Mind over Matter

And on a lighter note....

2012-01-18T12:55:00.001-08:00

(^_-)

L' Amour Digitale

2012-01-18T12:34:00.000-08:00

So...

Love in the 21st century...

I just spent another 20 minutes helping a friend to try figure out what a text message meant that a guy she likes sent to her. That's 20 minutes for this particular text message...one of many.

Which made me wonder: isn't the texting thing more of a problem than a communication tool when it comes to love?

I mean, texts can mean different things depending on the person who reads or writes them.

If you're in a grumpy mood an exclamation mark can feel too forceful, while if you're in a happy mood an exclamation mark can mean utter joy.

Love is complicated as it is, but I just get the distinct feeling that some of the digital stuff isn't making it any easier.

I guess I kinda miss the days when you called a boy, only to hang up, when he picked up the phone and said "Yes?".

No redial options, no numbers in screens...just that...

The tension and excitement when it happened to be him on the other side, and you finally picked up the courage to say: "Hey, it's me...I don't know if you remember me, but..."

These days you have it all: each other's email, mobile, Twitter, Facebook, Wordfeud, IM and Skype accounts. Where do you start?

And: sometimes somebody can write awesome emails, but then you meet them...and...well....

Another friend of mine spent two weeks chatting with a guy she met through a dating website.

He was friggin' awesome! He was in a band she likes, cute, funny, had similar likes and interests...they texted and chatted to 4 am every day, those two weeks.

Until she felt it was time for a face-to-face chat.

So she playfully suggested to meet.

He started backing up.

Suddenly becoming awkward and weird, and less and less communicative.

Until she got so fed up with it, she sent him a long email basically saying: "DUDE WHAT THE FUCK?!?!"

Then....after a few days...he answered.

Turns out: he was a she, and she had pretended to be this person all along.

She claimed it was research for a book...

Yeah, right.

Needless to say, my friend contacted the real guy's management AND the people of the dating site and let them know what this person was doing.

I dunno...

Call me old fashioned...but after a couple of disastrous internet romances, and to and froh texting, and analyzing...I think I'm more of a "Hey, it's me...I don't know if you remember me, but..." kinda gal.

I'd rather bump into someone in a museum queue in the rain...

More o' dat!

2011-11-23T15:42:00.000-08:00

I've recently come to the realization that for some nutty reason I always manage to view "the" movie I need to see in a particular time or place.

This mainly occurs when I go to the movies alone, and when I'm some sort of inner turmoil, be it because of rumblings, writers-block, the shaping moment of brilliant ideas...or life changing situations and journeys.

It's especially poignant because I go to the movies A LOT.

Seriously, if it were up to me I'd do film marathons every other day.

That's because films are sorta my brainfood, I guess...films and music.

(yeah, you've seen me blip like a maniac, you know what I mean)

But that doesn't mean that every mouthful of film or music I devour leave a lasting impression...

At least not one that I consider to be ultra-inspiring and boosting and..."oh my gawd I needed to see that movie!"

Needless to say, after I saw Drive earlier this evening, I just HAD to walk home (took me little over an hour) with some pumping music on my headphones, while in my head I glued words together and composed scenes.

After which I ran to my computer at home and wrote, wrote, wrote, wrote, wrote, wrote, wrote....well, you get the drift...

I could seriously just kiss that movie...

There's so much lushness about it that I can't even begin to explain it without getting mush, overly excited in more ways than one, and ultra analytical, so I won't.

Also Beginners was beautifully wonderful in so many other ways...

I've already written blogs and a myriad of tweets about some of the movies that made a lasting impression, others I've kept to myself. But I'm very happy to report that although the world is in crisis, and there's horrible things going on out there, that there's still films being made that inspire, that boost, that touch, that delight, that rock.my.world.

More o' dat!

(^_-)

Ghost in a shell...

2011-07-30T14:37:00.000-07:00

I don't even know where to begin...
Maybe it's here: I'm currently writing a story about my grandfather.
This isn't it.
But it's about him.

He was our rock.
But now he's a mere shadow of himself.
He's here, but he isn't.

My grandfather has Parkinson.

And altho it might seem kinda jolly, the initial shakes, and Michael J. Fox manages to rock it like no other, it's no jolly decease.
It affects the whole body, and slowly but steadily little bits and pieces stop working the way they should. (if you want to know details: please google it, I dont' want to fully get into it)

About 6 weeks ago I went over to see him and my gran, over the weekend.
Booked a flight and went.
It was the best decision I've ever made.
Because I got to still see him, go for walks with him, fight with him over who would pay for ice cream, laugh at jokes and talk about life.

He was already in a far worse state than when I had seen him over X-mas, so that shocked me.
But he was still there...

Now...
6 weeks later...
My grandfather is a mere shadow of who he was...
He doesn't remember where his bedroom is, or how to go about doing the things he normally does.
And his eyes are glazed over.
He's been very very sick the last couple of weeks.
And increasingly more disconnected.

But today...
Today he remembered that he promised me to tell my mom a joke he told me when I was with him 6 weeks ago....

I can't begin to tell you how emotional that makes me.
The best gift ever.
The best.

I love him so much,
and it's so horrible to see him like this.
For the past few weeks I haven't been myself.
I can't help worry about him.
Think about him.
It tears me apart.
So, sorry if I haven't been very communicative of late...I just don't know where to begin...

Lost

2011-07-13T16:26:00.000-07:00

I guess that the weirdest things in life are its contradictions.

Like feeling painfully lonely in a crowded room.

Feeling older or younger than you are.

Or feeling lost, when you never physically got lost in the first place.

How do you explain such a thing to somebody who's experiencing the opposite?

How do you say to somebody in a crowded room, that you're feeling lonely?

And how do you tell the world you're feeling lost, when you're there.

I guess this could be one way....

too

shall

pass

Lurking Lurks

2011-06-12T15:07:00.000-07:00

No matter where you are in the world,

there's always men lurking on street corners.

And there's always street corners for men to lurk on.

Some cities seem to be purposely built for lurking.

Like they've made lurking a local gold medal sport.

Do they time their lurks, I wonder?

Do they plan them?

Or does it just pop up; "hmm, think I might go lurk tonite"

Lurkers come in all ages, sizes and heights.

There's midget lurkers, and giant lurkers.

Lurkers with long overcoats.

Lurkers with cigarettes.

Lurkers that whisper dirty somethings when you pass.

Lurkers that glare silently.

There's even lurkers shivering in the rain.

Girls don't lurk tho, they wait.

Smile me a River

2011-03-23T13:09:00.000-07:00

Just saw The Kings Speech.

It made me smile so broadly I cried.

Not because of the storyline, the music or whatever,

but because he got it right.

Colin Firth got it right.

So right that it almost feels like it was the part he was made for.

As an actress, and especially as somebody who loves film as much as sunshine and the air that I breathe, seeing somebody perform their perfect part is one of the rare, but true and utter joys in life.

(and I don't care if you don't agree in regards to this character, it's enough for me to know that it did have that effect on me)

It's the reason why I see myriads of movies and go to masses of plays; to have the honor to be present some day when somebody has their moment of perfect performance.

Perfection isn't in well articulated, seamlessly performed characters, it's in character-performances that have so much soul it just hurts to watch them. Wether the character is a lovable king or a distraught teenager, or a violent murderer.

Somehow the actor manages to enter that zone within themselves that permits them to give a character so much life it touches the audience in their core.

Even if it's an audience of one.

(as was my case)

On the way home I savored this moment.

Tasted it like I was a kid tasting a piece of candy for the first time.

And it made me intensely happy.

I should be so lucky to one day be able to create even a snippet of that moment for somebody, through something I do. It would be the greatest honor ever.

As it is the greatest honor to experience such a moment as a viewer.

For some reason it made me think back at when I was a kid,

and saw River Phoenix perform for the first time.

His acting was so honest and real that it had huge impact on me.

Of course I couldn't really put my finger on it, back then, I just knew that unlike other girls I didn't have the hots for him (of course I did think he was hot, and cute, duh!) it was more than that...I was in awe because of how he did what he did. Not because he had a cute face.

I longed to be able to perform like he could...

Needless to say, when he died it was one of the saddest moments in my life, it felt like loosing a brother. Or like I call it; my big-brother-actor.

That's kinda the feeling I just got from Colin Firth:

he might not have made the best choices in movies since playing the infamous Mr Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, and he might not be the likeliest of candidates to evoke such thoughts and especially such a moment, but I was so incredible proud of him when I saw him in this movie, oh boy, did I feel proud and overjoyed and....well...I will not throw a cacophony of words your way to describe what I felt...

Happy.

I was just very very happy.

So, I bow deeply towards River and Colin and the other wonderful actors that I've had the immense pleasure to feel inspired and overjoyed by, and thank you.

From the bottom of my heart.

And I don't care if I sound like a soppy sap whilst doing it.

Beauty is in the heart of the nutty lover, innit?

(^_-)

New Year

2011-01-05T14:23:00.000-08:00

“Another fresh new year is here . . .
Another year to live!
To banish worry, doubt, and fear,
To love and laugh and give!

...This bright new year is given me
To live each day with zest . . .
To daily grow and try to be
My highest and my best!

I have the opportunity
Once more to right some wrongs,
To pray for peace, to plant a tree,
And sing more joyful songs!”

-William Arthur Ward-

Can you the can can?

2010-09-27T09:40:00.000-07:00

So...I thought I'd blog you a true story, because this is a story that comes to mind often, and I feel is kinda crucial for peeps to know about...

Jup, it's THAT kinda story....

Here goes:

A few years ago, my cousin and a group of friends organized a cozy beach barbecue.

Everybody brought tons of food, there was music, and even a campfire.

They had a total blast for a few hours...then...things started to go wrong....

People started to feel really really sick...so sick, that after a few attempts at helping the sick to feel better, the party moved to the emergency ward of the nearest hospital.

However....the doctors had great difficulty figuring out what made them feel so sick.

So, they instructed the ones that weren't sick, to bring in as much of the food that they had consumed at the barbecue, in order for them to check it for germs and whatever.

This they did.

The meat, the salads, the bread, everything was checked.

And everything turned out fine.

The doctors were baffled.

What had made all those people super sick?

Why didn't any of the medicine they tried on them work?

And why the hell were they getting sicker by the minute?

Then, a nurse suggested to look at the packed goods like the beer, wine, soda & etc.

Everything was checked, and again....nothing...

As a last desperate attempt they decided to take samples of the outside of the packing materials.

Maybe there had been a problem there?

There was a problem alright.

What they found was;

that a couple of six-packs of beer-cans had rat urine residue on them...

Apparently they had been stored in a space where rats had roamed free, and used the cans as their little playground, and then those cans were shelved in the store to sell them to the public.

The urine had dried up, but the bacteria and viruses that were in that rat pee were still very much alive.

So when people drank from the beer-can, they ingested the dried up pee, together with all the nasties that had been in it...

Thankfully, however; knowing what had caused all those people to feel sick, they quickly provided them with a cure. A cure that would take weeks to fully take effect. But at least it was manageable.

Morale of the story: ALWAYS clean your cans of soda or beer before you drink from them.

Cuz, you never know who partied on top of them the night before....

(^_-)

Moments....

2010-09-11T11:36:00.001-07:00

Some moments in life make such an impression that they stick with you.

Some are good like marriages, or births, or your first kiss...

But some are in your minds eye thanks to their impact and shock value.

September 9th 2001 is such a moment.

Following my buddy @davesusetty's blog on the matter, I thought I'd shed some light on how I lived that day, and the bizarre turn of events that went with it.

***

A group of 7 actors and a director gathered that day, to watch disaster movies.

I was one of the actors.

We were preparing a play based on a book that had been written in the '60's by economists; in which they predicted the future in terms of economy, population growth, environmental issues and...humanitarian disasters.

The idea was to pair the findings of the book, with disaster movies; analyze them, mirror the finds with reality and create a multi-medial play with our findings.

For weeks we had been reading and painstakingly analyzing the meaty material presented in the book, having heated discussions about it, and slowly but steadily coming to the shocking realization that the predictions had actually been correct...for the most part.

That week, however, we had finally started to watch us some juicy movies.

A welcome relief after all the economics.

We saw '80's movies about plane crashes, earthquakes and even "Volcano".

Again, we discussed them fanatically.

Were these realistic scenario's in any way?

That day, we gathered in a small and dirty attic room of the theatre where we were to perform the play, crashed down on the old battered sofa's and chairs that stood there, and watched yet another couple of movies.

They were "Airport" and "Earthquake in New York".

We laughed through the movies, watching scenes that looked very unrealistic to us.

And then we discussed whether this was a plausible scenario.

The group consensus was that people really don't react that way during a major crisis, that it was exaggerated for dramatic emphasis, and that really all the movies we'd seen so far were funny because of this. Plus; what were the odds in NY? It isn't constructed on any fault-line, is it?

Then we walked to the station, on our way to the city where our school was located, chatting animatedly about the movies we just saw, and carrying bags full of papers filled with notes, and of course the big economic predictions book.

But the streets were strangely quiet...

Then, one of my fellow actors got a text message.

It said that a plane had crashed into the Twin Towers in New York.

At first we thought it was a joke: hadn't we just seen the Twin Towers collapse in the movie we just saw? And didn't we see dramatics on a '70's passenger plane?

Didn't people know we were working on this project?

Nah, this was definitely a joke.

"Ha ha, lame joke", she texted back.

And then we walked past a shop, where everybody was staring at a T.V. screen....

On the screen we saw how real this message had been.

In disbelief we stared at the T.V.

How could this be?

Had there been an accident?

It HAD to have been an accident, right?

Then a second plane crashed into the 2nd tower.

Not an accident then.

We looked at each other in shock.

Reality was mirroring fiction, and it wasn't fun.

At all.

Everybody was quietly staring at the screen.

Gasps filled the air.

Tears flowed down cheeks.

And when the towers fell...."Earthquake in New York" suddenly became reality....

