are the easiest to love.
Tabula Rasa.
Unspoiled mind, Unapologetic honesty, Unlimited potential
Before cynicism, Before doubt, Before fear
Not yet prejudiced, Not yet jaded, Not yet contrived
I was once just like you
We were all just like you
Disconnect / Note to Self
I can’t overthink things.
Thoughts need to flow, organic.
I cannot design things as contrived.
I work best last-ditch, seat-of-the-pants, circumstancial.
No plan, never never a rough draft.
Simmering down of every thought, idea, dream, lyric, punctum, crashing together in momentous inspiration.
Hard to market.
But visible, once it’s in front of me.
When I open my eyes to see it.
Lucid.
Lucid, my pet.
Know you’re creating.
Awake.
Alive, and in the moment.
Not planned, contrived, no, but carefully constructed of something pure. Impatient, careless, but passionate. Can it all be?
Want to keep this mindset, the one that pushes me forward, spurs me on. Though theoretically. What of action? Oh please God, can the two work together? Let my mind set itself up to be motivated while it produces, to wax poetic while it works, to philosophize while it brings its questions and emotions to tangible fruition. Let it ignore the fabricated negativity of the ‘other’ that strangles its unborn ideas with their own umbilical cord. Let it ignore the real negativity that may come when those idea-children are carried to term and thrown coldly into the world to be consumed.
There is no you, there is only me.
There is no fucking you, there is only me.
In my art. Of course there is only me. Gather inspiration, gather techniques, gather conceptual seeds but never be buried by the creation of others. Plant your own tree in that soil.
Even now, belittling your creation with thoughts of reaction, of profit, of criticism. Fame, fortune, rejection, failure – cannot be sole motivating or hindering factors. By-products, nothing more. Know this, feel this, move far beyond it.
WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU IN THIS FOR?
You’re diving in, headfirst. In the deepest end. You’ve already made that decision, you already know you’ll never settle for less. Now, why, really, ask yourself, why why why?
The Subcutaneous Affections of Stan & Orange
When the tides change, love
When the flowing sands erode our firmament
When the cruel wind forces shut our fragile eyes
Reflect for me
All the elements that will hold fast
Hold me, love
Hold me
Hold me
The Amalgamation of Stan & Orange
And for a little while more
I'll soar the uneven wind, complain and blame the sterile land
But if you're getting any bright ideas, quiet dear I'm blooming within
(words by Fiona Apple Fast As You Can)
Oh I used to be one of those fun girls
September 1st, 2010.
New month, new motives.
New project.
Daily meditations, daily musings, daily interactions with the visual.
To follow the last foreseeable chunk of time I can call a 'school-year'.
For now. Seems to me I'm a bit of an education junkie.
And "I'm a student" is such a wonderfully undeniable excuse.
No. I hereby abandon excuses.
No compromises, no affectations.
No mess in my mind.
Now decisive, now diligent, now livingbreathing creation.
To follow the path to the ideal self I envision in my head.
Which depends. My ideal self morphs and evolves all the time.
And I just can't say no to a good contradiction.
But I have to. I want to find my voice.
Without uncertainty, without ambiguity.
Without a timid lack of audacity.
To follow through with my youthful reveries of the remarkable and anomalous artist I was.
So I imagine. Maybe hindsight is more a rose-tinted 20/20.
And I just want to feel that present before it is past.
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