of "this" is process. Using music, notes, books, Internet, and beyond to constantly fling our minds in and out of portals of the past and present.

I had a friend who once said to me "I wish I could be there for the next chapter of your life, but only you can write those chapters, because I know you will make each chapter that much more interesting than the next." If people ask me what I'm up to I tear from that moment with my friend these few sentences; "I'm on my way to something greater than my imagination. Writing a new chapter in my novel."

The further I get into my own novel I find that I flip backwards through those pages more and more to get clarity about the next step, word, or purpose. I think the most moving forum I use is music. Music seems to take me to "that" place instantaneously. There's often a very clear memory attached to the songs I listen to. I choose to keep them in my life as a reminder or a portal that is there weather I need it or not.

Second would be writing I've done. Most of it is cryptic. If it's a clear piece of writing then it's most definitely for someone else to read someday for some purpose. Those pieces are left behind as a time capsule for people to read later. I am pretty sure I just admitted how much of a narcissistic artist I really am.

All the other forms of media or resources that I surround myself with are triggers. I find that if I choose to pick up a book I've never gone through before or play with a roll of tape for a while something triggers and I'll get that idea I have to write it down. I pause to record that thought and then create around it. Each object, photo on the wall, printout lying on the floor, or marking on the wall are "things" I use to push this process into motion.

Enveloped

I am surged. I have started to create. I have started a creation or a habit of creation. This is the first time that I have lived with someone and have attained the ability beyond my normality to create in the same space. I don't have money for a real studio of my own, nothing away from home. My studio is in my house. It's a bedroom. The size is small but very suitable. While growing up my bedroom was my studio. This room is the first place, since my childhood bedroom, that feels like home or my creative space.

There is something within an artist that requires a level of selfishness. An artist needs space to grow, expand, and express what they are trying to get out. There is an understanding of that precious space that can only be totally shared with another artist. The space that allows us to create is sacred.

Some artists have an ability to create anywhere, I've only met one. Expression between mental thought and physical vomit (no matter the medium) is held mostly with lock and key. There are artists, many, that may disagree with me. Maybe my perception of this is based on a female point of view, but I doubt it.

I feel as though most people, not just artists, take space for granted. Each person is creative within their own right. Sprawl out, but don't be greedy.

For those of you that may not understand this please don't try, but acception might be enough. Suffication can be a death.

Morning Rant

I hate waking up alone, it sucks. Waking up without my man is simply one of those things that should be less than acceptable. You marry someone, you're totally in love and you never wake up to him or her, in my case him. My husband works on the road as a tower hand, he climbs radio towers for a living, as a result he's on the road quite a bit. His schedule is similar to a truck driver's schedule. We moved to Vegas because he was promised a job that would keep him home more than half the year and put him back into a higher position. We have been blessed that he has actually been home more this year, but his job still takes him away so early in the morning, 4am or 6am and sometimes even 3am, that we rarely get to wake up next to each other.

I believe in hanging onto the little things in life and in close relationships. I cherish those mornings when we both run to the bathroom to brush our teeth before we kiss or say fuck it and roll over to cuddle for an extra hour. I realize that being young and even younger into our marriage that time sacrifice for the sake of good jobs and paying our bills is necessary, but I don't have to like it.

Personally my schedule is so irregular that I would miss him most of the time based on my schedule alone. We talk about retirement A LOT! It's a daydream, a place we both go to get away from the things we dislike and back to the things we miss.

It's interesting now too, when friends in the past got hitched sometimes they'd disappear and piss their friends off for never coming around for a beer or social gathering. Now I understand that although you're married to that person you may barely get to see them at all too. If you both have jobs or any kind of personal goals then there will most likely be a lack of quality time spent together.

I wake up alone. I have my morning coffee and let the dog out for his morning piss. I turn on the tube for some background chatter, and throw on some comfort clothing until I have to jet out the door. It's okay, I don't need sympathy or the "awe it'll be alright" from anyone. I have adjusted. Lets just say, most days, I can't wait until retirement.

Good Morning Vegas.