A few days later the project was cancelled by the director. He felt too emotional to continue with it.

***

Years later, on the 11th of March 2004, my cousin was supposed to take the early morning commute train to her work, in Madrid.

That day, however, she overslept...

Some of her friends didn't...

And ended up with severe injuries;

Terrorists had simultaneously exploded 10 bombs on 4 busy commuter trains near Madrid, between 7:36 and 7:40 A.M that morning.

191 people died, and 1.858 were injured....

Images of September 9th kept coming back to me, as I watched the images on the news in horror.

The phone lines to and from Madrid went dead for a few hours, as people desperately tried to call their loved ones.

Nobody knew if my cousin had survived the attack, we all feared the worst.

Then, around midday, we finally had word: she hadn't been on the train.

I've never felt so relieved in my life.

Moments that stick with you, forever....

Trinket#1

2010-08-20T14:54:00.000-07:00

Once tried licking the tears off the world's face.

They tasted salty. And confused.

So I made crazy faces, to cheer it up.

And borrowed some of the sun's rays.

Now we're playing Parcheesi in somebody's garden...and it's smiling cuz the pieces look like M&M's....

2010-08-01T06:31:00.000-07:00

I've posted blogs before about seeing the beauty of small things and I'm a firm spokesperson for seeing the positive.

But even tho I myself think this way, and choose to share my views in the hope to make others see things in a brighter way, it really rocked my world to hear Henry Rollins verbalize it so well when I saw him perform his spoken word show recently.

I think it particularly touched me because it was amidst of vast mounts of humor, fantastically described imagery and logic.

It was like coming home for some reason.

Especially when I saw how the audience *got* what he was saying.

A small victory for those who believe in change towards the better, for those who see how all humans are equal and that treating people like shit doesn't solve anything.

For those who don't believe in hatred based on race, religion or sexual attraction.

In a world that keeps getting harder and harder and in which people's prejudices are flaring up like the forest fires that are currently attacking the vicinity of Los Angeles, it's good to hear people voice the complete opposite.

Especially if they're people that are in the public eye and that have the power to reach many.

Borders are a figment of our communal imagination.

Which is why I rejoice over the fact that the borders in Europe are slowly but steadily fading.

We live in the world, people.

And so, as world citizens we should accept each other for what we are and for who we are.

I'm sick and tired of racism and prejudices against immigrants.

People seem to forget that most nations are actually built thanks to immigrants, as they all do the jobs that the general population thinks they're too good for.

There's no "Us" and "Them", there's just "Us".

And the sooner everybody realizes this, the sooner we can shove wars under the carpet and coexist. Love, after all, is a far more pleasant feeling than hate. And far more constructive at that.

So yeah.

When somebody climbs up on stage and amidst of hilarious stories about embarrassing moments, strange encounters and other crazy situations, takes the time to share similar views with the world, and seeks to enlighten it, then that makes my heart skip a beat.

Why?

Because speaking out is key.

So, here I am saying to you: please please don't just listen to what you get spoon-fed by your local media, it's just a tiny selection of what's really happening out in the world. Open your eyes to what's going on around you. And to who is standing next to you. Learn. And most importantly, don't let other people's fears brainwash you into thinking the world is evil and out to get you.

Because fear never built anything.

Hope did.

Who's that girl?

2010-07-31T15:06:00.000-07:00

So, the best thing about working in a place where people frequent is that weird and crazy people are abundant. Something very inspiring for someone like me who enjoys imitating and performing. Real life can be way more absurd than concocted stories.

Altho not all real life events are absurd in a ; "OMG-I'm-talking-to-a-creepy-guy-who's-standing-next-to-me-at-a-cocktail-party-but-he-calls--my-house-and-he's-on-the-other-end-too!" kinda way. Or any other weird thing you can imagine, or David Lynch can imagine...

But they can be quirky in a way that makes you think: ..."mmkayy...ehh...is this for real?"

Here's what happened to me the other day:

I'm sitting behind my desk, working on some email to order stuff from Japan, when somebody comes in...

I hear the sound of soft shuffling feet and when I look up I see an old man who looks like the way an old man would be depicted in a cartoon:

skinny, crooked, a small tuft of white hair on his primarily bald head, no teeth, and a suit that has seen better days.

He shuffles towards me in what seems like slow-motion with extra vibrato, and when he's standing in front of my desk he slowly raises a trembling hand and points in the general direction of a photograph that hangs in the window.

"Who's that woman?"

Me: "What woman do you mean, sir?"

Him: "That woman, on the painting (for some reason he doesn't understand photography?) in the window."

Me: "Oh, I don't know. I'm sorry. It's a model, you see."

Him: "Maybe you don't understand. That woman in the window display."

Me: "Yes. exactly. She's a model the artist photographed. I have no idea who she is."

He looks at me with the most disappointed look I've ever seen on anybody's face.

The little tuft of white hair slightly flapping in the breeze created by the airconditioner.

Little flecks of dandruff softly blowing off his tweet shoulders.

Then he seems to come to a decision, and with shaky hands he goes through his pockets.

He takes out a small digital camera and blip blip blips through the photographs, with a tremendously serious face.

He then holds the camera in front of me and shows me a close-up of a naked model that features on the very photograph I knew we were talking about.

(the ONLY naked girl in a picture full of people)

With trembling index finger he points at the little screen and says;

"This. This. This girl. Who is this girl??"

His voice is full of determination.

Me: "Yes, that girl. Exactly. I'm very sorry, but I really don't know. She's a model."

He looks at me, his facial expression changes to total defeat.

Him: "O"

"I'm very sorry. If you want I can give you the name of the artist, so you c...", I attempt.

He shakes his head with a sad face.

Then he turns around slowly, shuffles towards the door, stops, looks at the screen of his camera one more time with a crestfallen expression, blips it off and puts it in his jacket pocket before walking out....in the direction of the photograph....

Split second dreams

2010-06-30T15:37:00.000-07:00

For about two seconds there was a tweet.

"Will life someday catch up to dreams, for a split second?"

And then it was gone.

I deleted it.

I tweeted that, but as soon as I did, I realized that it was a complex question to ask, because it gets answered every day in everybody's life.

Almost impalpable tiny moments of contact between that what you dream about and that what we consider the real world flash by, like the rushed heartbeat of a mouse.

Before you're aware of it, it's already flown past, making way for the stuff you didn't ask for.

But it's in those tiny moments that you can find magic.

Magic we were aware about when we were kids, but that has moved aside for the realities of adulthood.

The one moment you finally got that blue gum-ball you've been craving all day, the squeak of crisp leather in new shoes, hearing from a far away friend...magic.

Cuz when I talk about dreams, I don't necessarily mean the dreams of ambition and wild life changes (altho they too find connecting moments, paired with great outbursts of utter joy), but (also) the tiny ones that pop up in your head while you're busy doing other things...

The little flashes of thoughts and minute cravings and yearnings that form in daydreams.

And I guess when you lose contact with those dreams and those tiny moments go by completely unnoticed, that's when you tend to feel depressed and disconnected to yourself...

Something that happens all too often, unfortunately.

So, next time you feel the bubble wrap pop under your fingers, while you unwrap a package for your boss, or when you feel a soft breeze tickle your nose while you're waiting for your bus, or a friend sends you a surprise message while you're at the photocopier,

take notice...

Cuz they're small pockets of joy and beauty...and deserve some attention and love.

Beauty is in little things, after all...

(^_-)

Summer

2010-06-30T10:17:00.000-07:00

When thin dresses flutter,

and legs show some skin.

Sweat drips down dainty necks,

and trickles into exposed chests.

Leaving salty marks,

on shiny tans...

Then steam rises collectively.

And heat turns inward,

and

sizzles.

Rain

2010-05-29T08:13:00.000-07:00

He stared out the window, watching people walking by on the dreary and windy street.
Rain drip dripped onto the windowpane, creating a soft rhythmic pitter patter, that broke the otherwise intense silence of his apartment.
Though the glass, muffled sounds of traffic wafted past occasionally, creating a strangely melodic combo with the raindrops.
He sighed and scratched his chin.
So. This. Was. It.

He was a thirty something, single man, working at a job he didn't want, in a city he didn't care to be in. Almost palpable a wave of desperation flowed through him.

He touched the moist glass, with his right index finger, and drew a smiley face in the condensation created by his breath. As soon as it was made, the edges of the drawing started running, and droplets glided down, creating little rivers in the condensed water. The smiley didn't look so happy. It was a droopy mess.
"You too, huh?"

Suddenly the droopy smiley turned a bright flashing red.
Outside an ambulance passed at full speed.
Lights flickering and sirens wailing.
The light and sound spectacle shook him out of his reverie for a second.
He followed the vehicle until it was out of sight, then dried his wet index finger on his jeans.
He shook his head and learnt back, with his eyes closed.
In his head the smiley kept flashing red, every time he blinked.
He felt a little queasy.
"Fuck this shite" he thought.
In a sudden move, he opened his eyes, jumped off the window sill and walked into the room.

Clothes, books, magazines, dishes, papers, his laptop, some empty cans of soda and a pair of old binoculars were strewn all over the floor. His dog Skittels lay lustless on a pile of dirty laundry.
He sighed again and waded through the mess towards the kitchen to get a fresh can of soda from the fridge.

On the fridge door there was a photograph of him in better times, with an ex girlfriend.
He looked at the picture, he ripped the picture off the fridge and tossed it in the trashcan.
Then he reached in for a can. Closing the fridge with his left foot, he opened the can. A spray of fuzzy drink sprayed out of it, soaking his t-shirt.
"Fucking fuck fuck fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!
He yelled, tossing the can in the full sink.
"Fucking, crap shit raaaaah!!"

Dripping, he walked back into the room and started rummaging for a somewhat clean t-shirt.
Skittles looked up, but didn't move a muscle until he threw the wet t-shirt in her direction, which made her growl. "Sorry Skittles, this fucking shite ain't your fault...it ain't your f..."
He reached down to grab a wrinkled light-blue t-shirt with a faded image of a '70's muscle car on it. As he took it in his hand, he suddenly spotted something laying underneath. Something surprisingly colorful in his room full of subdued colors.
He took a closer look and, after putting on the t-shirt, took it off the ground.

It was a pair of rocketship underwear.

He looked at it in confusion and smiled.
Those weren't familiar to him, but they were awesome!
In a sudden impulse, he took off his jeans and his blue checkered boxers, and put the rocketship underwear on. They were snug, but fit him.

Chuckling he pranced through his room.
His demeanour had suddenly changed 180 degrees.
Skittles looked at him nervously, what the hell was up with the boss?
He walked over to the soggy window and threw it open, letting the cool outside air in, and soaking the window sill in rain.
It all seemed so darn idiotic all of a sudden.
Stupid droopy smiley.
The mess in his room, in his life.
He let out a roaring laugh, prompting some of the pedestrians below to look up at him with bewildered looks on their faces.

"What?!"
He yelled down, and then climbed into the window sill to emphasize his words.
Somebody below yelled "Weirdo!"
He didn't care. For the first time in months he felt alive.
He stood there for a few minutes, while the raindrops dripped onto him. His body shaking with cold and excitement. So. He. Was. Alive.

He took a deep breath, and another, and let the fresh air fill his dusty lungs.
Very faintly he felt a soft pull, yanking him towards the outside of the window.
He resisted, not wanting to drop the 4 storey fall to the street below.
Then the pull got stronger. And stronger. And stronger.
He fought it with all his willpower, grabbing onto the inside of the window.
But the pull was stronger than him.
In one ferocious yank, his grasp was lost, and his body fell forward out of the open window.
He closed his eyes and screamed "NO!!!"
And felt the rush of the wind and the patter of the raindrops as he fell.

But...there was no crash onto the pavement.
No, cracking bones.
No nothing.
Just the soft breeze and the raindrops....

Carefully he opened his eyes.
And immediately let out yet another roaring laugh.

He was flying....

Midnight howls

2010-05-28T09:40:00.000-07:00

So, last night my neighbors were fervently fighting and screaming again in the middle of the night (3am to be precise) This time, however, I channeled it into something creative.

Behold:

As brains clash and dissolve

Mouths spit fire upon

burning coals

Scratching nails

Ripped clothes

Palpitating veins

Voices

Lost echo's

Howling screams that

Can't be voiced

This isn't

This

No more

But nobody listens

To the voice of decay

Only at self

And

Blankness

paperwords

2010-04-12T15:16:00.001-07:00

softly

gently she

whispers

words

that flow

that

overflow

a fuzzy

cloud

tiny letters

shapes

words

evaporating

against

her cranium

swirling

softly

wildly

round her

body

mind

engulfing

till

small

paper plane

white

swirls-along

sucking up

all

words

leaving. soft. calm

breezes....

In your core...

2010-04-05T00:45:00.000-07:00

I was just tweeting with my friend @winonakent about believing in oneself and how hard that can be when you work in the arts.

And immediately images of myself and my director-, actor-, writer-, painter-, musician-, well all creative friends, popped up in my mind.

Struggle with oneself and one's craft seems to be imminent in whatever art you work on.

Your craft is SO personal, it comes from your most inner depths...

You can't hide behind numbers or relativity, it's all about you, and the things that pop out of your mind...

As a result it's the scariest but at the same time most beautiful path one can choose...or better said; that is chosen for one....

We're all creating baked air, after all...

Baked air, that sprouts from our hearts and most inner core.

I think this is the reason why it's so hard for artists to go through difficult periods.

If your performance as an actor sucks, then it wasn't due to a miscalculation or a memo you didn't get,

it was due to you.

And even tho it's a craft, and you're doing your best, it always feels like a personal defeat.

Same for directors, painters, writers...

It hurts like hell to create art, whatever kind...

But at the same time, it's absolutely essential and beautiful.

And even tho we all go through periods when we think;

"Gawd, I wish I were a administrative assistant, or a baker, so I didn't have to deal with this shite"

...we can't let it go...it's in embedded our hearts after all.

