there's still a little box
bejeweled, and minded
holding close my dearest
those that hold me
disappear with the morning sounds
of so many housemates,
grinding and rolling their ways
into the day
My observations and responses to this crazy world; in color, text, and line
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Conquistadors
Conquistadors
In button-up shirts
And Italian leather shoes
Sweet talk their ways
Across the countryside
Genghis Kahn
Is the A-list
Socialite
With his black book
Stocked
In button-up shirts
And Italian leather shoes
Sweet talk their ways
Across the countryside
Genghis Kahn
Is the A-list
Socialite
With his black book
Stocked
30 day notice
my room is
my cave
of greens and blues
of images and information
but I can't find a place to sit
and I grow tired of the ambience
created by
pissing, shitting, and showers
my cave
of greens and blues
of images and information
but I can't find a place to sit
and I grow tired of the ambience
created by
pissing, shitting, and showers
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
MJ party flier
This is the flier I drew for the MJ party I'm throwing this Saturday @ Twin Space Continuum.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Fame
It's dark, what they've done to you
When all you gave was light
Though sometimes the shadow
You cast
Was more attractive
Those blazing the trails
Are always alone
The crowds stampede
and follow, shouting
"You're going the wrong way"
Perhaps to keep
Close, waiting
For you to trip,
Fall or sink
So they can say
"I told you so"
And when you manage
To make it beautiful
They can remember
They were behind you
All the way
When all you gave was light
Though sometimes the shadow
You cast
Was more attractive
Those blazing the trails
Are always alone
The crowds stampede
and follow, shouting
"You're going the wrong way"
Perhaps to keep
Close, waiting
For you to trip,
Fall or sink
So they can say
"I told you so"
And when you manage
To make it beautiful
They can remember
They were behind you
All the way
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
crazy bitch
crazy bitch
I am having the craziest week. I wonder if i'm caught in some kind of time vortex that keeps slamming up against itself (as vortexes can sometimes do). My harddrive on my laptop crashed the other day, out of nowhere, and now they're saying I need a new one. My bike got stolen (couple weeks ago), I had to cancel this amazing party that was going to happen tonight (because of venue constraints--i need a new venue now) and then on my way home from delores park today, i had a weird bike/car interaction (it gets all congested at 23rd and mission) so i was taking up the whole lane and then pulled over to let cars go by, and this woman leans out her window and yells "Bitch, learn how to ride a bike!" and so I responded with my quippy mouth, "Bitch, learn how not to be a Bitch!" (spontaneous reaction is not always clever). I rode on, not really thinking much of it and then I got to Folsom and passed her again. I heard her yelling and open her door behind me as I rode by, and realized she was trying to door me! So I was thinking 'shit, this bitch wants to fuck me up'. So I rode home fast, going through all the reds, imagining that she was going to pull over and fight. I got home, walked up the steps and had my bike between me and the door, like a gate, and she screetched up and ran up the steps and screamed "Don't call me a bitch!" and punched me in the face. So there was this scuffle of hair grabbing, choking, kicking and her yelling various things like "bitch!" and "I got a baby in the car!" and "Man, I hate bitches that pull hair!" as she's pulling my hair. Calling me a bitch and telling me not to call her one. Talking about her baby.
Her face was pocketed and covered in makeup and little bandaids. Everything was drawn on, her eyes, her eyebrows, her mouth. A masked assailant. Her hair was ironed and fried and fake and straw-like. She wasn't a person. She was ugly rage. How do you reason with someone like that? I mean, that's usually how I get myself out of these situations, normally. Because she's not the first person to mouth off at me and get some mouth right back. She's not the first stranger i've infuriated with my mouth. But usually i just get smart with them or whatever, and no punches are thrown. But she was all punches, no vocab. It was kind of exhilerating. I've always liked a good adrenalyn rush. But my body hurts and she broke my amazing vintage sunglasses. It hurts to swallow and I feel like I have whip-lash. My neck is sore and stiff, and I have a goose egg on my face and an ugly red scratch on my neck.
but you should have seen the other guy.