FUMBLED THOUGHT

I have fumbled
Prayed
I have remembered
Strayed
Between trees of veins
Trees of trains
Between trees of spades
Trees of trades
I have lived
Gained
I have died once
Waned
Silence in fields of grain
Fields of pain
Silence in fields of sand
Fields of grand
I have been without
Within
I have good
Him
Treks through skin
Through sin
Treks through blood
Through mud
I have kissed
Missed
I have touched
Much
Tiptoe without song
Without strong
Tiptoe without shoes
Without clues
I have sank
Sinned
I have been afloat
Hymn
Written between pages
Between cages
Written between notes
Between boats
I have a word
A rhyme
I have a thought
In time

Jumbled Junctions & Family Vacations

Car Rides, Sunsets, and lots of margaritas mixed up in a human-sized blender gets you a one hell of a 2010 4th of July.

It starts with a morning interview, a rush home, and shoving luggage into the trunk of my mother-in-law's Mustang convertible. With our dog in the back seat and the radio properly set to the 60's channel we're headed south to the California border. Along the way we see an old, operating, fire truck and one of the largest speedboats I've ever seen in my life. There are countless car wrecks along the way with similar amounts of rubber necking occurring simultaneously.

We finally arrive at our destination in Oceanside, CA. Promptly around 5pm we arrive at a relative’s house and settle in for the night. Oceanside is a part of California that I'd like the opportunity to explore more someday. Although it was a very quick pit stop along our journey we ate well, had some evening wine, and a healthy amount of laughter.

Joining us for the last trek to San Diego were our relatives we'd stayed with and their grand children. We all arrived in San Diego with time to spare and in need of showers, food, and the feeling of the cool ocean breeze on our faces.

Along this journey I discovered a lot about my new family and simply "the way they are". Not every family operates the same. Through the last three or four years I've bubbled myself among my own family and friends to the point my tolerance only fits into those people. To put it in short we had our disagreements on this trip, things exposed and unexpected. We had those quintessential moments that bring it to your attention that this "IS" family now and not just a bunch of people you hang out with once a year.

After the hurt feelings and passive aggressive bullshit we all had the maturity to move on from it. My husbands family really understands how to move on from things that are not as important as we make them out to be in the moment. I am impressed with those qualities. I do not like yelling, or people raising their voices for petty reasons. I found out that some people literally communicate this way and at most for fun. Adjusting is the word best used for my experiences this Fourth of July.

Later into the trip my husband’s sister and her husband joined us. There's a lot going on with each individual in this family. Each person has there own battle going on right now. Sometimes these battles can bring out the best in people, the sides to those people you know have always been there. There is an opposite to the battle, the side that none of us really want to be on, but someone has to face it while others begin to clean up the mess it made. Each family member has a part in a change this year that will inevitably take part in painting an entirely new picture this time next year.

The first night there was a sunset. The type of sunset that comes around once every three or four years. I was fortunate to capture this sunset. Between the orange and yellow there was a black ocean serving its reflection well.

On the second day we had sunshine. The only day we had sunshine was on the second day and then it hid like a coward behind it's foggy clouded days. Carpe Diem was the theme for that sunny day, gathering our things we headed across the bridge to Coronado and cruised the oceanside in search for a beach we could swim and let the dog swim. Do not be fooled by California's open policies because they really didn't want dogs on their beaches, not in Coronado. We snuck the pup in anyways.

After wonderful seafood dinner we slept like logs in our rented beds until we were woken up by an antsy puppy that needed to go to the bathroom. Walking out of the hotel in a zombie daze I let the dog empty his bladder and move onto his next destination. Each morning, after two cups of coffee, there was a meeting for breakfast and then a short break before the first excursion of the day.

Fourth of July was a wonderful day. With a red, white, & blue scull t-shirt I prepared for the firework show of the year in my own patriotic fashion. With confidence I can say that the fireworks in San Diego, CA are some of the best I've ever seen, two years running. A unity of families, friends, and country gathered by the bay shore for an hour of pride and proper partying.

I crossed paths with strangers, families, attitudes, birds, dogs, ideals, and history on this trip. There was a great deal of hospitality everywhere we went and no lack of thankfulness from each person surrounding us. San Diego gave us a pleasant welcome and extended stay.