Once it touches you...all you can do is go for it, struggle through the dark patches and lost times, and believe in yourself and your craft.

You WILL get through it, and it WILL make you stronger, and better at your craft, because you will carry your experiences with you, even if you can't see it at the time.

Believing in what you do, and who you are is always key.

(No matter what you do, really...)

Might sound cheesy, but I can't describe it in another way...

I too am a sensitive artisty person after all...

(^_-)

exhale

2010-02-25T09:13:00.000-08:00

When knuckles

bleed

And

tears well

In dark

internal grotto's

reside

Waiting

submerge

light

and release

from

chaos

Breathing

BlowUp - Taster

2010-01-31T07:00:00.000-08:00

So, I decided to post a little snippet of something I'm writing at the moment.
It's not the full thing, obviously, cuz I want to keep the rest off the interwebz for the moment, but I thought I'd share a morcel with ya, see what you make of it...

Enjoy!

(^_-)

****

There comes a time in every person's life when at some point they stand in front of a mirror and go: "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!

In the worst cases this moment entails some weird fungus procured via unruly conduct that you'd rather not tell your mother about; a sudden wart infection on the tip of your nose; an eye so red that your favorite lipstick seems bland in comparison; or whatever weird, sick and disgusting outburst you can encounter whilst searching the web for weird and disgusting outbursts in/on humans.

This morning, however, it was Shirley's turn.

Now, first let me tell you a little bit about Shirley.
Shirley 's a 32-year-old accountant who works at a loans and mergers bank, somewhere in a small town in Ohio.
Her life consists of;

* Waking up at 7 via her radio-alarm-clock (she's had it since she was in college and it has travelled extensively through several states, and two -lost- months in Mexico, before reaching its current location), it's invariably set to a '80 soft-rock radio channel.

* Eating a bowl of cereal in the morning (preferably Cocoa Puffs) with skimmed milk, and a banana side dish. Sometimes coffee, but only on Wednesdays, to cut the week in half.

* Taking a shower; not too hot, hot showers make your skin get used to heat, but also not too cold; hypothermia from taking a shower is NOT a way to go (she tried this out once during high-school, effect: the most severe cold she's ever had in her entire life)

* Putting on a dark-blue power skirt-suit accompanied with dark blue moccasins and a white shirt. Hair...well...whichever way it manages to look somewhat alright. (no haircuts since 2002 due to personal budgetary cuts. Scissors and bathroom mirror, however, don't always work their magic)

* Driving the 32 minutes it takes to get to work in her beaten down Toyota Corolla

* Spending 8 hours doing mundane and boring chores in an even more mundane and boring grey cubicle (which she adorned with a small poster of two kittens hugging, because it made her smile the first time she saw it, and a little plastic plant next to her computer screen), eating a crustless cucumber and peanutbutter sandwich for lunch between 12:31 and 12:57, and doing some more mundane work, until 17:01 when she would step out of the cubicle and get to her car via several grey passages, an elevator and a car park. To drive home again.

* At 18:12 she would take her microwave dinner out of the microwave (depending on the day: chicken curry, Swedish meatballs and mash, macaroni and cheese, lasagne, boeuf bourginon, spaghetti bolognese, and on sunday a ready-made hamburger) and eat it in front of the television whilst watching old re-runs of Dynasty.

* Weekends she would spend in her house, cleaning and doing other homely chores. Grocery shopping (which she did on Saturday for the entire week) and watching cartoon shows. All the while, dressed in a grey tracksuit with hoodie and a crisp pair of white sneakers.

* Bedtime, regardless what day it was, would be at 22:30.

It might sound a bit boring, but she liked her life that way.
No complications.
No distractions.
Nothing to break up the comfortable little bubble she had built for herself.
She had had boyfriends during her teen years, and some in college, but had decided to remain solitary, since she didn't seem to be able to figure out the romance part of it. And she didn't like how it made her feel lost and out of control.
Plus men were too complicated to figure out; she felt they never say what they want, always beat around the bush, and it thoroughly annoyed her.

Thus was her quiet life.
Uneventful.
And she liked it that way.

Until, that is; that one morning.

Boardwalk

2009-12-16T14:17:00.001-08:00

He looked at her as she scratched her nose, and the wind played with an unruly lock of her hair.

She smelled like the sun on a shimmering ocean.

Warm.

And light.

He closed his eyes, trying to capture her essence,

as people passed them on the boardwalk.

Their footsteps merging with the waves beating against

the wooden poles on which it was perched.

Voices merged with the seagulls that drifted in the ocean air

like white paper planes.

They sat there for a while, eyes closed.

Breeze softly caressing their skin.

Sounds and smells merging.

Suddenly he felt an empty space on the bench beside him.

He opened his eyes as her skirt brushed against his leg when she passed him.

Fighting the urge to touch it, or maybe even grab it,

he watched it flutter in the wind, and the soft material contrast with his rough jeans.

For a split second their worlds merged.

Then she was a mere speck on the boardwalk.

One among many.

He smiled and slowly turned back, facing the ocean.

A seagull floated in the air before him, it's little orange legs dangling

helplessly beneath the grace of it's wings.

He couldn't suppress a roar of laughter....

The Honest Scrap Blogger Award

2009-12-08T15:32:00.000-08:00

So...I was awarded a blog award of sorts...

The so called "Honest Scrap Blogger Award"

This by lovely @Angpang through her blog INCENSE AND PEPPERMINTS

However, my forfeit after receiving such a prestigious and lustrous award, is that I have to share 10 things with you.

Now, I must say I'm not a huge fan of these sort of things, as I prefer sharing my stuff at my own pace, more than being asked to. But, as I also do not shun from a challenge I hereby share those 10 things with the world.

9 things that are true...and one that is a lie...

1) I can roll my tongue up into a sausage shape. Not massively interesting, but from what I understand genetically predestined...which means that not everybody can "sausage" their tongues...I can...

2) When I was about 6 or 7 I had some bookshelves above my bed. One night, however, I managed to pull those loose, thus being buried under books, games, shelving, marble jars and whatnot. Suffices to say I'm not a big fan of shelves above beds anymore.

3) I hate, hate hate chicory. Why, do people eat that disgusting bitter leavage?

4) Had a secret crush on River Phoenix when I was a kid. Not only cuz I thought he was hawt, but also cuz I thought he was an amazing actor. Cried silently in my room for weeks when he died.

5) When I was about 5 years old I was in a Spaghetti Western. This was my first ever real acting experience. It was in the Spanish desert close to Almeria: they had built this Western town in the middle of it and my parents and I went there as tourists to look around (my folks knew I would love it, as I'd been declaring I wanted to be an actress since I was about 4, and rightfully so; I loved the Western town). But as it happens they were shooting some scenes in part of the Western town that day. So this lady asked my mum if I could be in it cuz they needed a kid for a scene. I got dressed into a Western-style dress and had to walk over to the bad guy and pull on his trousers, while I pretended to cry cuz I had lost my mommy. It was super weird to do this, I remember, but also a lot of fun!

And afterwards the lady gave me some fake dollars to play with, which I still have...somewhere...

6) When I was 10, my upstairs neighbor and I were best friends. He was my age and had a massive LEGO table that I envied ginormously. However tempting the LEGO was tho, we played outside a great deal. And at some point had come to believe that the garage in the street behind ours was building bombs to blow up the neighborhood. We'd go on reconnaissance trips to said garage to spy on the people working there and have lengthy discussions afterwards as to how we could save the neighborhood. At some point I even remember telling my folks over dinner about this scary shite, but (naturally) they wouldn't listen. So...we planned an attack.

I'd found some tampons in my mother's cabinet, and was sure it was dynamite sticks.

No idea why it didn't surprise me that my mom had dynamite sticks in her cabinet, but they sure came in handy...

So..we went to the garage, armed with tampons and matches...set some tampons alight and threw them into the garage (we were hidden behind a car, of course...secret agents we were)

What a day it must've been for those guys: working on a car, when suddenly...dozens of burning tampons get hurled at you...hahahahah

7) My maths teacher tried to help me with my exams during high-school. He had been harassing me for years, telling me I sucked at it, that I would never get my diploma, that I would flunk cuz of matths... And then, suddenly, come crunch time: he started whispering stuff to me...while there was an inspector in the room. I told him to shove it, and that I didn't need his help. And I didn't...asshole...

8) I have a shitload of music at home....so much so, that my computer was getting borked because of it, so I had to result to buying an external drive to put the music on. My computer's much happier, but it's annoying not having all the tracks in my iTunes....so I'm still looking for a way around this...

9) My name is Basque. The Basque country used to be a separate country located in what is now the north of Spain and south of France. It was completely isolated from Spain & France thanks to the mountains surrounding it. And kept its independence until in the 1800's it became a part of Spain & France, still, however, keeping its language, laws and culture. After the Spanish civil war, however, General Franco (the dictator who came to power) forbad any Basque activities, and also the usage of the language. Basque names were out of the question, and Basque law and traditions were forbidden. After he died Spain slowly gave back the Basques their identity, and now Basque is mandatory in the Basque regions, and they have their own government and police, within Spain.

Of course the history is far more complicated than this, and it's still in turmoil, but this is it in a nutshell.

Basque is a language on its own, just like Keltic and Latin...

It's not derived from anything, and studies have shown it's ancient.

In fact, my name: Itxaso, means "Sea" in Basque... In Spanish this would be "Mar", and in French "Mer".

Juups...it doesn't look like Spanish at all...

10) I have a turquoise star tattooed on my left wrist

So...there you have it... 9 truths, and one falsehood...

And with that...it is MY turn to choose my Honest Scrap Award Winners...

I have a select few, because I simply don't read a gazillion million blogs...plus I think it's nice to choose a select few...

So here goes (click on names to be directed to blogs!):

I nominate the 5 people that follow my blog:

And...I would nominate Angela Montague...had she not been said person who nominated me first...

Would therefore also wish to nominate:

Karacornflake

and

Ken

All of which are also lovely tweeps!!

Congratulations folks!!

I pass the stick to you....

(^_-)

Oh, and the official rules I'm deviating from are:

a. 'The Honest Scrap Blogger Award' must be shared.
b. The recipient has to tell 10 (true) things about themselves that no one else knows.
3. The recipient has to pass on the award to 10 more bloggers.
d. Those 10 bloggers should link back to the blog that awarded them.

Paper Cut

2009-12-08T15:22:00.000-08:00

Copy machines whirr in the background

Muffled telephone conversations

Ringing phones

Bad coffee in styrofoam cups

Warm blood

Gushes from the wound in her thumb

Dripping onto her blue t-shirt

She looks down at it

The blood makes strange patterns

That change

With every drop that's added

People around her

Rush to help

Trying to stop the bleeding

Thinking she must be in pain

"Are you ok?!"

They scream

Panic

"But why?", she thinks

"It's just a paper cut"

She suppresses a chuckle

Pretends to be part of

The grey agony squad

Thankful for some

Excitement

In reality

However

She likes the changing blood pattern

On her t-shirt

They give color

To the dark, grey office

Repost: The Laughing Heart

2009-12-03T14:12:00.000-08:00

Just saw that I accidentally deleted this blog post from a few months back...

So here it is again:

Gallery visitors in the wild...

2009-11-21T05:20:00.000-08:00

Whilst working in an art gallery, all kinds of people walk in and out.
However, I've come to notice that people who visit art galleries tend to fit in one or more of the following categories:

* The "I am VERY interested in art" look:
Frown, arms crossed, chin resting on one arm, finger/sunglasses in mouth or against lip (sometimes ticking against it), loads of pointing, nodding and mumbling

* The "I can't afford any of this but I wish I could" look:
Shy & appologetic entry, blending in with background, looking at objects in awe, quick dissappointed pricetag glances, nervous looks towards gallery personnel

* The "I'm a connaisseur and collector" look:
Quick entry, quick walk-by, selecting pieces in a matter-of-factly manner like you're choosing sweets; very blase and whateverish, bark at gallery personnel, look on face like you're smelling poo

* The "I'm a connaisseur but have no money" look:
Quick entry and exit, inbetwixt loads of showing off what you know about the artist to gallery personnel

* The "I don't give a damn about art but I need a place to hang/perv on gallery personnel" look:
Slow tigerish entry, ignoring artwork, looking at boobs, grinning and chuckling

* The "Oh my GOD, I can't believe you have [insert artist name] in your gallery!!" look:
Quick entry, loads of exclamations of joy, pointing, telling your companions how wonderful it is that you can see x's work in the flesh, doing the same towards gallery personnel

* The "I'm an art student, but believe me I'd rather be home playing on my XBox" look:
Slow entry, oftentimes in packs, with art history teacher, wandering around thinking about how you think your lover is cheating on you and that you want to eat pre-fab pizza for dinner tonite, whilst pretending you're interested. Asking if the postcards are free, taking a few to show you were there. Getting the hell outta there as soon as you can

* The "It's raining outside, do you mind?" look: Quick dripping entry, loads of umbrella shaking and clothes flapping, mixed-feelings walk-thru, loads of glances out of the window

* The "I'm an artist too, maybe you want to showcase some of my work?" look:
Nervous entry, quick look-see, slowly move towards gallery personnel, ask gallery personnel how they tend to find the artists they showcase, try to do this matter-of-factly but slowly dying inside. Pull out book with images of own artworks, try to do this matter-of-factly but dying a tad faster inside. Ask if gallery personell would be interested in exhibiting your work, try to do this matter-of-factly but completely dying inside. Walk away nervously

* The "I'm a tourist, I know nothing about anything" look:
Bewildered entry with backpack whilst looking at worn-out map, walking around lost, talking in tongues, asking directions as you leave

* The "A video! You have a video!" look:
Normal entry, walk around looking at artwork, suddenly spot the videoscreen, get overjoyed. Spend at least 45 minutes watching the video whilst changing positions. Walk away when video ends/starts over

Fall cityscape

2009-11-15T12:03:00.000-08:00

Massively windy day.

