the sea swirls around and pulls at my skirt opening as i spin with the sea pulling at me, my heart spins into motion before i can catch it and say "WAIT" You don't need to go, not now, not in so deep, not forever, not this way.
There is a calm palm tree on the beach, island of the inexperienced, waiting to be re-experienced. resting. the rest is up to me.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
written freestyle
Sitting on the edge of humanity
Arts and crafts
Sifting through the laughs and the slips of paper
I’m not wavering I’m just floating free
At certain times things come to me
I’m no critic, but I’m taught to try
To be explicit
To address all those that came before
And open up the door so you can walk through too
Lady sings the blues and its not a work ethic
Lady feels free
Never underestimate the fate
That happens when we stop to debate
The avenues roads we could take
And never fall short of the pearly gate
I tell ya heavens not up in the sky
Its right here
Have you seen the sunny weather have you seen a sky so clear?
The leaves change and I remain
In a stack of books
With a screen that reaches into me
Trying to find meaning and connect the dots
Build a web of information
In my internet blog
You ever notice how your brain can see
Even when you’re asleep
We’ve got the power to dream
It doesn’t take an effort
But you do have to try
To let your body feel whats natural
Whats coming off the fly
I can do this on paper and its hard to say why
Is it any different with my mouth and with my eyes open
Ready for dreaming when I’m not sleeping
And you can’t tell me to make a pretty theme out of the way thoughts escape into reality
If you want a course outline
And to pre-determine my mind
Please leave me out of your equation
And construct this false equation
That only works within your paper
I want to mix the air with my awareness
The temperature of this room
A leaf in full bloom as it lacks everything
And gets ready to dance its one performance
Til it gets lifted when the sun shines
And the breeze flies
To give it new life
We’re part of this life.
Arts and crafts
Sifting through the laughs and the slips of paper
I’m not wavering I’m just floating free
At certain times things come to me
I’m no critic, but I’m taught to try
To be explicit
To address all those that came before
And open up the door so you can walk through too
Lady sings the blues and its not a work ethic
Lady feels free
Never underestimate the fate
That happens when we stop to debate
The avenues roads we could take
And never fall short of the pearly gate
I tell ya heavens not up in the sky
Its right here
Have you seen the sunny weather have you seen a sky so clear?
The leaves change and I remain
In a stack of books
With a screen that reaches into me
Trying to find meaning and connect the dots
Build a web of information
In my internet blog
You ever notice how your brain can see
Even when you’re asleep
We’ve got the power to dream
It doesn’t take an effort
But you do have to try
To let your body feel whats natural
Whats coming off the fly
I can do this on paper and its hard to say why
Is it any different with my mouth and with my eyes open
Ready for dreaming when I’m not sleeping
And you can’t tell me to make a pretty theme out of the way thoughts escape into reality
If you want a course outline
And to pre-determine my mind
Please leave me out of your equation
And construct this false equation
That only works within your paper
I want to mix the air with my awareness
The temperature of this room
A leaf in full bloom as it lacks everything
And gets ready to dance its one performance
Til it gets lifted when the sun shines
And the breeze flies
To give it new life
We’re part of this life.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Forget all those critics, I'm an artist!
I was happy to be the one reading excerpts from Brenda Ueland's book If You Want To Write in class today. It was like we picked a class just for me and my "overly sensitive" self. I was just in the library last night, and I chose to read some critical essays on Emily Dickinson rather than attempt writing my short story because I felt so inadequate of a story teller. Poetry is more up my ally, I've practiced that art enough that I feel entitled to be able to write it. But story telling is just something I never tried before. And there's so many darn good stories out there, and stories are SUCH an effective way to effect lives because something about them is memorable.
I feel like throughout school we've always had a list of criteria and an idea of what makes an A grade and what doesn't, so much that before we can listen to what that creative drive inside is itching to tell, we smother it with rules and confinements, until the inspiration doesn't even know how to breathe anymore.
So I think a little artistic rebellion is all I need. and it sort of helps to think of it as rebellion. I'll prove it to them I won't care what they have to say and I'll create despite this pressure to be perfect! There is so much joy and freedom in writing, and I'm so glad to have discovered that book along with many other artist friends who articulate the necessity and importance of freely writing as a form of expression and art.
I feel like throughout school we've always had a list of criteria and an idea of what makes an A grade and what doesn't, so much that before we can listen to what that creative drive inside is itching to tell, we smother it with rules and confinements, until the inspiration doesn't even know how to breathe anymore.