As the trip wound up with smiles on our faces and food in our stomachs we all realized that we were thankful. We were all thankful for being together, for a healthy family, long talks, overdue walks, and feeling like there was really something to celebrate. I remember as a child feeling similar to that kind of thankfulness, a true sense of patriotic pride that I could feel from everyone around me. There's always something else for us to learn about each other, our countrymen, and ourselves in general. We gave thanks to our troops and our past. No matter the differences in political opinions within our direct company of family and friends we knew we needed to leave with a sense of pride and we did.

The jumbled junctions are mixed in with the family experiences and figuring out which roads to take a stand on and which ones to simply walk away from. It was truly a family vacation. A new tradition is officially born and we will join once a year to pay tribute to each other and our country. Where else to do it than on the bay that harbors so many brave souls each day?

MUCH OBLIGED RESPONSIBILITY

WITH A RELUCTANT SIGH
AND A CHRONIC SMILE

PASSING JUDGMENT ON TEARS
AND WRAPPING PRESENTS WITH LOCK & BOLT

CHARGING A GLANCE
AND MANIFESTING A BEAT

TOTALS OF WEEKS OF WEAKNESS
AND DIGNITY THAT’S FUCKED

DOILY COASTERS HOLD STYLE
AND BOOTS SHINE WITH OIL

REALITY THAT SUCKS ITSELF
AND PIPES THAT BURN IT SLOW

FOG LIGHTS OF MALADJUSTED HIPSTERS
AND JACK RABBIT BUTTONS BRUISED

FUELED AGAIN BY DISASTER
AND ARMATURE CYCLES

FINAL THOUGHTS OF WHAT IF’S
AND MORAL ANIMAL OBLIGATIONS

HOMEWORK EXPOSED

I took it all home as the teacher told me too. I studied really hard. I went to take the test and I failed. I mentioned to her that I made note cards and everything. She showed no mercy and went on to lecture me. “No Excuses” she said.

I never made any excuses.
Period.
Exclamation point.
Comma.
Dot. Dot. Dot.

Porch...

I just had a flashback to the grey front porch of my childhood. I remember that even in the heat and humidity of the summertime I would always get a cool temperature from the wooden boards. I miss the feeling of paint chipping under my feet. I miss the smell of my mother’s well-tended garden. I never took it for granted, but I did not realize until now that I used to step out on that porch and inhale the deepest of breathes each time I’d leave the house, it was a certain comfort. There was an unmistakable likeness between everything and myself that made up the porch experience. I had a friendship with each object and each color. Each detail on the outside of my front yard was burnt into my soul. If I close my eyes right now I know exactly where my mind would take me.

There’s never enough rain, grass, or green here. The memories of “home” are not quite haunting, but a friendly reminder that it’s still there. You could consider this is a poetic continuation of my previous post. There's no porch here. Each place I've lived and learned to love had a porch or a wooden deck. Maybe it's the extension of nature's gift under my feet that creates such a personal connection. Provided by the earth and mixed with the care and design of human curiosity, that simple architecture softens me.

Someday I will have a porch again. A porch with a swing, the swing will be a necessity. Just beyond the boundaries of it's shape I'll make sure to have plenty of flowers and bleeding hearts to remind me of how much mine does. I'm taken away. Taken back to something more simplistic than my mind is able to create on it's own. Perch me in a chair, a rocking chair, with a slight breeze and the song of a spring bird. This is where my bones will rest.

Made of Midwest Ashes

Everyone always asks what my tattoo means on the inside of my right wrist. My tattoo humbly says "Made of Midwest Ashes". If they're lucky I'll tell them the long story, but the short version usually gets the gist across.

I was born and raised in Fort Wayne, Indiana. From 2 weeks old until 17 I called the house on 408 West Branning Avenue my home. For as long as I can remember I didn't want to be there. I knew I was meant to be near the ocean or off on some adventure in some place I'd never seen or heard of before. Corn fields, lakes, and daily comforts just were not enough for me. I may have driven my parents a little crazy from time to time, but eventually they didn't take offense to my passion to "Get Out".