Am in a being blown away kinda mood.

Only thing missing is a wild ocean:

foamy waves breaking on rocks, filling the stormy air with salty droplets...

Coat heavy with salty water, wet hair swooshing in every direction, bright moon and stars above.

Sand sticking to boots, heavy with ocean spray.

Lips tasting of salty air.

In reality:

Little tornado's of golden leaves swirl among the swaying x-massy lit trees.

While thickly wrapped people make their way bowing to the wind.

Trees sigh, whisper and moan.

Eyes water.

Streets shimmer in darkness...

A multitude of dark shadows flicker & play with graffitied brick walls.

Caressing them softly as they pass.

A lone forgotten skateboard stands among the leaves.

Dreaming of a passenger it can carry on its withered back...

The wind sways the long hairs of a dog, turning it into a black hair mass, fighting nature's harsh breath.

Human

2009-11-14T17:08:00.000-08:00

I'm as transparent

as glass

As foggy as a stormy

night

Have my

heart on

my sleeve for all

to see

Hide innermost

feelings

in dark

caverns

Tell all

Keep quiet

I'm an intricate

molecular structure

That

goes awol from

time

to time

Like any apparatus

I'm

not perfect

Nor do I claim to be

But I love

Passionately

Cracks

2009-11-13T13:56:00.000-08:00

She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled shyly as he walked past.

A soft breeze followed, as he opened the diner door.

The little bell tinkled.

A ray of sunlight fell through the gap onto the tiled floor.

She sighed.

Straightening her apron she turned and went behind the counter.

Pretending to occupy herself filling sugar shakers.

Hopefully nobody would talk to her for at least 10 minutes.

She needed to pull herself together first.

It made no sense.

No sense at all.

But every pore of her body.

Every breath.

Was directed towards him.

Shaking her head she put the sugar down and walked off to the bathroom.

The cracked mirror showed her face in several smudged pieces.

"That figures" she thought as she pulled a small box of pills from her pocket.

Taking one, she felt it travel down her throat as she closed her eyes, waiting for it to take effect.

Her mind wandered off.

Vividly, the image of his eyes, burning into hers appeared before her mind's eye.

Sunlight falling on his hair, softly moving in the breeze.

His smell filled her nostrils.

The warmth of his skin tingled on her fingertips.

Soft wet lips smiled and spoke.

His...

Then they were gone.

She opened her eyes to the cracked misty image in the mirror.

Nothing was as it should be.

Wiping a strand of hair from her face, she turned towards the door to resume her position behind the counter before her boss would come to get her.

Her hand trembled softly.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

Surprisingly a strange crunching sound came from under her sneakers.

Brushing away her tears she looked down to the floor.

The tiles seemed darker than usual.

She forced her eyes to focus through the humidity.

The dark smudges on the tiles seemed to move.

Pressing her hands on her eyes she tried to concentrate.

It wasn't the pill, she knew that much.

Her hands slid off her face slowly as she opened her eyes and looked down again.

She gasped.

The floor was covered in small, black beetles.

She stood for a few seconds, regaining her composure, then slowly looked up towards the door.

Moving like a sea of black waves, the beetles flowed and pulsated over every surface of the little bathroom. Making a soft rustling sound as they moved on the shiny white tiles.

Slowly but steadily she edged towards the door, doing her best to crush as few beetles as she could. The ones she crushed left a gooey black substance smeared over the white tiles.

"This is not happening, this is NOT happening!" she mumbled softly.

Sweat soaked her uniform and formed little droplets on her forehead.

At the door, she reached for the handle, with a trembling hand, turned it, and flung the door open.

"Hey."

His eyes burned into hers again...

Kilimanjaro and the bloody mess that followed....

2009-10-31T03:41:00.000-07:00

Halloween you say?

Well, then I guess it's time to write a gory scary story, innit?

I COULD of course opt for one about phantoms, zombies or other ghouls...

But what about scary stories that actually happened in real life?

Here's one that happened when I was 7 years old....

Whilst on holidays in the south of Spain, my parents, aunt, uncle, cousin and me visited a small picturesque village. You know the ones: white washed houses, pink flowers everywhere, streets covered in irregular cobble stones. It was guidebook pretty.

Not another tourist in site. Just us, the old geezers sitting in the shade of little orange trees in the village square, and the occasional old lady dressed in black, hanging wet clothes on wash lines that ran from one side of the narrow streets to the other.

It was a peaceful, sunny day.

The kind that make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

And warm and fuzzy I was, and so was my cousin, cuz we were promised ice-cream AND a Coke, if we behaved. Which we naturally did (we refrained from hitting each other and fighting for the time being, the reward was TOO tempting).

So, there we were...strolling through the winding streets.

Parents taking the occasional photograph.

My cousin and I pointing out flowers, old ladies and statuettes in windows to each other.

But then....

I had to pee.

Unfortunately, this village was so quaint and small, that it didn't have a bar.

We looked around, but there really was no way we could find a public restroom.

So, since I was about to pop, I *went* behind a dumpster in a small alleyway.

It was a great relief, let me tell you...when you're 7 having to wee can be a total crisis, so when relief comes it's almost like you managed to climb the Kilimanjaro on flip flops and Mars bars.

So great was my relief, that when I saw a cat I was overjoyed.

"Oh look, A CAT!!"

I screamed at the top of my lungs, followed by a ferocious howl of pain.

My mother came running.

"What's wrong??"

I looked down at my feet.

A pool of blood was forming on the cobblestones.

I had stepped into a broken bottle with my thin summer shoes, and it had cut right through into my left foot.

"Oh GOD!!"

My mother grabbed me, pulled me up and ran out of the alley with me in her arms.

My smiling relatives, turned around and smiles faded as they saw what was going on.

There, in the summer sun they sat me down and peeled the shoe off my foot: a large gush was visible, I was bleeding heavily.

I looked at my foot between the tears and at the blood that had dribbled all the way from the alley to where my foot was.

My mother's hand, holding my foot, was covered in blood, it dripped from her wrist to the floor, forming a puddle.

"We need a doctor!"

"Put something around the wound to stop the bleeding first!"

My aunt took a cloth hankie from her purse and they wound it tightly around my foot.

Then my dad lifted me off the ground and the whole group ran towards the village centre.

There my mother asked the old men sitting under the orange trees, if there was a doctor somewhere in the village.

There wasn't.

We then rushed to the place where our car was parked.

In those days, nobody wore a seat belt in the back, and we often travelled with loads of people on the back seat, kids on laps, you know the drill.

This time had been no different.

So we crammed into the back, me sitting on my mother's lap, and drove off.

We had to drive to the next city to find a doctor, the old men had said.

We drove faster than I've ever driven since, my uncle beeping the car horn fanatically as we went. And then....there was a traffic-jam.

The cars moved sloww, very very sloww...

I was feeling really light headed.

My foot was thumping like there was a full-blown African drum band inside.

It felt wet.

And I knew that was blood, but I didn't want to look at it anymore.

The atmosphere in the car was tense.

My cousin was crying too, my mother was cussing cuz of the traffic-jam and telling my uncle to drive around it somehow. My uncle was yelling back, over the horn beeping, my aunt was holding a white hankie out of her window to show people we had an emergency, and my dad was trying to calm everybody down.

After what seemed to be hours, we finally managed to get off that road I guess, because the next thing I remember is us rushing into an emergency room.

Doors flew open and people were talking hurriedly.

The pungent smell of bleach filled the green hallways.

And then I was laid down on some sort of table, covered in white paper.

Before I knew it I was pinned down onto the table by two nurses.

One was holding my legs, while the other one pushed down on my shoulders.

My mother kneeled beside me and said:

"Don't worry honey, it will soon be over"

Soon? Over? What would soon be over?

And then I saw the doctor....he moved towards me while he put some string on a huge needle.

The moment the needle went through my skin was much more painful then when I stepped into the glass. I screamed loudly and tried to wiggle free.

The nurses pushed on me but I was too wild for them to control me, so my mother and father had to help them hold me down.

While I screamed my lungs out till I hardly had a voice left.

The doctor then proceeded to stitch me up.

He didn't use anaesthetic.

Every time the needle went in, every tug on the thread surged through my body, and made my sore throat howl out a screechy scream of pain.

My tears had dried up; there were no more tears left to cry.

Weeks later, back home, when my doctor wanted to take the stitches out with a small surgical knife, I kicked him in the face. Hard.

NO WAY he was going to stick something sharp in me too!

We had to come back a 2nd time, so he could do it with scissors instead.

So much for ghouls and zombies, eh?

(^_-)

Happy Halloween everybody!

Life...

2009-10-22T16:13:00.000-07:00

What is life?

It is the flash of a firefly in the night.

It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime.

It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset."

-Crowfoot (Sahpo Muxika)-

Lost your dog?

2009-10-21T08:15:00.000-07:00

"Hey pssst, psssst tssk tut tut tut"

Oftentimes when I pass a man on the street, and even more often when I pass a pack of men, such sounds get hurled to me with hushed voices or, if they're in a pack, loudly for all to hear.

Interestingly enough they don't expect any reaction from the female they make funny noises to.

I mean; they'd prefer a smile, but an angry "leave me alone you perving asshole" face, seems to be preferred as it evokes even more commentary, and when travelling in packs that is the way to go.

So, my question is:

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?!

Some of the sounds emitted are of the kind people generally make towards their pets.

A lot of whistling and smacking noises seem to be all the rage.

Once I turned around, faced a pack of dudes who had just made dog hailing type sounds and said; "Did you loose your dog?"

They were shocked, looked at me in utter confusion and seemed to be frozen to the spot.

So much for taking action.

The German who whispered French sweet nothings in my ear on the packed dance floor of a Finnish disco and thought I wouldn't understand him, probably still stands there with confused glare, after I told him off in French and said he was boring me. "Dude, I'm sorry but you're SO lamo *yawn*"

Do they REALLY think it's attractive?

Do they expect us to hurl ourselves into their arms swooning and smiling?

Do they think we'll say "oh come home with me tiger and show me all corners of my bedroom"

Is it EVER successful?

EVER?

Don't get me wrong; I love guys, you rock my world.

But WHY this shite?

Yeah, if your sweetie says those things to you, in a making out session, or whilst doing the dishes, sparks ignite. And wild action may follow. But that's the lover, the one you WANT to hear sweet nothings from.

The stranger on the street...not so much...

Still....

I guess it's better than the man who crossed me in the street a few years back, and just made a grab at my lower regions in passing, and no, not my ass...

He laughed loudly and walked away after I successfully blocked his had with mine.

I turned around tho, ran after him and gave him the hardest shin kick he has probably ever felt.

He screamed of pain as he grabbed his painful leg, which I used to give him a kick on the ass.

He fell to the ground in a pile of dogshit, as I walked away...

I guess he found his lost dog after all...

If I could...

2009-10-21T08:03:00.000-07:00

If I could...

I'd lick

the world's face

and tell

it that

everything will be

alright

Sending out

a beam of

light

to engulf

every nook and

cranny

With warmth

and

love

If I could...

I'd inundate

the world

in a warm

embrace

Shake its core

Make it

believe

its limitless

possiblilities

and

dreams

If I could....

Clouds

2009-10-08T14:36:00.000-07:00

(photo by me)

Fall has fallen

and

with it

come clouds

in every

color

Dark and menacing

soft

and tender

Clouds hold

the sun

until

it's safe

for it to

wander

In the winter sky

i have found what you are like

2009-10-08T05:05:00.001-07:00

i have found what you are like
the rain,

(Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light
with thinned

newfragile yellows

lurch and.press

-in the woods
which
stutter
and

sing

And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
your kiss

- e.e. cummings -

You, Darkness

2009-10-08T05:03:00.000-07:00

You, darkness, that I come from
I love you more than all the fires
that fence in the world,
for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone
and then no one outside learns of you.

But the darkness pulls in everything-
shapes and fires, animals and myself,
how easily it gathers them! -
powers and people-

and it is possible a great presence is moving near me.

I have faith in nights.

-By Rainer Maria Rilke -

Across the Universe

2009-09-30T16:32:00.000-07:00

Words are flowing out

Like endless rain into a paper cup

They slither while they pass

They slip away across the universe

Pools of sorrow waves of joy

Are drifting through my open mind

Posessing and caressing me

-from: The Beatles - Across the Unverse -

Just when I was about to go to bed tonite something struck me & made me cry.

Not because I'm depressed or anything, but because I suddenly realized what a massively special year this has been so far.

And that it has been quite meaningful for me in many many ways.

There's much I could say about it, I could explain every detail as to why it has been so special and why it means a lot to me.

But I guess that for now, expressing that it has (and is), suffices.

Some things, I guess, are best kept and shared with the people that are closest to you....

I did feel the need to voice it, however.

And typically enough when I started on this blank page, initially thinking I'd voice it in a poem, the lyrics from The Beatles' Across the Universe popped into my head and prevented me from coming up with anything that could voice more perfectly the way I'm feeling at the moment.

Slight melancholy, yes, but all covered in a kaleidoscope of colors....

Full of joy.

(^_-)

Luv

Bacalao

2009-09-17T06:13:00.000-07:00

When my grandpa was a little boy, during the Spanish civil war, they were very poor. So every piece of food was cherished and seen as something very valuable.

One day my great-grandmother managed to get one of those salted, dried fish that are still eaten all over Spain, bacalao.

She hung it in the kitchen pantry, high enough so the cat couldn't reach.

And there it hung, waiting to be cooked at a later date.

Or so she thought...

Because, from the day it hung there, my grandfather pinched little bits off the back of the fish & ate them in secret. He liked the salty taste of the fish, and it was a welcome addition to the plain meals of potatoes, bread and olive oil they generally had. He seemed to be continuously hungry.

The fish, however, gave him away: slowly, as he pinched little bits of fish, the skin of the fish started to harden, and curl, until it turned into a leathery, salted tube of fish.

One day, my great-grandmother walked into the pantry, ready to cook part of the fish.

