Sunday, July 22, 2018
Followed
Wednesday, June 27, 2018
Tug of war (also very old, forgive me any unfortunate soul who wades through this)
Want you in,
keeping you out
building barriers I
expect you to break down
Holding you in my heart,
needing your presence.
Come hither,
But stay far away.
Like a moth to the flame,
Me falling in love with you.
Then falling out again,
I confuse myself more than you ever could.
II
Ever since I first met you,
I've been trying so hard not to fall in love with you.
Of course,
I have failed.
I love you,
But I know I can't have you,
I dreamed of a conversation with my parents, and forgot it by morning.
But it felt like they were saying I could not be yours, I would be in the way of greater things for you.
There was a vaguest hint of 'yet' in the dream, like a lingering whisper of "belum".
I know,
I know,
I know,
But I am so disappointed.
III
Struggling with my feelings,
I would not give myself permission to love,
And so loving you was painful.
It hurt, to love you.
I admit it now, that I love you,
And I'll probably love you for as long as I know you,
But it doesn't hurt anymore,
Love is a happy feeling once again
I love you.
IV.
You fell in love with my sister,
She loved you back
I write this in the past tense
Because she let you go
Maybe you still want her back,
You were so beautiful together,
You gave each other so much.
It made me happy to see you
Loving each other.
This is very old, but I am tired of editing it and it is time to post
Making time for motivation as it comes
I want to learn how to make truly great art, specifically, truly great relief and intaglio prints. Before settling on an image for my current relief patch exchange, I realized that what I needed to do was come up with a visual thesis: a succinct, direct communication of an idea or concept in image form. I am not as good at doing this, creating good art and good visual theses as I would like to be. Both because I generally struggle with this, but also because I struggle to create a curriculum for myself outside of college and my studies to guide my improvement. For this, I am glad to be continuing my education this fall at Utah State University.
My Spanish studies have lost some interest for me, or rather, the medium I have been using, Duolingo, no longer interests me. I still enjoy speaking and learning spanish, and using it to communicate with friends, but I've found myself in a rut as far as improving it.
Writing has been my great true love ever since I learned how to read, even before then, so it is surprising that I decided to major in art. I do not regret that decision one bit, but it is harder to work on my writing whilst studying art, I do not have as much time or motivation for it as I should have.
I feel that my life revolves in a spiral of trying hard, giving up, regaining motivation and trying again. This motivation often comes from my parents because I trust their insight and they are two of the people in this world who know me the best. They encourage me to strive for my best in all of my work; in my art, my language learning, and in my writing. They are the reason I am taking writing up once again and working once again on this silly little orange blog.
We'll see how long this leap-frog game of motivation will last, at least I will be that much closer to my ultimate goal of improvement.
Monday, November 13, 2017
Estoy intentando, pero no entiendo. Otra vez
Todos los paradojas.
Estoy llena de cafƩ, demasiado
Pero quiero dormir,
Pero quiero correr
Lejos y rapida.
Quiero moverme.
Quiero preguntar.
Necesito una memoria mƔs mejor, por favor
Dios, mi amigo y padre sin genero,
Pero este tambiƩn es una mascara,
una disfraz por ti de mi.
Mi corazón tiene hambre por algo,
como la sonrisa de Ʃl.
Oops.
Estoy vibrando fuera de tiempo,
escuchando por algo no puedo ir.
Tengo hambre por algo no puedo
Comer o probar.
Tengo hambre por aprender y saber
Y conocer en mis huesos.
Ouch.
Mis huesos contiene miel y jugo de limon.
Limon.
Soy buena o mala,
Dios? Yo no sƩ.
Mi garganta
Mi garganta sabe a duele y arena.
Repito mi vida cada dĆa, dios dios dios.
Repito mi escribiendo.
Repito mis dĆas.
Vida es un repetición
De todo, grande y pequeƱito-ito
pequeƱito, ito.
Tengo un poquito valo con eso.
Valo de vida.
No quiero repetir, tambiƩn quiero repetir todo.
Estoy siendo destrozado.
All can see right through me?
Fecking hell.
No entiendo.
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
I slept next to the boy I fancied and God stopped answering my calls.
I reached out into an empty space between stars.
I spent the afternoon after sunrise careening down a hill under rain and bruising hail, without a rain coat, praying and making up ridiculous nonsense sums. I only hoped I and all those under my care would make it through the storm alive and none the worse for the heavy wear. Even as I lived deeply in the moment in fear and sublime awe, I had the time between seconds of deep discomfort to realize this was the most miserable I had ever been, but the experience was deeply beautiful and I knew I would look back on it later as a time of beauty and strength in hardship. I still had faith we would make it through, perhaps under the care of a higher power.
We reached a leaky campsite in pouring rain and stood under the trees, waiting for a break to strip off our clothes and climb into our damp tents. I payed fervently and hoped deeply that the coughs some had wouldn't get worse in the wet cold. One boy shivered under a wet sleeping bag, he couldn't stand up when we eventually made it into our tents and changed into whatever dry clothes we had. I was last, enduring the rain and cold the longest. I ruined my three dry shirts by standing over a fire attempt in the rain, my slicker wouldn't keep the rain off of me.
Somehow we survived, but was that proof of god, or just our own strength and luck and good thinking under pressure? I still find myself repeating this story and comparing it to new ones.
Praying to god I don't really know or feel is there or cares, while absurdly maintaining faith. I chase myself around in my head; god help me, no god, no god cares, god cared before, did god really care before, is this proof, is this not proof, how could this be proof, why not proof? It makes no sense and isn't aticulateable at all, but it's loops in my mind and wounds in my heart. It leads me to despair and gives little respite.
But the real question is, how and why did I slip and fall off of the solidness of belief to this strange, shifting beach of faith under cynicism? Why did it start there, in those mountains, on that night, next to a boy who didn't return my feelings, and did nothing more than share my tent for two sleeps?