In college I had an opportunity to travel to West Palm Beach Florida for a summer. I went to work on dive boats and charter boats. To cut this short, saving all of those wonderful ocean side stories for later, I'll simply tell you about the tattoo. I returned to Chicago, IL, where I was living at the time, with a whole new perspective. Florida was good to me and the people were most definitely kind and generous, but the communication was off. I couldn't put my finger on it, but when I returned to the Midwest I realized it was simply easier to speak to people again.

I embraced a new understanding of who I was, where I came from, why I acted the way I did, and, most importantly, why I would always be made of the Midwest. The ashes fell into place after a poem I wrote, about a year after my adventure to the shores of West Palm, and stuck like glue. To most people I run into they assume the word ashes are linked to death or some sort of tragic moment in my life. Ashes symbolizes my humility. The destruction of self into the earth and grown from the ashes back in Midwest soil.

Coming full circle with this tattoo,a moment, and story I embark on an attempt to describe my current struggle with yet another recent visit to the Midwest. On May 12th I journeyed home for a two-week visit. I hadn't been to Fort Wayne in a year. I later traveled to Saint Louis, MO where I have an extended family of friends that I had not had the privilege of seeing in over 3 years. My last stop was Chicago and an attempt to see so many people in so little time. This is what I like to call the "Midwest Tour".

Fort Wayne left me in limbo between melancholy and comfort-like jitters. The town was slow. The people walking around the town and the overall feeling of my hometown left me heartbroken. The businesses I loved growing up were closing and the houses, on my old block, were grown over with weeds. Paint was chipping from each house that my old friends used to live in and the new fence around the elementary school playground screamed KEEP OUT! The whole town felt like it was closed off from something and hibernating from fear. I left home with a feeling of fear for "The Fort". Jobs were scarce and the community was making it obvious.

As I drove off to Saint Louis I was greeted with rain. Nature's shower poured into the car windows with a sort of hush-like whisper to tell me that things were going to work out. By the time I arrived in Saint Louis I was excited, nervous, and pickled with tunes I'd sung with from the radio for the last six hours. Cornered by my emotions I was met by a dear friend and welcomed into his home to dry off.

Saint Louis was overdue for a visit. I tried very hard to soak in three years of answers to questions and tried to fill in gaps of time. However, Saint Louis had changed too. Parts of the city I was lucky enough to see,for the first time,or the sections I feel I've lived in myself through the years, had all changed for the better. The city seemed to stay in one place socially, but moved onto something bigger than it ever expected to. Between the booze and the social duties that I courageously endured was a new sense of self understanding, yet again.

I should pause to explain that between my travels to Europe about three years ago, and my marriage two years ago, I never really felt I had time to filter all of those events through. You could say that I was constantly moving both mentally and physically until the beginning of this year. Slowly I've been collecting my "things", objects, and material possessions from my life to make sense of it all. As a result of questions and grasping some sort of self awareness I took a leap into the past.


Saint Louis was good to me. The best of the best, as usual. My Saint Louis friends are life long and no matter the situation we'd all be there for each other the best we could. No high expectations, we just accept each other for what we know is really there. They reminded me of what home could, should, and will always be.

After a 6 hour bus ride to Chicago I stepped off the Mega Bus and onto the sidewalk across the street from Union Station. The smell of Chicago always pleases me. The people and strangers are comforting to me. I miss the act of people watching.

Chicago went by quickly with a lot of confusion, live music, friends, old memories, and fantastic food. I had distinct epiphany too, it was not welcoming anymore. I know that sounds contradictory to my last couple of thoughts, but I no longer felt like I'd left something behind that I shouldn't have. The city was like a good mother telling me that everything was okay at home and I could come back anytime, but that I'd have to realize soon enough that this was not home anymore. Chicago was not, is not, home.

I walked the streets of my old neighborhood and felt good times flood in like a soft blow to the gut. Slowly clenching my fist to my stomach I took a moment to breathe in the good ones and out with the bad. Over 5 years of "growing up". I don't consider myself "grown up", just for the record. It all went by too fast, or maybe just fast enough.