And there it was; hard and round like a baseball bat.

It didn't take her long to figure out who had been eating it, though.

She took the rock hard fish and spanked my grandfather's tush until it was red and palpitating.

Needless to say; he never pinched pieces of fish again.

But his love for salty seafood remained....

I often think about this story.

Not only because it's one of the stories my grandfather loves to tell (with a grin and a mischievous glimmer in his eye), but also because, in a way, it's a metaphor for life.

No matter what age you are, or who you are in life, it seems that learning never ends. Every day sheds a new light on your life and that what you're doing with it, or what you should be doing with it. You often don't know when decisions will have a good or bad outcome, until you've taken them.

We take little snippets of that what is handed to us, and sometimes want more than what we get. So we take risks. But how do you know when the fish is going to curl up, and tell you you've been taking a wrong turn?

And even if you do; wasn't the fish worth the smack on the bum?

(^_-)

as freedom is a breakfastfood

2009-09-16T16:14:00.001-07:00

as freedom is a breakfastfood
or truth can live with right and wrong
or molehills are from mountains made
-long enough and just so long
will being pay the rent of seem
and genius please the talentgang
and water most encourage flame

as hatracks into peachtrees grow
or hopes dance best on bald men’s hair
and every finger is a toe
and any courage is a fear
-long enough and just so long
will the impure think all things pure
and hornets wail by children stung

or as the seeing are the blind
and robins never welcome spring
nor flatfolk prove their world is round
nor dingsters die at break of dong
and common’s rare and millstones float
-long enough and just so long
tomorrow will not be too late

worms are the words but joy’s the voice
down shall go which and up come who
breasts will be breasts and thighs will be thighs
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
-time is a tree (this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough

- by ee. cummings-

Meh....

2009-09-09T03:54:00.000-07:00

She scratched her shoulder & looked out at the downpour.

It had been raining for over a week.

Bored she sat down on her sofa, turning on the TV with her remote.

Her TV had been disconnected.

"Great, just what I needed", she said glumly, turning the TV off again.

She looked around her at her uncommonly neat living room and let out a sigh.

It seemed like nothingness had crept in and left her lifeless & bored.

"So this is what they call 'nothingness' in The Never Ending Story", she thought to herself.

Closing her eyes, she envisioned how bits of her living room were slowly dissolving into an empty void.

"Hey, will ya cut that out!"

The voice in her head startled her.

Opening her eyes she looked around her bewildered.

Had she really heard a voice?

Was she already turning into a crazy cat lady at the age of 32?

She shook her head.

Nah, it must 've been her imagination....

"Exactly! It IS your imagination! What the hell did ya think I was, huh? Ya couch?"

Freaked out she jumped off the couch, looking underneath it in a reflex, just like she did when she was a kid. Nothing there of course.

"What the f....?!"

"Jebus, it's THAT bad, huh?!"

"Who the hell IS that?!"

"Just told ya, I'm your imagination, dumbass"

"It can't be..." she mumbled, looking around her full of suspicion...had somebody placed a camera and speakers there? Was she part of a prank?

"George? Is that you? You're not being funny!"

"Gawd, you really ARE brain dead, aren't cha?"

"Will you CUT THAT OUT!! Whoever you are!"

"I can't, sugar. I'm in your head. Well part of me anyways, the last remainin' snippet of me. Yo been a real dull lady lately, ya know! So I thought I'd give a signal o' life."

"Yeah, well I don't appreciate that! -Goddamnit I'm going bonkers-"

"Neh, not nuts, in fact, you're not nuts ENOUGH. Not anymore..."

"Well, what the hell do you want from me?"

"Geez, do I have to draw it out for ya? No wonder... I'm talkin' to ya, cuz ya gots ta take action, before it's too late!"

"Too late? Too late for what??"

"Before ya turn into a boring old sod, without any imagination. Before I gets to move out n find another home. And THAT I don't appreciate, missy!"

"What the FUCK?!"

"HEY!! Foul language won't help ya no mo! I ain't no easily intimidated so n' so, I'm your friggin' imagination, so deal with it!"

"Bloody h..."

"EH! What did I just say to ya?!"

"Fine..."

"So...what 'cha gonna do about this little situation, we gots goin' here?"

"How the hell should I know? YOU'RE the one approaching me? I was just minding my own bloody beeswax!"

"Yeah, and letting in the 'nothingness' in the process, miss bright light."

"Listen, if you want me to do something for you, IF I say. You've got to stop calling ME names!"

"Alright, comprendo. I's just annoyed 's all. Ya gots ta do somethin' quick, fo realz!"

"Right. Anything to get you out of my brain."

"I'm ALWAYS gonna be in yo brain, always ha..."

"Whatever. So, how do we do this?"

"How the frack do I know? I'm yo imagination, but you 'se got to put me to work, not the other way round..."

"Ok."

She looked around her trying to find something that would help her & make the voice stop talking to her.

Suddenly she remembered how, as a kid, she used to make cartoon-like drawings.

She grabbed a notebook and a pen and sat down on the sofa.

"That's bitchin, girrl!"

"Shh...let me think....hmmm....mabye something to do with a princess or something?"

"Not very imaginative but it might work, it's kinda' dull with no color tho."

"Well it will HAVE to do!"

After drawing a complex drawing with a princess on a horse, in front of a castle that's on fire, while the prince is somewhere laying next to a lake talking to a giant frog with bunny ears.

She sighed a sigh of relief.

There....that had to do it...

"Meh, sorry, chica. Still a big void here, it's kinda' cold too by the way. Speed it up, will ya?!"

"Damn!"

Suddenly she had an idea...

She jumped behind her computer and started writing.

"Hey, you 'se writing 'bout me!"

"You've got THAT right!"

"Keeeewl!"

Like a ferocious predator she attacked her keyboard and wrote.

Suddenly the heaviness that had been upon her all day vanished, and she felt much more energized. Her boredom, she noted, was gone.

But so was the voice....

"Hello? Are you still there?"

....silence....

She looked at what she had just written, and realized her imagination had just been unplugged once again.

"You dirty little bastard....", she said, and smiled....

Prelude to a rainstorm

2009-09-04T05:17:00.000-07:00

Like a deserted island, the gallery stands barren.

As outside clouds pack together to create a watery curtain.

Loudly flapping marquees and flags, mark the coming of stormwinds.

As do swaying cyclists and girls with ruffled hair.

A tiny dog shivers, and seeks refuge behind its owners legs.

While its hair blows in the wind, as were it skydiving from a plane.

Above it, the clouds form a dark pack in the once blue sky.

Minute drops start their long journey towards the ground.

Splashing down at irregular intervals.

Umbrellas are no match for what's to come....

Roar

2009-08-30T08:21:00.000-07:00

Through

Windswept alleys

The rage

That fills your inner

Core

Howls

Like angry

Wolves

Packed in a cage

Nails

Scratching the

Metal bars

Its not just

The loud

Ones

That reek

Havoc

Eternally Unmashed?

2009-07-23T11:57:00.000-07:00

Eternal Mash, Catherine van Campen (2007)

Ruurd Walecht's interest in historical crops began when he was very young. He started a life-long crusade to protect, preserve and maintain them. This Dutch Don Quixote of rare vegetables built an incredible collection of hundreds of crops that were on the brink of extinction. A few years ago, Ruurd suddenly moved to Sweden leaving his colourful mix of helpers behind. Eternal Mash tells the story of this master horiculturist and his Green Ark. Because his life's work is very important to all of us...

Supermarkets are lined with shelve upon shelve of products wrapped in colorful packaging and plastic foil. 50 types of butter stand in line, like girls in a beauty pageant, trying to lure eager shoppers to fall for their charms.

However, the vegetable department seems barren in comparison. You can almost imagine tumbleweeds rolling by as, amidst of all the color and splendor of the canned and packaged goods, you enter the deserted vegetable area.

Vegetables lie in puny piles in what is often the smallest section of the supermarket. Here you can’t find a vast array to choose from. No limitless rows of produce. No sexy luring. Only one type of broccoli, one type of cucumber and, if you’re lucky, 3 types of lettuce. (True; you can now decide whether you want to buy them sliced or whole, but that’s got less to do with choice and more with inner-city laziness.)

All this is due to international legislation that has permitted the influx of countless artificial and pre-packaged products, but has determined that only one species of cucumber is to be produced for consumption, ruling out all other variations of the vegetable. Consequently 75% of what used to be farming produce has irretrievably disappeared.

Instead we have opted to create genetically manipulated vegetables and fruits, shaping and re-shaping them until they grow faster, and look uniform and perfect in our eyes. No wonder lemons (normally yellow for only a few months a year) get a useless and slightly toxic coat of industrial wax to make them shine. Uniquely shaped fruits and vegetables are out of grace.

Produce is now grown under strict, sterile conditions in carefully monitored boxes and this is visible in the food we eat. Tomatoes might look beautiful, but inside they are filled with water and lack the taste that drew us to them in the first place. Vegetables have turned into Mediterranean coastal towns; once visited by foreigners for their uniqueness, and now built to the rim with high-rise uniform hotels, defacing and standardizing them. Gone are strong flavor, unique shape and size variety.

In Eternal Mash the maker addresses this very problem. For years Ruurd Walrecht had seen how vegetables were changing and being formed into glorified Xerox copies of their original ancestors, or disappeared altogether. So he started a project of collecting as many variations of plants, in their original, un-edited form, to preserve for posterity in a carefully kept field somewhere in the north of the Netherlands. Unfortunately, it seemed to be for def ears. As he fought to make government organizations see the purpose of his project, he only received support from a few fellow concerned citizens. So great was the non-support for his project, that after fighting it for some years he couldn’t stand the pressure anymore and left. Packing his belongings and moving to Sweden. Leaving behind disconcerted helpers, who’s life he touched, and an invaluable collection of seeds and beans. As with every such project, its value is only seen once it seizes to exist. And in this case it was no different. His seeds have been stored in so called gene banks, in order for the species to survive the rigorous regime of the uniformisation.

But this survival is as sterile as the conditions vegetables are grown in these days. Packaged in air-tight sealed sachets and frozen in huge refrigeration chambers, the seeds now wait until one day somebody might remember them and make them grow again. However, the gene bank employee tells us; “If there’s interest in using them for genetic manipulation they will also be released.” Thus destroying the whole purpose they were collected for in the first place.

Is society so far digitalized that we don’t care anymore about what we put into our mouths? That we content ourselves with having a quick, tasteless TV dinner, because that’s all we have time for. Will this, in time, merge into the nightmare scenario shown in Wall-E where humans drink all food, processed and mauled, from a cup? Is the lure of colorful cans and packaging so strong that fresh produce can’t compete anymore? Will more and more produce remain eternally unmashed? I guess only time will tell...

Soundtracking

2009-07-22T10:23:00.000-07:00

"I remember singing "The Cross" by Prince in my head to focus on, while laying on a stage pretending I was dead, blood capsule in my mouth, it worked...

I was 16 and had just been theatrically slaughtered by a boy with angel wings and a violin...good times..."

I just tweeted that after the song triggered the memory.

And a good memory it is....

Which got me to thinking about my passion for soundtracking.

Soundtracking.

I call it that because much like soundtracks in films, I enjoy putting a soundtrack to my life.

This happens in two different ways:

1) HeadTunes

Unbeknown to onlookers I will have a song or tune playing in my head to accompany situations I find myself in. This tune might be triggered by something that is said (a word that corresponds with a lyric of a song) or an image that conjurs the song in my head.

For some freakish reason nature has blessed me with a brain that stock-piles needless information, and among this information there's a full library of music and songs, oftentimes complete with (partial) lyrics.

My buddies sometimes call me "the human jukebox" because of this.

2) HeadPhones

I will have headphones squeezed into my ears whenever I can OR listen to music via players of sorts.

This in itself is not uncommon; these days quite a lot of people walk around like this.

But the difference is, that I'm not blocking everything else out....I'm coloring that what I see....

I apply this, for instance, when I'm reading a book; every single book I've read has had a soundtrack to it.

And every soundtrack is different, because every book is different.

Effect is that I can remember the story of a book whenever I hear a certain song, and especially what it made me feel.

Needless to say I always collect and dissect my own music for the plays I direct, as I'm well aware of the effect sound has on the over-all image.

And yes, I can get VERY annoyed when soundtracks to movies are bad...especially if they don't allow time to breathe, or at least give you the idea they do...

Anyhow...

Soundtracking

"I felt the blood capsule powder mix with my saliva and trickle down my face, as the boy with the angel wings played his violin, and I lay there, motionless in front of an audience of onlookers...all the while "The Cross" played repeatedly in my head...."

i go to this window

2009-07-22T08:48:00.001-07:00

i go to this window

just as day dissolves
when it is twilight(and
looking up in fear

i see the new moon
thinner than a hair)

making me feel
how myself has been coarse and dull
compared with you, silently who are
and cling
to my mind always

But now she sharpens and becomes crisper
until i smile with knowing
-and all about
herself

the sprouting largest final air

plunges
inward with hurled
downward thousands of enormous dreams

-e.e. cummings -

Seeker Of Truth

2009-07-22T08:26:00.001-07:00

seeker of truth

follow no path
all paths lead where

truth is here

-e.e. cummings -

Shapes

2009-07-18T04:57:00.000-07:00

As hearts open to the world they inhabit

And dreams take shape

Some small, still shivering from the shock of birth

Others grown and gaining in strength

As days pass

The rain falls

Oblivious of all that occurs

Beneath it

It flows down

In a cooling curtain

Washing away

Fear, doubt, anger

Dreams and hearts moulding themselves

Into multi-colored shapes

Pounding

Like ravanous beasts

Eager to be fulfulled

Salty drops of sweat

Merging with rain water

Stirring

Making things happen

The Gates

2009-07-14T04:28:00.001-07:00

Film review I wrote during a documentary film festival for a film magazine.