So I think a little artistic rebellion is all I need. and it sort of helps to think of it as rebellion. I'll prove it to them I won't care what they have to say and I'll create despite this pressure to be perfect! There is so much joy and freedom in writing, and I'm so glad to have discovered that book along with many other artist friends who articulate the necessity and importance of freely writing as a form of expression and art.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Secret Dungeon
There once lived an old woman with a secret deep dark dungeon beneath her house. She spent most of her life, the part that was visible to the outside world, in her decorated home furnished with leather couches, expensive glassware, and artistic looking lamps. Her husband died some years ago leaving her in a stage of a life she had always wished to experience. Sure she was a widow; but to her, she became unmarried, a free soul, and ready to do things she forgot she ever wanted to do. This was a difficult thing for her because she desperately loved people in her life. Now that her husband had been gone for so many years, there had not been any one to share love with on a daily basis. But now she would have so much time to explore all the places in herself that she had neglected and forgotten about. Places she could now explore without restraint.
When she and her husband bought this house, they had no idea it contained a floorboard in the back corner of a closet that opened up to a ladder that led down to a room without electricity. She discovered this opening once before, but was too afraid to enter. She tried to think of it as never being there. But because she was all alone in her house now for many years, she could neglect it no longer. She grabbed a baseball bat and a flashlight, entered the closet, opened the floorboard, and stepped down. The ladder went much deeper than she had expected. She had to walk down at least 25 steps on the ladder until she reached the ground, which was covered in a mossy green grass. The moisture sunk through her socks and made her feet wet. By now her curiosity trumped her fear and she set the baseball bat against the ladder. She turned all the way around and examined how green and humid it was under her house. There was a small tree in the corner and a piece of ribbon tied to one of its leafless branches which held a tiny piece of folded paper. She untied the ribbon and opened the paper, and a magical light escaped from the folds in the paper. The light from the paper painted the walls like a sky with red and yellow and orange rays of sunset. This flash of light lasted only a few seconds and when it went out she shone her flashlight on the paper and found a picture of her husband.
She took the photo up the ladder immediately to try to regain some clarity in what was turning out to be a magical experience. When she got to the top of the ladder, and out of the closet, she noticed it was raining outside. She lit a candle and put some tea on the kettle to sooth her nerves. After the tea cooled enough to sip it, she let the warm tea relax her as she took the photograph out, opened it up and found nothing there. It was blank. Then her feelings surged from the experience, and she cried. Had this magical world existed all along? How did her husband's photograph get there and why did it disappear in the dim light of a rainy day? She longed for her husband to return to comfort her, but at the same time she felt freed by this new space for her to explore in herself.
After a few days she returned to the dark space under her house, and next to the tree she saw a small piano. She took piano lessons as a child in order to appease her parents, but this piano did not bring back feelings of hostility; instead, it seemed to call to her and ask her to tap on its keys. She slowly walked closer and closer to the piano and sat on the dusty bench and pressed down a key that rang and echoed in the dark dungeon. As the note echoed a light swelled and illuminated her face. Each time she pressed a key the room lit up; and when she held down the pedal to let the notes resonate, it stayed lit. The first note she played lit the room in a blue color, the second in white, and the third in red. The intensity of the light grew each time the volume grew. She found she no longer needed a flashlight. She wasn't concerned about playing anything she had learned as a child so much as she was amazed at the power of the music to color the room. She returned upstairs and cleared out her office of all the books and saved magazines, and started painting beautiful colorful pictures inspired by her trips into the dungeon. She went there when she was afraid. And the dungeon always seemed to change when she entered. Sometimes it was moist, sometimes it was dry, sometimes it was cold, and sometimes it was rough and rocky. She dared not show anyone the dungeon because it had become a deeply personal place that was too special to be exploited. But many admired her paintings. She turned part of her house into a gallery. Her home started to be littered with guests who became new friends. They left art in her home and made music in the upstairs that flickered and warmed the home like a fire. Her creative bank never ran dry... there were just times when it was harder to see, and easier to ignore. But whenever she let her creative spirit free, she found love. She had kept that sheet of paper and some years later the photograph of her husband was restored. She always loved him, and when she saw his face on the sheet of paper she knew he would be happy for her newfound creative life. This was all she could have ever hoped for, and it was always there to be found.