So after all that travel, the hugs, the meals, the familiar and yet far off surroundings I came HOME! I came home to my husband, my dog, my cat, and all of our kooky things. My home is with MY family now. I guess this is part of growing up then.

The moral of this little chapter is short and sweet; no matter where I go, or where we live, I will always be MADE OF MIDWEST ASHES.

Gray

I am the spectrum of color that stays neutral. For lack of a better description I am GRAY. I am not black, nor white. I am neither decidedly one thing or the other. As I stay neutral I may bend and lean in the direction of the day or moment.

Although I love both, I do not belong to either the sky or water. I can not choose between the city's soaring scrappers or the forests towering trees. My hair up or down either way seems to please me just fine. My body dry and pale or moist and tan, I am who I am.

Educated, true, but virginal still and unable to give you the absolute answer. Still asking questions and paving the path. You may often hear the "beep, beep, beep" of my reverse gear from time to time.

Hot or Cold, Midwest or China, paint or gone for a run, they all belong to my list of possibilities.

Grey, I am. Grey as the storm coming or going. Grey a comfort to all.

Connecting the Dots...

It has almost been 3 years to the day that I left for an adventure of the unknown, to Europe. Feeling as though it's been much longer I have moved quickly across the Western United States to finally plant my feet. Yesterday I received two boxes from my parents, who still live back in Indiana, full of my books. Books from college, journals & diaries from when I was a child, and most importantly my "other journals". After looking through the boxes, separating the books, and setting them on their appropriate shelves I went through my evening as usual. Today it took courage to open the "other journals". After a quick glance I realize I need to sit down with my past thoughts, writing, and explore the humility of moving on. That's what I've done, moved on.

However, looking back at those words, drawings, and photos I carried around with me for months at a time I reached a moment of "ah ha". I know what I have to do next, finally. I've reached comfort again. The comfort I feel is what I've been striving for and waiting for. I now have the energy, knowledge, and personal power to explore the pain all over again. Along this journey I will share what I can. There are drawings I don't remember doing, writing that I can't say I ever wanted to read again, and actions shared that I don't regret, but feel a certain void about.

Chicago left me with a parting gift, a feeling of love and encouragement that can only come from true friends and a new found home, but Europe left me with cuts, bruises, and sections I shoved out of my mind until now. Vegas has greeted me in terms all it's own. Vegas has made it very clear that she's her own entity and she won't come to me, but instead if I want to meet her or her people I need to make the drive and greet them first. As a result of my travels and crazy ambitions I have a stroll to take and a mighty toll to pay for the next several months.

In May I will be traveling back to the Midwest, back to my roots. I plan to soak it in like never before. This will be a return home that may be the remedy I need. There will be new people and many people missing, but between the corn and blue sky I will happily roll with it. My mission is to remember just enough about the past before I head east so I might filter through the stories and time lines to connect the dots. Upon my return I hope to complete a circle, or another chapter.

So, let us raise a glass to the past and toast to a better understanding of our own journeys.

- Sincerely - Ash

Response to Liminal Space's "Uproot Yuhself"

To be continued...

Storms Brewing

My artwork is taking a turn. Between the shadows of legends before, to the current victories made by younger and upcoming artists, I am living in a reflection of constant NOW. There's a feeling of "so close" and yet it constantly stays just out of reach.

Recently I've revisited one of my favorite poets, Patti Smith. It wasn't a lack of naivete or strength of overwhelming knowledge, but yet a comfort of knowing the unknown to try and know. To know What? To know, that's all you or I ever needed to know. The ability to form words, words into songs, or plainly written in ink on dried tree pulp to move thousands of people in all walks of life...this was the conscious living of Patti. This all links together, just hang in there.

Then there's this new artist, new to me, I read about today on AOL's website named Zena Holloway. Here's a woman who started traveling the seas at 18 as a diving instructor and through the years has honed in on her photography skills to create immaculate underwater images. Something yet to strive for. Immersion into a constant changing and altering mass such as water is a breath-taking endeavor when you look into her images.