***

Not a mere recording of the creation of landscape art for New York’s Central Park by famous artist Christo and his wife Jeanne-Claude; The Gates is a documentary which symbolises the general public’s perception of art.

Passing through a period of 26 years, it narrates the bureaucracy and narrow-mindedness the artists had to face to be able to complete the finished piece; a two-week display of 7500 saffron coloured gates located over the park’s walkways. A project that cost around 20 million US Dollars, and was funded by the artists themselves.

What, everybody wants to know, is its purpose? “Why don’t you use that money to feed people?” and “The park is a piece of landscape art! To place another piece of landscape art on top of it would be like asking Picasso to paint the Guernica on the surface of The Last Supper!”. Then, in 2005, they finally get the green light. Hidden behind trees, people reluctantly watch as the first steel gates are erected in their beloved park, whilst muttering and complaining to the camera crew. Yet all this ceases the moment The Gates are unveiled; at first the park turns into a theatre, with great crowds of enthusiastic onlookers, then into a mystical place where the wind blows the fabric attached to the steel into beautiful saffron-coloured waves, framing the parks’ vistas and reinvigorating a space that everybody took for granted.

As one of the park’s inhabitants, a homeless man, states: “People think why don’t you use the money for something else, like feeding them and shit. Something like this, the money is well spent! I think it feeds the soul.” He should know.

Tokyo Pulse

2009-07-14T04:23:00.000-07:00

Analytical film review I wrote for a film magazine, during Cannes 2008.

***

The organism that is Tokyo lives; it’s vibrant, energetic and unpredictable.

And forms the décor for an amazing cooperation between directors Joon-ho Bong, Leos Carax and Michel Gondry and producer Anne Sawada for the triptique Tôkyô! (Shaking Tokyo, Merde and Interior Design). As well as the international co-production Tokyo Sonata directed by Kiyoshi Kurosawa. Who will all premiere during this edition of the Cannes film festival in the Un Certain Regard program. Four completely different stories, but all situated in a city that is definitely a great subject and background for inspirational cinema.

Ever since Venetian explorer Marco Polo mentioned a country the Mandarin Chinese called Cipangu in his 13^th century recount of his travels to the far-east Il Milione, Japan has intrigued westerners immensely. Nippon, The Land of the Rising Sun, draws us in with its mystique and doesn’t let go. So it is no wonder that Japan has been featured in western films from as early as 1901, when a short American documentary called Asakusa Temple was directed by Robert K. Bonine, depicting, among other things, some early tourists admiring the impressive temple in Tokyo. This silent film already showcases what will become a niche within western film; films about Japan, and especially about its capital Tokyo.

Perhaps it’s the way the Japanese culture seems to cherish purity that we rugged westerners crave for its depictions. In Wim Wenders’ Tokyo Ga, the director goes in search of just that; to find pure images. Images he so admired in the work of Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu. He finds a much-changed society, where the mystique has been replaced by Pachinko arcades and wax effigies of restaurant food. However, in a way, these images are as pure and no nonsense as the ones he was searching for. The endless shots of trains, metal Pachinko balls and people among the cherry blossoms in a graveyard have an almost meditative quality to them.

Lost in Translation by Sofia Coppola has that same reflective atmosphere. It provides a view of Tokyo as seen by foreign visitors. Literally lost among the confusion of the vast city’s dynamics, the main characters search for some kind of piece of mind, in each other’s company. And piece of mind, it turns out, is hard to find.

But not only foreigners search for ways to connect within the city. The Japanese characters of Hinano and K in Jean-Pierre Limosin’s Tokyo Eyes also look for some sort of a connection, albeit of a different kind. K tries to change wrongdoers by shooting at them with a rigged gun that (nearly) always misses. And 17-year-old Hinano searches for affection and some sense of adventure. The film has many references to other films, which gives it extra dynamism and does make one wonder how the film had turned out, had the director followed his initial idea to shoot it in Paris. Simply because the Tokyo setting seems to fit the story like a glove. Or better said; like a well-oiled train. For trains seem to be the common denominator within films shot by foreigners in Tokyo, even those who originate from the east. The simple voyage from “a” to “b” becomes a journey inward, a almost philosophical search for meaning. In Hou Hsiao-Hsien’s Café Lumiere, the network of trains resembles arteries that feed the city, and the main characters’ activities. Always pulsating with the sound of metal wheels on tracks, the movement of the wagons and the soundtrack of Taiwanese composer Jiang Wen-Ye. The city as a living, breathing organism. But still as pure as the films of Ozu it was inspired by.

Just like jazz musicians hear music in the heartbeats of cities like New York and Paris, filmmakers will keep finding rhythms in Tokyo’s pulse that drives their films, feeds narrations and gives them a spirit that can’t be found anywhere else.

Reveil

2009-07-09T08:09:00.000-07:00

Stirred times call for stirred thoughts, and stirred dreams.

All day long it felt like this thick coat was laying upon my shoulders, weighing me down.

All night wild dreams flowed before my cerebral cortex, throwing my imaginary self to and froh like a puppet in a colorful restless world.

But however heavy, however stirred, I have come once again to the realisation;

Every ending is a beginning.

And so however much it tries to drag me into dark crevices.

I won't let it.

And embrace the new opportunities that lay ahead.

Like an adventurer about to embark on a new journey, I see it all with fresh eyes that will darken from time to time, but will continue to fight back.

Impression - Le Reveillon

The sky is laced with fitful red,
The circling mists and shadows flee,
The dawn is rising from the sea,
Like a white lady from her bed.

And jagged brazen arrows fall
Athwart the feathers of the night,
And a long wave of yellow light
Breaks silently on tower and hall,

And spreading wide across the wold
Wakes into flight some fluttering bird,
And all the chestnut tops are stirred,
And all the branches streaked with gold.

-Oscar Wilde-

Silence

2009-07-08T13:56:00.000-07:00

Grinded earth
has brought the fluttering winds
To a standstill
Clay mixed
With lone drops
Soft grass rooting
Her ear
Lies
On the green

Her eyes
see caterpillars pass
glassy
A whet puddle
under her cheek
Body merges with grass

As caterpillars and ants follow
the fainting rhythm
of her heart

Silence remains

and soft flutters
of distant butterflies

Garlic Breath

2009-07-08T13:47:00.000-07:00

(Story I wrote wayyy back, while I was in dramaschool...go figure...funny to read back, for sure...hehehe N-joy!)

***

"I have no idea", she said to her friend, while she popped another lemon drop into her mouth.
Those Greek Kebabs had been delicious, but they had left her breath smelling so heavily of garlic that she was afraid the people around her would faint into a coma as soon as she breathed with her mouth open.

She felt a rush of exitement run through her body.
The nex one on stage would be HIM.
HIM......

In the last play he was in he had played a Greek God....
Of course he had!
You could grate cheese on his abs!

How she longed to see him perform tonight!
She had endured one hour of comical, stipid, bad, interesting and so so performances....only for this moment.
She could feel time ticking away as she waited.
Somewhere down there, in the dark, HE waited to make his entrance.
She sighed softly, and in a reflex put her hand before her mouth to smell her breath....
Yup, total garlic frenzy...but now mixed with the sour smell of so called "lemon".
She suddered.
"I guess I'll just have to keep my mouth shut untill I can buy some gum" she tought.

To keep her mind off her breath and the upcoming events, she thought back to when she first met HIM. It had been months ago...about a week into the school year, in the bar everybody went to after school.
All the girls in her class had been exited when he entered...he was very popular and a celebrity too.
She looked him over, he looked alright...bit too slick for her liking, bit too perfect.

"That guy's as shallow as that dog bowl near the door", she tought as she took another sip from her drink. During most of the night she ignored him, as large flocks of giggely girls surrounded him and fought for his attention......then they turned up the music volume...
Soon she found herself dancing on a table enclosed by HIM and his best friend.
They laughed, bumped into eachother and sang along with the music.
After a few songs HE bought his two dancing parners (her and his best friend) drinks and started a conversation with her....to great dismey of the giggling hordes who felt left out.
They talked all night, they talked untill the bar was closed, they talked outside, they talked and talked and talked, untill it was so late that it was REALLY time to go home.
Then they walked homeward, still talking, untill he had to turn left and she had to continue straight ahead. He kissed her on the cheek and wished her a good night....and that was it...she was hooked...

...for months he had been the only thing on her mind.
He had haunted her dreams, her fantasies her daily life....everywhere she went she would see him.
And now he was going to perform!

She nudged her friend who made a whooting sound and winked at her.
Turing her face crimson...
She tought everybody would know about it, about her thoughts, about their secret looks in the canteen, about how they softly brushed against eachother in the hallways when nobody was looking, and about her longing to drag him into a dark corner and kiss him passionately while the rest of the school went on minding their own business.
But they didn't.
Nobody really cared about her thoughts.
Everybody was anticipating his appearance...then......the lighs went on...

...there HE was....lying naked in a bathtub!!!!
Her eyes almost popped out of her sockets, her heart skipped a beat, she gasped at the sight of his wet, naked body.....and so did the rest of the school.
Everywhere around her people were shifting in their seats, trying to get a sneak peek under the foamy water.
The whole audience was concentrated on one thing...one thing alone...
...nobody cared about the story he performed, or his character...
...everybody wanted more...

Then the scene stopped and the lights turned off for a second.

The audience broke into extatic cheers and wolf whistles, people stood up...a great roaring mass of voices, clapping and cheering....everybody ignoring his fellow actors and staring at the naked man in the tub.

He waved shyly and motioned for everybody to stop and to go (it was halftime so there was a break of 20 minutes sceduled).
But nobody moved a muscle.
Nobody.

She sat herself back into her seat, and looked at him calmly...then their eyes met and he shot her a helpless look.
"He's mine" she thought and laughed loudly...garlic breath 'n all....

Books and Thoughts

2009-06-24T15:46:00.000-07:00

Old ghosts that death forgot to ferry
Across the Lethe of the years -
These are my friends, and at their tears
I weep and with their mirth am merry.
On a high tower, whose battlements
Give me all heaven at a glance,
I lie long summer nights in trance,
Drowsed by the murmurs and the scents
That rise from earth, while the sky above me
Merges its peace with my soul's peace,
Deep meeting deep. No stir can move me,
Nought break the quiet of my release:
In vain the windy sunlight raves
At the hush and gloom of polar caves.

-Aldous Huxley-

Time

2009-06-24T07:15:00.000-07:00

As time

tackles

its

own

wonky legs

Tripping over

lost

minutes

I stare

two hands

moving

Slowly

Waiting

for legs

untangle

Hands

to unlock

Freedom

to caress

locked down

skin

19

2009-06-21T02:11:00.000-07:00

Right, so I was tagged....well, sorta tagged.

And now I have the choice ignore the tag, or write answers to a list of questions about moi.

Well...

*clears throat*

1. What are your current obsessions?

Don't think I'm currently obsessed about anything really.

I know it sounds boring, but I'm feeling quite obsession-free right now.

*looks around uncomfortably*

Is that weird?

2. What Items in your wardrobe do you most wear?

Although I'm sort of reforming what I wear and opting for skirts & dresses the last few years, (I AM a chick, after all, gotta show some leg) I'm more a jeans & sneakers kinda' gal.

There was a time when I was absolutely obsessed with finding great unconventional sneakers, but that has subdued somewhat. Altho I still don't buy them at Frontrunner or Foot Locker, move away masses!!

And if there's a story attached to them, all the better.

It started when I went to the US at 17 and bought my first pair of Adidas Old Skool sneakers at a gritty mall, somewhere in L.A. where we were the only customers.

The clerks were genuinely surprised when we walked in:

"Oooh customers, yo!!"

BOOM!! I was hooked.

It earned me the nickname Sporty Spice, and no, not cuz I'm an athlete...

My current pair of black & gold Reebocks hail from Paris, where I bought them on a hot & sweaty day in August, last year (pain & blistering meant it took a while before I could wear them) with one of my close Parisian friends, just before we went dancing on the Seine embankment.

3. The last thing you bought?

I bought a myriad of snazzy necklaces, earrings and rings, to send to family members as gifts.

Found a lovely little shop with very special jewelry, not the gold & silver type. Went awol in the shop, which confounded the girl who worked there; don't think she ever saw anyone buy in bulk before. I'm happy to report that everybody loved their lush jewelry so the binge buy wasn't for nothing.

I also bought my actors fun-condoms...hahahahah

As part of my last play had to do with sex (eh, yeah, not THAT kind of play!) I decided to go with that part of the theme and do something unexpected and fun.

So I went to a special condom shop (you should check it, it's fun!) and bought them bonbon-shaped condoms, as opening-night gifts.

Needless to say there was much laughter in the dressing-room before the show started.

4. What are you listening to?

Well, as you know I'm a fanatic blipper.

This is partially due to the fact that I had to remove all the tunes I had stored in my computer & on iTunes, cuz they were talking up most of my poor iMac's memory space. And it was going slow under the burden.

Do still have them, but safely tucked away on an external HD, not to mention on a bunch of CD's and vinyl records. So I do listen to my own stash of tunes.

But I haven't been able to find a way to play the digital stuff without hassle in this manner (if you have any suggestions, please tell me how!).

And so I blip a lot these days.

So if you want to know the answer to this question: check my blips!

http://blip.fm/Itxi

5. Fave holiday spots?

Apart from exploring new territories, and going on adventures, I enjoy hanging out in Spain.

Whether it's on the Atlantic coast & the ocean I was named after, or on the Mediterranean.

All good. Especially whilst visiting my family, grandparents in particular.

The combination of sea, sun, mountains great food and wonderful people refuels my tank.

Maybe it's a roots thing, I dunno. But going back is always a total pleasure.

That said, I do love traveling.

Every so often my gypsy blood boils with the need to move & seeing new things & new people.

Thankfully I've been able to do quite a lot of that these last few years due to a film org I'm involved with. Even if it's for "work" meeting new cool peeps & seeing new places rocks!

And the journey to each destination is an event on itself, that I've always loved, ever since I was a little girl.