The End
When she and her husband bought this house, they had no idea it contained a floorboard in the back corner of a closet that opened up to a ladder that led down to a room without electricity. She discovered this opening once before, but was too afraid to enter. She tried to think of it as never being there. But because she was all alone in her house now for many years, she could neglect it no longer. She grabbed a baseball bat and a flashlight, entered the closet, opened the floorboard, and stepped down. The ladder went much deeper than she had expected. She had to walk down at least 25 steps on the ladder until she reached the ground, which was covered in a mossy green grass. The moisture sunk through her socks and made her feet wet. By now her curiosity trumped her fear and she set the baseball bat against the ladder. She turned all the way around and examined how green and humid it was under her house. There was a small tree in the corner and a piece of ribbon tied to one of its leafless branches which held a tiny piece of folded paper. She untied the ribbon and opened the paper, and a magical light escaped from the folds in the paper. The light from the paper painted the walls like a sky with red and yellow and orange rays of sunset. This flash of light lasted only a few seconds and when it went out she shone her flashlight on the paper and found a picture of her husband.
She took the photo up the ladder immediately to try to regain some clarity in what was turning out to be a magical experience. When she got to the top of the ladder, and out of the closet, she noticed it was raining outside. She lit a candle and put some tea on the kettle to sooth her nerves. After the tea cooled enough to sip it, she let the warm tea relax her as she took the photograph out, opened it up and found nothing there. It was blank. Then her feelings surged from the experience, and she cried. Had this magical world existed all along? How did her husband's photograph get there and why did it disappear in the dim light of a rainy day? She longed for her husband to return to comfort her, but at the same time she felt freed by this new space for her to explore in herself.
After a few days she returned to the dark space under her house, and next to the tree she saw a small piano. She took piano lessons as a child in order to appease her parents, but this piano did not bring back feelings of hostility; instead, it seemed to call to her and ask her to tap on its keys. She slowly walked closer and closer to the piano and sat on the dusty bench and pressed down a key that rang and echoed in the dark dungeon. As the note echoed a light swelled and illuminated her face. Each time she pressed a key the room lit up; and when she held down the pedal to let the notes resonate, it stayed lit. The first note she played lit the room in a blue color, the second in white, and the third in red. The intensity of the light grew each time the volume grew. She found she no longer needed a flashlight. She wasn't concerned about playing anything she had learned as a child so much as she was amazed at the power of the music to color the room. She returned upstairs and cleared out her office of all the books and saved magazines, and started painting beautiful colorful pictures inspired by her trips into the dungeon. She went there when she was afraid. And the dungeon always seemed to change when she entered. Sometimes it was moist, sometimes it was dry, sometimes it was cold, and sometimes it was rough and rocky. She dared not show anyone the dungeon because it had become a deeply personal place that was too special to be exploited. But many admired her paintings. She turned part of her house into a gallery. Her home started to be littered with guests who became new friends. They left art in her home and made music in the upstairs that flickered and warmed the home like a fire. Her creative bank never ran dry... there were just times when it was harder to see, and easier to ignore. But whenever she let her creative spirit free, she found love. She had kept that sheet of paper and some years later the photograph of her husband was restored. She always loved him, and when she saw his face on the sheet of paper she knew he would be happy for her newfound creative life. This was all she could have ever hoped for, and it was always there to be found.
The End
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Post-Funeral Blues
(written after the assignment of choosing music for our funeral)
I think this assignment brought me closer to the idea of death. Listening to one of the students songs today in class made me imagine a funeral taking place. Even in doing this assignment I chose to make it more autobiographical than about death. I wanted to convey my personality more than provide effective pieces of music for people to hear when considering my death. Maybe I really haven't come to terms with death itself at all, so I focused on the life, on my life. And I found laughter, crying, creativity, and hope to be major parts of my life. And LOVE of course. So this assignment brought me back to the basics, my childhood self and my 21 year old self laughs and cries at the same time. I like that about myself. This assignment helped me think about who I am and what I value and what I try to provide for others (things like Encouragement, love, support, joy). Because when I'm down (and dead) thats the only thing I'd wish I could do--spread a message of hope and love.
I think this assignment brought me closer to the idea of death. Listening to one of the students songs today in class made me imagine a funeral taking place. Even in doing this assignment I chose to make it more autobiographical than about death. I wanted to convey my personality more than provide effective pieces of music for people to hear when considering my death. Maybe I really haven't come to terms with death itself at all, so I focused on the life, on my life. And I found laughter, crying, creativity, and hope to be major parts of my life. And LOVE of course. So this assignment brought me back to the basics, my childhood self and my 21 year old self laughs and cries at the same time. I like that about myself. This assignment helped me think about who I am and what I value and what I try to provide for others (things like Encouragement, love, support, joy). Because when I'm down (and dead) thats the only thing I'd wish I could do--spread a message of hope and love.
Monday, October 6, 2008
The Great Week Ahead!