Before I venture too much further into my mind and leave you by the blogger roadside I want to wrap this up. Between the known of Patti and the unknown of the sea there's an understanding and explanation waiting to happen.

I am feeling the wait disperse from my skin and accepting the cool & fresh feeling of NEW art flow out of me. Definition in new forms, art in new directions. Past to present, as we all know links us, one by one, is ever-present in today's knowledge of what WILL be.

I probably should...

But mama said I shouldn't. Here are old journal entries from years past. I've been wanting to self publish these for years. There was an idea behind the publish, but for now I'll just chalk it up to sharing. I realize that family may be seeing some of this art for the first time and I want them to know I'm only as sound in mind as they want me to be in their own. I've been writing in journals/diaries/logs since the early age of 6 years old. I recently found evidence of my writing as a child and maybe one day we'll all benefit from the humor of misspellings and frivolous thoughts on love or mean teachers. Until then, here are some more recent past explosions of thought.

Descriptions Of a Moment

Twigs are twined

Bubbles are beaten

Desired dress dishabille

Grapes wound

Tongues eaten

Thoughts are fish-able

Tangled peck

Redwood word

Settled on another saddle

Songs sung a wreck

Among leave's bird

Moments thoughts and cradle

------------------------------------------

All the voices, east of Omaha, the chance to live your life without the gravity of.

Witness to winds and a hummingbird on a branch, finally still. Fluttering for hours, but chose me to sit calmly in front of. Thirty five-mile an hour winds and there it sits calm as a librarian in the sanctuary of her own thoughts. How nature lends us the moments to observe, reflect, and project. A calm before the storm you might say, but the lesson was simplified. On the wind or in the wind. Forever captured in color.

Just as the hummingbird stopped the labyrinth walls climb. Not moving in time, but revealing with all its' might its' power and grace. To dare and climb inside and take a closer look...what I found was unbelievable. Some say it is like a staircase, other's imagine an organized pattern within its' tangled weave. The skin of the branches define as they climb to reach something they can only feed from. To receive life, but to never touch the thing that gives it to you. Still, in a moment, a reoccurring theme, and a limitless thought.

Function, Feeling, Focus, and Found.

Short Story

* 2008 was a rough year for this soul and I wrote a series of memoirs for a time to get through it all. Some strange little short stories creeped out of me and the one I've chosen to share is among a small list of personal favorites. Enjoy.**



SHORT STORY


Sanctioned, Clarified, Certain, I think not.

I found a velvet penis under a shard of glass. Purple and haunted I picked it up and
threw it across an alley to see if it would disintegrate, but it bounced and started to crawl. In my brown paper bag I took out a bottle of Jack and poured it on the worm like thing, but it was already drunk and drank my Jack. I put it in the brown bag and took it home as my pet.

April 6th, 2010

I've come to a point where I'm "back". Whether that is back on top, back with my thoughts, or back home in my skin, either way I'm back. Through journeys that I'll show glimpses of in the future to the current place and time I've finally come to this mirror where I plan on sharing it all with myself & others.

April 6th, 2010...a day to remember.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A TALE OF ENOUGH


I stuck around long enough

Yeah I needed to see just how much

I stuck around plenty long enough

You’d had plenty

I’d simply had enough

Enough of Enough

I stuck around for just

When the day came and we severed

Enough was enough

I remember when I met her too

Around and around she pushed and abused

Everyone had enough

A maladjusted poet or gluten for punishment

I still hadn’t had enough

There were phone calls

There were name calls

Finally enough with her

Finally enough red hair

Lovers in and out of bed

Travels beyond my own head

There were tanks full of adventure

There were scars to prove my own indenture

Enough I said, Enough … I fled

Standing against a wall

Black cloak and all

Not to be bothered, Do not disturb

I’d had enough, but through me you saw

Pushing through a crowd

Pushing through my past

You’d had enough, enough of enough

There it was, the light

Cliché, misunderstood, predicted, and new

Motorcycle mayhem

One week and six months

Enough time to know

Enough love to confirm

Just one “big” question to affirm

She simply had enough

He aggravated had quite enough

Together they put enough to rest