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icantfindmyspleen
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Name: Stacy
Country: United States
Metro: San Antonio
Birthday: 5/31/1986
Gender: Female
Expertise: If there were infinite time and space, maybe we could get into that....i'm an art major what else is there to say?
Occupation: Student
Message: message me
AIM:  meaniespleeny
Member Since:
5/3/2005
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| I got home around 7:35. Within 10 minutes of stepping in the door I already had my first load of laundry in the wash, and had settled myself into our cushy couch to stuff my face with a home made taco while watching a family movie. Oh and the bird was on my head. We let Sam out of his cage every now and then to stretch his wings. He always ends up on one of our heads. It was one of those surreal moments you look around and realize you are living. When I drove up Erin was positioning herself on the side of the house to scare me. Didn't work. She came out the front door, which meant the side door, where I back my car to, was locked. My family has a weird habit of keeping the doors locked at ALL times. (We often lock each other out of the house just for stepping out for a minute or two). Anyways I was tired, so I let out a loud knock. My dad answered. My mom was at the stove cooking. The bird was on her head. She said that at the exact moment I knocked, the bird landed on her head. She screamed. I can imagine the horror. Strange noise, claws in your head. So I'm home for spring break. Don't know what exactly will happen. I may stay the whole time, or not. I do have to fast from something this week. It's supposed to be 2 days of talking. But my family just won't understand that. I hardly get to see them. I may switch it with my 6 days off the computer week. I'll feel disconnected. From all of you. But not my family. I guess that's more important for now. I still haven't decided. | | |
| I just watched a documentary on Annie Leibovitz. Probably the
most well-known photographer of our time. (still living)
Mostly famous for photographing famous people. Rolling Stone,
Vanity Fair covers...etc...
I almost cried like four times. There's just so much.
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| I think I was in the dark room too long today. I came out feeling
inexplicably dreary about life. I suddenly didn't want to be
around anyone. I was tired of this ever so moving life. I
wanted to be still. My room is absent of a healthy natural light
because it faces an alley and never gets direct sunlight. I'm
always walking around in a middle gray. I forced myself to go to
dinner where I ended up socializing. On my way there I
suddenly felt that I was someone's
grandma. I could imagine my granny walking around in her 20s,
feeling
prime, having no idea about her life to come. Her children, her
husband, her house on Star Route, her lincoln, me, the magnolia trees,
her sickness. It was like one of those fast motion sequences in a
movie where they flash someone's whole life. If I last as long as
my
granny I have two more of the life I've already lived. I felt
those
years today walking down the side walk. Surreal. I hardly
relayed the intensity of the feeling.
Earlier this afternoon we went to Oak Ridge retirement home to
sing/draw portraits of the residents. Kim and Shawna got to draw,
I was the musician for the day. I slide around on my guitar, then
switch to the mandolin. Sometimes I catch the older folks
mouthing the words. I've been playing the same songs for so long,
I haven't had to think about where to put my fingers for years.
Today I accidentally looked down at my fingers during "Under the
Doubled Eagle" and I fumbled. I have to disconnect my brain and
play from habit in order do it right. Strange, really. But
it gives me an opportunity to watch the people. I can't help but
imagine what they used to be. They all seem to droop. Makes
me feel heavy.
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| Just went toWalmart. I had a random list of things I
needed. Socks, pens, hangers, water, cd slips, etc. I
convinced myself that some things on the list I could do without, like
picture frames. I always, always always want to buy picture
frames. The cool ones are so blame expensive, I can't stand to do
it. I settle for intangible pictures that remain stored away on
my computer.
I realized after a while of pushing my cart around that I hadn't said
one word the whole time I had been in there. I don't think I even
opened my mouth. Literally, it was closed. (I'm not fond of
breathing through my mouth in places crawling with people I don't
know) I was noticing facial expressions of people as I mosied on
by them. Most had the face of a searcher. I guess we all
have that face in Walmart. We've come to hunt down our material
needs. In the picture frame aisle there was an old lady with
exceptionally red arms. She had a nasty swirling cut on her left
red forearm. Maybe she likes to keep her yard up and had a
fight with large shrubbery. I walk over the the check out and a
small blue-shirt boy is on the brink of crying and lagging behind a
young girl. Older sister, maybe. I decided to shun those
blasted self-checkouts and have real human contact. An old man in
one of those motorized baskets is in front of me. He drops his
quarter, I tell him if he scoots up a bit I could get it. He
does, and I do. He had bought a gadget to help him reach things,
in a long box. "How are they gonna know I didn't just take
this?" he asks the check out lady. "Because I gave you a
receit," she says. He fumbles around in his shirt pocket, pulls
it out. "Well can you stick it on there somehow?" he's
waving the box in the air, looking down messing with his pockets.
I grab the box, "Do you have some tape or something?" She
doesn't. I give it back to him. "Well is there a big back
or something." I tell him I think he'll be alright. If they
ask, just pull out the receit. He insists it needs to be
bagged. The check-out lady, Carolyn, probably in her early
60's has shown a great deal of patience, walks around and bags his
gadget. By this time I've already paid for my things. I
gather them up, "Now where's my receit?" I accidetally say out
loud and slap my pants pockets. Carolyn laughs, "Poor guy," she
says. "Yeah." I tell her I like her name, and leave.
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| I woke up this morning. Late. Around 11:20. I
guess considering I turned in around 6 a.m. it's not all that bad
to sleep in like that. Still makes me feel like a bum.
Listened to The Beatles as I ran this morning. I love the
feeling of not being rushed. Not having an agenda for the
day. Taking time to look around and breathe. I think I can
see better when the air is crisp.
Yesterday Carolyn and I went for a picture drive. Spent 3 hours
driving to Santa Anna looking for sights. Stopping along the
road. Climbing fences. Jumping into ditches. Laying
in the dirt. Getting cactus in our hands. Zooming,
focusing. Picturing. She brought wings that strap on to her
back. With her fair skin, light green eyes, and dark hair she was
a faery. At one point we were walking along the highway. Me
with my camera. Carolyn wearing her wings, walking
ordinary. Cars zooming by. I can only hope we may have
provided interesting dinner conversation for the people who saw
us.
I was re-watching Closer the other night, and one thing Natalie Portman
says, I can't quite get out of my head. It was the part where she
and Jude Law go to the exhibit of Anna's portraits of strangers.
Natalie is looking at the picture of herself crying and Clive Owen
askes if she likes it. Se says "No." He goes on to say "So,
what do you think?" Referring to the whole exhibition. She
says, "It's a lie. It's a bunch of sad strangers photographed
beautifully... and all of the glittering assholes who appreciate
art say its beautiful 'cause that's what they want to see.
But the people in the photos are sad... and alone, but the pictures
make the world seem beautiful so the exhibition's reassuring...which
makes it a lie, and everyone loves a big fat liar."
Whoa. After that scene I felt like one of the "glittering
assholes." I go looking for this thing I call "beauty".
Normally I find it in crevasses of places that used to be alive,
now dilapidated. Places that used to be someone's source for
life, now time has transformed them into tatterted shacks, or rusted
walls. Alleys stained with the years that have passed.
Abandoned brothels. A place where countless women lost their
dignity. Men came like animals and took their fill. I go to
these places, and if the light hits it just right I say it is
beautiful. Sometimes I sit and let the heaviness of the
place sink in. Then I rise, push a button, and leave the place
holding beauty in my hand.
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