Tonight I am going to see Sigur Ros in concert at the Arlene Schnitzer Hall, and its going to be INCREDIBLE! If ever have some extra time, just watch some of their videos on youtube, they are so incredibly beautiful. I love his music! It feels like its from another world, one I really want to be in.
In other news, Momo and the Coop and Section Line Drive, two out of four of the a cappella groups on campus had a sweet concert on Friday night as part of Coming Out Week. I sang drift away, and it was really a blast. I'm experimenting with posting videos so here, take a look at the performance!
I hope you enjoy!
In other news, Momo and the Coop and Section Line Drive, two out of four of the a cappella groups on campus had a sweet concert on Friday night as part of Coming Out Week. I sang drift away, and it was really a blast. I'm experimenting with posting videos so here, take a look at the performance!
I hope you enjoy!
Sunday, October 5, 2008
When My Life is Over, Use these Songs to Remember
If there were two things I ever learned how to do in my life, they were to laugh and to cry. It wasn’t even something I really had to learn; I just found myself doing both all the time and sometimes even doing both at once. No matter how upset I felt, if someone said or did something I thought was funny, I couldn’t help but laugh. I used to get mad at my dad for this, because he would make me laugh when I really wanted to communicate the seriousness behind my tears; but I was never able to resist laughter no matter how angry or upset I had been. It had been such a gift to always be able to laugh, because it helped me to step outside of myself in a way. The song “Laugh So You Don’t Cry” by Andy Davis was a song about trying to cheer somebody up. This song usually helped me when I was feeling down to remember that people cared about me, so I chose this song for my funeral as a way of reminding people that I cared about them and would want them to smile and laugh long after I died. I wanted to encourage people to keep joy in their hearts even when their hearts feel heavy.
I always loved music most for its ability to communicate something I had felt. When I couldn’t find a song to express something, I tried writing my own songs. Anything to communicate some of what went on in my heart, and a lot went on there. I have always been extremely sensitive and extremely aware of my feelings and the feelings of those I love. This was part of why I always cried so much. This sensitivity probably could have driven me crazy; but instead, it led me to spend some time with my honest feelings and express them in poetry and song lyrics. I’m thankful for artists like Ani DiFranco who acknowledge that space where so much art happens. The song “Shroud” was my artist’s anthem. It was about leaving “the house of conformity in order to make art,” and ended with the line “who ever said that life is suffering, must have had their finger on the pulse of joy, ain’t the power of transcendence the greatest one we can employ.” She understood that there were things we had to give up in order to be ourselves, and that suffering and joy depended upon one another. I wanted to remind people at my funeral that there is joy to be found in their suffering.
“Everything’s Not Lost” by Coldplay was one of those songs that never failed to give me hope. I sang this song so loud, and hoped its message into existence. It was written in the moment of feeling like “all is lost,” and ends “hoping everything’s not lost.” This song could speak to my loved ones for me, reminding them not to give up hope when they ever feel discouraged. Just because I would be dead at my funeral doesn’t mean any one else should stop living and stop dreaming. I chose these three songs as the music at my funeral to reflect the joyful, creative, hopeful life I lived, and inspire others to carry those parts of me with them in their lives.
I always loved music most for its ability to communicate something I had felt. When I couldn’t find a song to express something, I tried writing my own songs. Anything to communicate some of what went on in my heart, and a lot went on there. I have always been extremely sensitive and extremely aware of my feelings and the feelings of those I love. This was part of why I always cried so much. This sensitivity probably could have driven me crazy; but instead, it led me to spend some time with my honest feelings and express them in poetry and song lyrics. I’m thankful for artists like Ani DiFranco who acknowledge that space where so much art happens. The song “Shroud” was my artist’s anthem. It was about leaving “the house of conformity in order to make art,” and ended with the line “who ever said that life is suffering, must have had their finger on the pulse of joy, ain’t the power of transcendence the greatest one we can employ.” She understood that there were things we had to give up in order to be ourselves, and that suffering and joy depended upon one another. I wanted to remind people at my funeral that there is joy to be found in their suffering.
“Everything’s Not Lost” by Coldplay was one of those songs that never failed to give me hope. I sang this song so loud, and hoped its message into existence. It was written in the moment of feeling like “all is lost,” and ends “hoping everything’s not lost.” This song could speak to my loved ones for me, reminding them not to give up hope when they ever feel discouraged. Just because I would be dead at my funeral doesn’t mean any one else should stop living and stop dreaming. I chose these three songs as the music at my funeral to reflect the joyful, creative, hopeful life I lived, and inspire others to carry those parts of me with them in their lives.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
My Dream: Covanent to Myself
To compose music and be a songwriter in the world collaborating with artists using poetry, instruments, rhythm and melody to view the world in a new way.