6. What are you reading?

There's always a pile of books on my nightstand.

I'm currently reading "Don Quixote" an epic story & one I think everybody who loves literature should've read at some point. Especially those that hail from Spain. It's a tough read, cuz it's in a Spanish that has been long lost, and so loads of foot notes explaining old words & meanings & etc. But it's definitely well worth it! Wonderful to read about this book devourer that gets lost in his imagination and lives all kinds of adventures, some real but all covered in a blanket of make-belief.

Other books currently on my nightstand: "La Divina Commedia - Paradiso" by Dante Alighieri, "Fool for love and other plays" by Sam Shepard, "A" by Andy Warhol, graphic novel "Bone" by Jeff Smith, "The Rules of Attraction" by Brett Easton Ellis, "Me alquilo para soñar" (I hire myself to dream) by Gabriel García Márquez.

I've always devoured books, altho I don't read nearly as much as I used to before.

Tv and other distractions have had a hand at that. But I still love buying myself a lush new book and getting stuck in. (did I say "a book"? I normally leave bookstores with a well-filled bag of goodies) And I always read in bed before going to sleep.

Nothing like a cold rainy day, while sitting inside with a mug of tea and a book, listening to the drip drip dripping outside the window. Bliss...

7. Four words to describe you?

Nutty, brainy, entertaining, dreamer

8. Guilty Pleasure?

Never feel guilty about stuff that's pleasurable.

Unless its something freaky that you really shouldn't be doing, of course.

Other than that, I think it's important to have some pleasure in your life, inbetwixt all the responsible stuff, it's nice to let go. Albeit by watching stupid tv programs, eating crisps, indulging in chocolate mounts or doing other shite. It's all good...

9. If you were God/Goddess who would you be?

Hmm.....difficult one...

I don't think I would like to be a goddess of any kind, as it would mean that I would have to reign in some way, and altho I do like to direct & lead, reigning is a step beyond.

However, if you look at mount Olympus, THOSE goddesses went awol, didn't they?

They certainly lived the life!

No reigning there...just a shitload of debauchery, sex, banquets and wildness...

If anybody knew how to party it was the ancient Greek gods...

Greek gods then.

So which one of the main Olympian goddesses would I be?

Aphrodite?

Athena?

Hera?

Well, I'd rule out Hera, she's a bit too tame for me and really the less fun of the three ladies in top command. That leaves Aphrodite, goddess of lust & beauty, and Athena, goddess of wisdom and warfare.

Ideally I would mix and match those two together, and create a whole new deity.

Because as is, they're both too extreme in either direction, one is unbridled passion, the other is brainy without any *rawr* whatsoever.

(apart from the war thing that seems a bit odd in combination with the wisdom, but that's a different story altogether)

So yeah, I wouldn't want lust & beauty without intellect, nor would I want intellect without passion. And so I shall create my own Athena & Aphrodite special blend.

Aphrothena!

HA! Move over Zeus!

10. Who/what makes you laugh until you are weak?

I've been told I have a peculiar sense of humor.

Not because I don't find those things funny that you might find hilarious.

More the other way around:

Did the kid in the Sixth Sense "see dead people", well "I see humor!".

And so I find myself grinning, giggling and laughing at things other people don't find remotely hilarious. I certainly have a soft spot for humor, that's for sure. If you can make me laugh, chances are we 'll become friends.

That said, I'm a sucker for cartoons, old monster movies and muppets.

11. Fave spring thing to do?

IS there such a thing as a "spring thing"?

I mean, I can come up with summer things, winter things, and maybe even fall things...but spring things?

Errr...

Apart from being extremely happy that the sun is finally showing it's pretty face I can't really think of anything concrete. Maybe you can...

12. When you die what would you like people to say about you at your funeral?

I've thought about this one before actually.

Not because I have any urge to leave this world and all it's madness, Oh no no no!

But cuz of other stuff. (wrote about that before, so go read further on in my blog)

I guess I would like people to say that I've inspired them in some way, shape or form.

Not cuz I think I'm *that* special, but because I hope I can inspire new thoughts, ideas & views in people.

*shakes head*

It's too complex to jot down, like this, maybe I'll tell you about it sometime.

*winks*

13. Best thing you ate and drank lately?

AMAZING chocolate bonbons, that one of my actors took with as opening night gift.

They were SO good, seriously everybody went silent for a minute (after they laughed their asses off with the condom bonbons)

14. When did you last go for a night out?

Went to a club last nite, in the wee hours of the nite.

One of my friends was there & she texted me to come, cuz her date was leaving and she really didn't want to go yet. So I peeled myself off the couch, washed off the grime, got my club outfit on and went dancing.

I got in for free cuz it was *that* late, & danced my socks off with my friend.

Good stuff...

15. Fave film ever?

E.T., cuz its what got me into acting.

I was 4 or 5, spent most of the film, hidden behind my cinema chair.

Yet I knew there & then, that I wanted to do exactly what that little boy was doing.

No, not the hanging out with an alien thing per-se, but the pretending to do so and the creating adventures on such a magical thing as the big screen.

Well, still working on it...ehem....but, yeah, never regretted it either.

Not for real anyways.

16. Share some Wisdom:

Love life, it's the only chance you have at this life, so make it count.

Don't waste your time by thinking negative thoughts about that what surrounds you, always look at what you can do to change it. Negativity holds you back, positivity is constructive & takes you places. So, love it, even when it sucks...bad things always come to an end.

It's too short, not to!!

17. Song you can’t get out of your head:

Not right now, but often, very often...have a song song a buzzing in my head head.

18. Thing you are looking forward to:

SUMMER!!!!!!

Ahhh...best part of the year!

Whoop!

19. If you could change one detail from your past what would that be?

Don't really believe in changing anything, as all things that passed, good or bad, are part of what makes me "me" at this particular moment in time.

That said, & taking into account what I know now, I guess I wish I would've been more pro-active way back when & taken more chances.

Tag you’re it…

...if you just read this post and haven't written one like this yet, then consider yourself tagged!!

Get to thinking and write down your answers to the questions above.

I'm curious to hear YOUR answers too!!

Yellow

2009-06-20T11:21:00.000-07:00

Like yellow
Furry
Spring chicks
or
Ducklings in canals

They
Flock
on yellow
bikes

Lost
Searching
Directionless

Big eyes
take in
nervous
but
hungry

Mother hens
guiding
with opened
umbrellas
and
little flags

Light flashes
Backpacks
filled
with smoke

And gentle
Murmur
Of voices
Changing dynamics
Creating
a
Buzz

Sun grins

Reality

2009-06-19T13:34:00.001-07:00

Whilst discussing Iran & politics at large yesterday, I suddenly thought back on Plato's “Parabola of the cave”... Because it got me thinking about people’s perception of the world, and what’s true to them and what isn’t.

And so I thought I'd share it with you, in case you don't, cuz it reflects quite a lot of how we perceive the world around us, me thinks...  

Here goes:  

Imagine people, who live their whole life in a cave. They are tied up, in such a way that they face the same wall all their lives. High above, but far behind them, illuminating that wall are some torches. Between the torches and the tied up people there's a road, with a head high fence.  

Imagine other people walking behind that fence holding up items. But also statues of people and animals, made out of wood. These items drop shadows on the wall the prisoners face. Some people behind the fence talk and others are silent. And imagine the sound of their voices echoes against the wall with shadows, so it seems to the prisoners as if the shadows produce those sounds.  

They will believe that reality is the shadows they see, and the voices they hear. To them a vase is the shadow of the vase they see projected on the wall. 

Imagine now that one of them, after a lifetime of being tied up facing that wall and seeing the shadows....gets set free. He is taken out of the cave into the real world.  

He then sees the objects, whose shadows he's seen all his life. He sees people speak for the first time, and hears sounds directly from the source. He sees light and colours. Smells flowers and rain, feels the sunshine on his skin, the wind in his hair...

What then will be reality to him? That which he’s known all his life, or that what he sees before him?

And if it’s the latter and he returns to the cave what will happen? 

If he tells his people what he's seen and experienced, nobody will believe him, because nobody knows that reality. Their reality are the shadows before them, anything else is fantasy. But it IS a reality.  

That leads to the question; What IS reality? What defines it? Because if the definition of reality is "it is what we see and experience in everyday life", then the cave would be reality won't it? But would you consider the cave to be reality?  

That...my friends is Plato's parabola of the cave.... No answers tho...just questions ;) "   

And...with that....I open the doors to discussion ;)

Breath

2009-06-14T13:57:00.000-07:00

Soft words

spoken

Hands caressing.

He closes

his eyes,

making the darkness darker

Sighs.

His other

senses heightened

can feel her

hands touching

his chest

gently

Nerve ends

tingling

make

breaths feel

storm winds

on skin

Theatre

2009-06-09T04:01:00.000-07:00

Theatre is a strange thing.

Unlike film or tv it's only there for a brief moment, you can smell it, taste it, feel it, and then, just as quickly as it appeared on stage...pooof!

It's gone.

Months of tension, rehearsals, discussions, stress, laughter....gone...

I always find myself feeling slightly melancholy and happy at the same time, when it's time for a play to go on stage.

For, it's what we've worked hard on to create.

It's a labor of love containing galleons of blood, sweat, tears, joy and elbow grease.

Yet, I know that the moment will be short lived, for in a few days the play will cease to exist.

And will be nothing but a fleeting memory and some photos/images on a DVD registration.

Why then do I submit myself to this painful torture of good-bye, every single time?

Because the moment it IS there.

The moment it's alive.

The moment you can feel it, touch it, taste it...that moment...

Is the best moment you can live, ever!

The experience of directing and writing it can only be surpassed by experiencing it firsthand while performing on stage. When you're the vessel that makes the audiences live the story & for a moment you're somebody else living it as if it were true.

The buzz of the audience.

The joy of entertaining a venue full of people.

The creation of a different world up on stage, and taking the audience on a journey through the lives of the fictional characters on it, that for a moment are as real as the seats they're sitting on...

It's absolute bliss....

Dissolve

2009-06-04T16:18:00.000-07:00

A word
Lies silent on his lips

He tastes it
Waits till it melts

Greasy rainbow
With a little salt

Her eyes
Penetrate his skin
But the word is stuck
Melted

He closes his eyes
To be invisible

Greasy rainbow sticks
To his palate
A sip from his coke
Wayyy too obvious

So
He waits

His flesh
burning
His mouth
leatherlike

It's too late
He thinks
Dissolving
Into the chair

Man-equin

2009-05-29T05:25:00.000-07:00

The boy stood in the clothes store while his mother squeezed herself in a pair of enthousiastically tight jeans behind the little blue curtain of the dressing room.

He could hear her muffled groans and sighs as she tried to peel on the trousers.

Curtain moving a little, with every attempt.

He wasn't sure why his mother had taken him along on this shopping trip.

And felt slightly anxious to be separated from her by that moving curtain.

The feeling was emphasized by the voracious looks on other women's faces as they grabbed garments from the shelves and garment rails, the loud dance music in the store and the muffled groans of his mother.

He was just about to put on his best panicked cry, when suddenly....between two particularly wild looking women with ruffled hairs who were discussing who had dibs on a horrible pink and yellow dress...

He saw IT.

Standing at the back of the store, bare and fleshy pink....

Small beam of sunlight marking its location...

The only still item in a room full of movement, cries, music and fluttering colors...

Was a naked mannequin.

He left his mother for what she was.

Left her bags unattended.

And waded through the masses of women and clothes that had frightened him only a moment ago.

Ducking underneath a purple dress that swooshed over his head, he suddenly found himself face to face with it. He looked up at the towering synthetic figure and took it in.

The pink skin of the mannequin glistened slightly in the sunlight.

Its bald head softly rounded.

Piercing blue eyes staring into nothingness.

Light pink, slightly parted lips seemingly about to say something sweet.

Slender neck and shoulders.

Arms parted in a loving gesture.

Curvatious hips moving down into slender legs.

Feet attached to a metal plate.

Then up again...

To two small, round mounts.

He took a step forward and started a slow approach towards the statuesque fleshy pink figure.

Facing her, he softly touched her left leg with his right index finger.

It felt hard but smooth and cold.

He traced her leg with his finger, then gently caressed it, embracing the right leg with his left arm.

Slowly his hand moved upwards.

He let go of his embrace and detatched himself slightly, looking up.

His two hands now slowly reaching for the two round mannequin breasts.

"JIM!"

His mother pulled him away with an angry grab of his right arm.

He fell onto the floor, his head banging against the mannequin's right leg.

Slowly the mannequin toppled over to the left, coming to a crashing standstil on its right side.

Its beautiful bald head split open, bits of fleshy pink debris scattering.

Tears welled in his eyes as he looked into her now graceless face.

He felt an emptyness he had never felt before.

Then he saw a piece of the eye staring at him centimetres from his mother's left shoe.

As she pulled him up he grabbed it quickly and clutched it in his hand.

The eye felt smooth and warm.

He smiled, his face wet with tears, while his mother furiously dragged him out of the store, her hands full of shopping bags.

He wasn't scared anymore....

Prelude to summer

2009-05-28T02:33:00.000-07:00

Summer dresses

Flickering in the wind

Like colorful butterflies

waiting

to fly off

into sunshine

Pale bodies slip in

Come out tan

Grass stains

scraped knees

Small rivers of sweat

cooling

in evening

breeze

Leaving soft

tracks

of dried

salt

Soft buzzing of

insects

mixed with murmour

glasses being

filled

with cool drinks

into

endless

night

Sunny side up

2009-05-23T04:02:00.001-07:00

So, I guess putting up my blog address for all to see, now means I should get jiggy with it and write something remotely interesting on here from time to time...

So, what's on my mind?

Well, it's been the weirdest week I've had in a long long time...and the saddest week at that.

The day before yesterday my little 2 year old kitty was found dead in somebody's garden.

And today's the anniversary of my dad's death.

But what you guys don't know is that the cat is sort of symbolic towards the latter.