I will commit to learning to read and write music. To teaching others what I know (encouraging others to follow their dream). I want to be a keen poet and be able to say what I mean. It is so difficult to express ideas in structured sentences... but I will try, and also allow poetry and music to do some of the talking. I will embrace my talents and build a community that encourages one another to fulfill all of our dreams.
I will commit to learning to read and write music. To teaching others what I know (encouraging others to follow their dream). I want to be a keen poet and be able to say what I mean. It is so difficult to express ideas in structured sentences... but I will try, and also allow poetry and music to do some of the talking. I will embrace my talents and build a community that encourages one another to fulfill all of our dreams.
Friday, October 3, 2008
music recharge
I have been getting hints from the world that I need to be playing music again. I noticed that its been 2 or 3 weeks since I really sat down and played guitar, especially to create new music. I get so wrapped up with school, especially because I like my classes now, that I find myself reading page after page, novel after novel, while my guitar sits sadly leaned against my wall. But I haven't done anything about it. Meanwhile, I have received emails from people I've played shows for in the East coast, asking if I would like to come to Maine and perform. Another email from a childhood family friend inviting me to play at a camp I used to go to growing up to perform in a small town in Pennsylvania. Friends of friends have been asking about me, have I made another CD since the one I made a year and a half ago? I got invited to play at a showcase on a thursday night, but couldn't make it. And then, finally, something just broke open in me and the only thing I could count on was my guitar to provide the framework for a form of expression I don't know how to do in any other way but to just sing... not always words, sometimes just sounds.
Perhaps we all need an emotional kick in the ass to start that creative energy flow. I think I'm with Beethoven on that one, the more emotional struggle happening, the more the melodies and the attempts to process through these struggles in a way that doesn't rely solely on spoken words... but on music, and something moldable and abstract. Somehow these forms represent things in a more true way. I'm taking a class on Emily Dickinson right now. I think the reason I am an english major and the reason I find poetry in particular so necessary, is because it breaks down sentence structure and builds language around new ideas. I want to do that too. Its strange how fiction and poetry and art, all invented experiences can feel like they are the most true expressions of reality. They get at the heart of things. They're not trying to prove something to somebody. They exist out of the need to exist, art for arts sake.
Right now my musical inspiration has been closely tied to visuals. I have this visual of me standing in the colorodo river, with the two walls of the grand canyon on either side of me. And rather than climb back up the side I climbed down, or climbing to the other side and dividing myself from my past, I'm walking through the water, where the life is. I want to paint this picture into a song, and express this feeling of being deeply connected to a form of life that cuts miles into the earth, and flows a little closer to its core, while remaining slightly disconnected from past experiences (in this case romantic) and the potential of a new experience, given the knowledge that love can be painful and the climb is going further and further away from the source of life, the water.
So I've been drawing pictures and scribbling words, and playing guitar by the river just letting these feelings shape sounds and a song structure. I hope to be able to make something of it, and share it with others when its ready.
Perhaps we all need an emotional kick in the ass to start that creative energy flow. I think I'm with Beethoven on that one, the more emotional struggle happening, the more the melodies and the attempts to process through these struggles in a way that doesn't rely solely on spoken words... but on music, and something moldable and abstract. Somehow these forms represent things in a more true way. I'm taking a class on Emily Dickinson right now. I think the reason I am an english major and the reason I find poetry in particular so necessary, is because it breaks down sentence structure and builds language around new ideas. I want to do that too. Its strange how fiction and poetry and art, all invented experiences can feel like they are the most true expressions of reality. They get at the heart of things. They're not trying to prove something to somebody. They exist out of the need to exist, art for arts sake.
Right now my musical inspiration has been closely tied to visuals. I have this visual of me standing in the colorodo river, with the two walls of the grand canyon on either side of me. And rather than climb back up the side I climbed down, or climbing to the other side and dividing myself from my past, I'm walking through the water, where the life is. I want to paint this picture into a song, and express this feeling of being deeply connected to a form of life that cuts miles into the earth, and flows a little closer to its core, while remaining slightly disconnected from past experiences (in this case romantic) and the potential of a new experience, given the knowledge that love can be painful and the climb is going further and further away from the source of life, the water.
So I've been drawing pictures and scribbling words, and playing guitar by the river just letting these feelings shape sounds and a song structure. I hope to be able to make something of it, and share it with others when its ready.
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