Today would've been her birthday....and a few months from now, on my dad's birthday was the day I took her home, 2 years ago.

I knew both of them for just 2 years, and they both died very young...

Coinkidink?

I dunno...

Freaky?

Yes, very....

But for sure another eye opener on how life's wayyyyy too short, and can end at any given time.

You don't need to be a 89 year old to go into that endless of slumbers.

It could happen today.

This is why I believe in savoring life, in enjoying every minute of it.

Wallowing in self pity, I cant's and it has no sense's....is far from constructive.

You gotta grab life by its balls and squeeze out everything you can.

Nobody wants to look back and think "what if"...

Follow your heart, follow your passion...it's the best thing you can do...

And so I live with the sunny side up.

Even if I too can be utterly cynical and negative about stuff (hey, dude, I'm human!).

Crap happens, after all...

But it never lasts...

(^_-)

Luv

-Galilea-

Mini punches...

2009-05-17T16:54:00.000-07:00

As he looked over the raging hilltops at the glorious scene before him, he scratched his buttox and thought; "Damn, my ass is tight!"

***

"It's madness!! MADNESS!!" he thought...and continued cutting the salami...

***

Bending down, he peeled the dogshit carefully off his left shoe with a short stick, and thought; "Wonder if she has solid boobs..."

***

Feeling faint, he dragged his shivering body onto a chair.

Delicately touching the folds of his trousers, he thought; "Need to get Playboy"

***

He looked at her intensively with a raised eyebrow, as he wiped his mouth clean; against all expectations her tongue didn't taste like m&m's...

Gettin' jiggy with it...

2009-05-17T10:53:00.000-07:00

Twitt-poem

2009-05-16T07:07:00.001-07:00

As eyelashes flicker the itch remains, burning up in the smouldering sun, each drop of sweat lingering...
(8 minutes ago from web)

Flexing muscles lure in the unexpected...
(6 minutes ago from web)

Leaving me breathless. Hesitant to enter the darkness.....that follows...
(2 minutes ago from web)

(17-04 2009)

The origin of oceans

2009-05-16T06:56:00.000-07:00

Oceans
Were created

Not by rainstorms

Nor
Through
chemical reactions

but

by
Salty
sweat
pouring down
your back

merging

with

mine...

Snippet #3

2009-05-16T06:42:00.000-07:00

And anther one...

(Yes, told ya it's a dark shabang! Teh script does have comical notes in there somewhere tho....just a little...hehe)

***

Purple days...

Purple days rattle in my soul, like karaoke dancing langoustines.

I see a face in the mirror, but I'm unsure whether it's me.

Each speck, pore and wrinkle seems to belong to somebody else.

Somebody I don't know.
Yet they seem to think it IS me.
...little do they know...

How can they?
They still believe everything's paved in gold.
They see sculls covered in diamonds and think death is beautiful.
...well maybe it is...
...maybe it's me who has lost the plot...

I'm wearing a clown face, after all...
Who does that??

Shit, I feel like such a fraud!!

She looks at herself in the mirror.
A heavily painted face looks back at her.
Slowly she raises her right hand and streaks her face.
The immaculately painted make-up gets smeared in one long colourful streak.
Half her face is immaculate, half is smeared.

Then the door opens...

Snippet #2

2009-05-16T06:22:00.000-07:00

And so....another snippet of that which I'm writing...(sexier one)

***

-I want to tackle you. Throw you down on a wet mattress and have my way with you. Hard.-

She looks at him defiantly, a smile on her red painted lips.
He looks back confused, trying to find a escape route, but he has to pass her to get away.

-Chaz...I...I...heheh...I didn't mean it like that! I mean...I was just joking!-

-Were you? Well I'm not.-

She approaches him threateningly, slowly unzipping the front of her tight body suit.

-Look. I don't really want to sleep with you, ok? I was just kidding, teasing you a little. Hey, I'm a guy, that's what guys do!-

-Well, what can I say...I liked the proposition. I've wanted this to happen for a long long time now. So get ready to deliver what you promised me....-

-No, listen I...I w...

She moves closer and closer to him, still unzipping slowly.

-Jesus!!!-

He seems really scared now, his body in full escape mode.
She pretends she doesn't see and approaches him until she's standing only a few centimetres from him and looks into his face, close enough so he can feel her breath on him. She lowers the upper part of her body suit until her bare shoulders are visible.
He looks nervous, curious, slightly tempted but at the same time not very happy about the situation.
There's definitely some inner struggle going on in him...he doesn't seem to know whether he should accept or decline the offer.
His hands move towards her bare skin but hesitates.

Suddenly he bolts and runs out the door as soon as he reaches it.
She looks at him calmly, dresses her shoulders again and turns around as she zips her body suit up again.
She smiles and walks over to the mirror.

-No more sexist jokes in front of your friends for you, you fucker.-

She looks at herself in the mirror and sighs.

Snippet #1

2009-05-16T06:11:00.000-07:00

Small snippet of the "script" I'm currently writing...

***

She looks at the falling snow.
Feeling strangely melancholy...
How can thoughts and feelings get so intertwined?
She takes a bite out of her tuna sandwich and listens to the muted sounds of the city.
For a moment closing her eyes, while the tuna gets mauled by her molars.
Swallowing.
Feeling the pieces of bread and fish slide down her throat.

Chet Baker blows his tunes softly out of her living room speakers.

Everything seems cushioned by the white flakes falling from the sky.
Even her thoughts are muffled.
She sighs and presses her forehead against the cold pane of glass.
The cold damp window presses against her skin.
A drop flows down over her forehead, cheek and jaw until it falls into the nothingness between her and the window sill.

"I have to remember to get some milk", she thinks

Nights....

2009-05-04T18:37:00.000-07:00

What is it with me and sleep these days...

Nights shorten as days elongate.

Snoring of neighbors in comfortable beds.

Sleep calling, yet holding me off.
Until the chirping birds of morning unveil how time has passed.

And night is no longer night, but day...
What else to do but to read, write and hope for sleep to find me..

How can it be that precisely then when sleep is most needed, it decides to go and find better pastures?

Sleep is not only comforting but sometimes has a torturous soul; like a bad lover, it drives you in, makes you crave it, but then spits you out.

Dont take me wrong: I LOVE sleeping.

But for some strange reason it has decided to play a little game with me, these last few weeks.

It wants me to continue without it, to use every available hour of the day to work and theorize and think.

It wants me to analyze complex structures, to think about philosophical issues and find words to write stories with....

I just want to push all those things aside, grab sleep, hold it tightly to my chest, cradle it, and nestle myself under the duvet with it....

The waiting game has begun...

windswept

2008-10-16T05:33:00.001-07:00

What is it that makes people seek greener pastures?

From time to time this wind, the Andalucians call "el viento del levante" blows over the lands...
Bringing with it the soft call of other lands and other lives.
It itches, it stings, it calls and it lures.
It carries desert sand, droplets from riverbeds and seeds of exotic flowers...
It makes my gypsy blood crawl and boil.
Making me nervous and twitchy, and hungry to jump onto a train and let it carry me wherever...

Life's good.
Why then, this call of the wind?

buzz of the base

2008-09-12T02:45:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTSYQkyknK0

...I'm addicted...can't help myself....

Serious?

2008-09-08T13:43:00.000-07:00

Today I looked at the video below while working, because the title of an article I had to read was "This is serious", which brought up memories of this song.

We watched the video "en troupe":

The sheet...

The dramatic look...

The naked torso...

The sheet over the chair...

The naked torso....

The ice sculptures....

The naked torso...

The "rough" intermezzo with rock guitar and chainsaw sculpture cutting...

The mount of sand....

Laughed out loud (in my case until tears flowed down my face)....

Was she really serious when she made it?

...for you to judge...

hehehe

Luv

-Galilea-

meeeeh

2008-09-06T12:01:00.000-07:00

Sheep...

Everywhere I went today were sheep.

Sheep in pastures.

Sheep in gardens.

Sheep standing on wind swept dykes.

Sheep

Sheep looking pensively into the nothingness.

Sheep frolicking.

Sheep eating grass.

Sheep not eating grass.

Sheep

Sheep in the sunshine.

Sheep in the rain.

Sheep pooping.

Sheep "making nookie".

Sheep asleep....

And then I came back into the city...

And saw that there isn't much difference to the countryside...

loafing

2008-09-05T04:13:00.000-07:00

I was at the bakery this morning, and as I watched the bakery lady cutting the bread in the loaf cutting machine, I couldn't help but think:

Aren't we all in a way loafs of bread?

Not that we're all created out of flour and yeast, but in a metaphorical sense...

We are all loafs of bread, that consist of layers and layers of slices, all tucked together.

For the onlooker a loaf, but deep inside; sliced.

Some slices you share with the world, or with a small group of people, your loved ones for instance. The other slices are there, but invisible for everybody but yourself.

The complexity of humans is something that strikes me time after time.

Just when you think you know people, out pops a new layer that you were unaware of.

And what's worse...sometimes....when you think you know yourself, a new layer resurfaces...

Layering isn't a bad thing.

In a way it protects us from harm.

Making sure our inner core remains solid and untouched.

With every experience we have the outer layers create more protection, as others crumble under the pressure. However, the layers can also merge into a solid loaf, which can create an extra protective seal.

Yet, remaining a loaf full-time also prevents other people to see the layers.

And keeps us isolated.

I guess the key is not to turn into a mount of slices...nor into a full loaf...but to remain a loaf with slices on top.

(did I mention this bread is darn tasty?)

Luv

-Galilea-

To each his own

2008-09-05T04:05:00.000-07:00

His own

Own time

Sweat

Buzz

Nothingness

Buzzes too

Her own

Buzz

Buzz me

Lost?

2008-02-22T10:49:00.000-08:00

I find myself lost in a world that seems to be lost, sometimes.

Not because I'm crazy or other wise detached from the things that surround me.

But simply because it doesn't seize to baffle me.

Yesterday I saw a documentary on British pop bands from the '50's until the '70's...and once again it struck me;

What the hell happened to young people??

We seem to have merged into sheep somewhere along the line.

Without ideas and thoughts of our own, simply following the masses and not questioning the world and people around us.

It seems like philosophizing about life, critique-ing and especially taking action have slowly but steadily sunk to the bottom of the barrel.

I can't help but look at it and feel a strange feeling in my stomach...

Luv

-Galilea-

Take the cherry and sponge

2007-01-02T03:37:00.000-08:00

So a new year has started, complete with streets filled with fireworks garbage, soaked in rain....

A new year, a new blog.

I've been blogging for over a year now, but this is the virgin voyage for this blog space.
Alongside new and (hopefully) exiting adventures, I'll be posting some of my old blogs on here as well...just for the whole picture, and also because...well..I have my reasons ;)

Here's a topic I talk about extensively with some of my friends, and that I think is majorly important...and in keeping with the fresh new year we've entered, hence this blog:

People should let go more...Open their eyes to the world that surrounds them...Forgetting everything else and just sucking up the matereal, and impressions you get from everyday life.

You need periods of sucking up every single impression, every minute detail every weirdness or normalness of every day life. That's the only way to see how things really are, peel of the layers off the cave so to speak, and show the true colours and nature of people and the stuff that surrounds you.

Have you ever had that experience where you look at someone who's face you've known for years (like your parents or a famous actor), and suddenly you see it in another light. And it seems like you see new features to this face that you never saw before....suddenly you see how the nose is more crooked than you thought and the mouth is shaped slightly differently. I have moments like that...as if I can peel back the glossy layer on somebody's face and look at it differently, then put the layer back and take it off again...a kaleidoscope of small details all in one person's face...

...same goes for everyday life...

Like Warhol; he made art out of soupcans, cuz that was his everyday life...and he made them beautiful and ugly and everything else...but they still were soupcans...still they embodied much more.
He showed what lies underneath the standarized packaging....he opened up the layers and showed us a peek under them.

How can you appreciate things if you don't see them for what they really are? Aren't you then just seeing the glossy outside skin? Seeing the shadows instead of the colours, shapes and flavours that everything really has?

As people get older their believe in dreams and fantasy dies. They think they have to be mature and strict and that those things aren't necessary to live a mature, serious life. But they forget that it's those fantasies, that way of looking at things and the world, that openness...that brings forward new and exiting stuff. It's that way of seeing the world which creates our own, gives shape to new items and stories and movies and plays. It's inspirational.

Inspirtation lies in the little things in life, in people, in events, in objects....because they tell huge stories...beautiful stories...

All it takes is to sit back and take it all in, nothing more....
...so sit back....
and open your mind...

Luv

-Galilea-

Mind over Matter

And on a lighter note....

L' Amour Digitale

More o' dat!

Ghost in a shell...

Lost

Lurking Lurks

Smile me a River

New Year

Can you the can can?

Moments....

Trinket#1

Who's that girl?

Split second dreams

Summer

Rain

Midnight howls

paperwords

In your core...

exhale

BlowUp - Taster

Boardwalk

The Honest Scrap Blogger Award

Paper Cut

Repost: The Laughing Heart

Gallery visitors in the wild...

Fall cityscape

Human

Cracks

Kilimanjaro and the bloody mess that followed....

Life...

Lost your dog?

If I could...

Clouds

i have found what you are like

You, Darkness

Across the Universe

Bacalao

as freedom is a breakfastfood

Meh....

Prelude to a rainstorm

Roar

Eternally Unmashed?

Soundtracking

i go to this window

Seeker Of Truth

Shapes

The Gates

Tokyo Pulse

Reveil

Silence

Garlic Breath

Books and Thoughts

Time

19

Yellow

Reality

Breath

Theatre

Dissolve

Man-equin

Prelude to summer

Sunny side up

Mini punches...

Gettin' jiggy with it...

Twitt-poem

The origin of oceans

Snippet #3

Snippet #2

Snippet #1

Nights....

windswept

buzz of the base

Serious?

*meeeeh*

loafing

To each his own

Lost?

Take the cherry and sponge

meeeeh