(I think i'm gonna start thinking about keeping my little comments to myself.)
h
I am having the craziest week. I wonder if i'm caught in some kind of time vortex that keeps slamming up against itself (as vortexes can sometimes do). My harddrive on my laptop crashed the other day, out of nowhere, and now they're saying I need a new one. My bike got stolen (couple weeks ago), I had to cancel this amazing party that was going to happen tonight (because of venue constraints--i need a new venue now) and then on my way home from delores park today, i had a weird bike/car interaction (it gets all congested at 23rd and mission) so i was taking up the whole lane and then pulled over to let cars go by, and this woman leans out her window and yells "Bitch, learn how to ride a bike!" and so I responded with my quippy mouth, "Bitch, learn how not to be a Bitch!" (spontaneous reaction is not always clever). I rode on, not really thinking much of it and then I got to Folsom and passed her again. I heard her yelling and open her door behind me as I rode by, and realized she was trying to door me! So I was thinking 'shit, this bitch wants to fuck me up'. So I rode home fast, going through all the reds, imagining that she was going to pull over and fight. I got home, walked up the steps and had my bike between me and the door, like a gate, and she screetched up and ran up the steps and screamed "Don't call me a bitch!" and punched me in the face. So there was this scuffle of hair grabbing, choking, kicking and her yelling various things like "bitch!" and "I got a baby in the car!" and "Man, I hate bitches that pull hair!" as she's pulling my hair. Calling me a bitch and telling me not to call her one. Talking about her baby.
Her face was pocketed and covered in makeup and little bandaids. Everything was drawn on, her eyes, her eyebrows, her mouth. A masked assailant. Her hair was ironed and fried and fake and straw-like. She wasn't a person. She was ugly rage. How do you reason with someone like that? I mean, that's usually how I get myself out of these situations, normally. Because she's not the first person to mouth off at me and get some mouth right back. She's not the first stranger i've infuriated with my mouth. But usually i just get smart with them or whatever, and no punches are thrown. But she was all punches, no vocab. It was kind of exhilerating. I've always liked a good adrenalyn rush. But my body hurts and she broke my amazing vintage sunglasses. It hurts to swallow and I feel like I have whip-lash. My neck is sore and stiff, and I have a goose egg on my face and an ugly red scratch on my neck.
but you should have seen the other guy.
(I think i'm gonna start thinking about keeping my little comments to myself.)
h
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Digital Archeology
These are excerpts i extracted from emails to one boy, over the years. I like what he inspired in me.
My phone died yesterday. The screen got darker and darker progressively throughout the day and then: done. Dark as the blackest nights in space. I guess it followed the light at the end of the tunnel. It probably knew I was about to break up with it, and it just couldn't bear the pain. I'm labeling it a suicide. I've moved on to a rebound phone, which I don't care for as much as the other, but i need something to fill the void.
There will be a wake at the dump, in remembrance of the times that we shared, and in commemoration of the strong impact that it had on the environment. All those memories in jpeg that we shared are now left to the ether.
I'm in the process of imploring Bill Gates to give the Eulogy. It may be a mass burial, for all the bits of technology that have died in the past year. And I hear the plasma screen is on its death bed, so if you have anything you'd like to say to plasma before it passes into the next dimension, you should get it off your chest before it's too late.
Plasma, I'd like to say "you will be missed" but I just don't think that's true.
After the service, the funeral procession will be hopping on a boat straight for China. They are currently in the lab figuring out new medicinal technologies for reviving such tragedies. There are mad scientists making zombies out of our discarded communication devices, microwaves, and tape decks. May god have mercy on their souls.
I've been in my head for the past couple weeks, floating away into the nothingness. flying away past the atmosphere, ionosphere, on and on...
and now i'm trying to get my feet back on the ground. My head is still trying to float away, but i'm digging my toes deep in the concrete, or soil when i can find it, making space for myself amongst the AIDS and broken glass. My head may be in the clouds, but my grip is steady.
---------------------------------------------------------
I've been slowly sifting through your library, getting rid of stuff and digging out lost amazing files. I feel like a digital archeologist.
Instead of a little brush to clean the information with, i use electromagnetic space as manipulated in its physical form with keys and code. The information I hunt is sound: the physical manifestation of invisible waves.
We, as humans, are the manifestation of communication on this planet. Our motherland is Africa, and Africa hosts the throat chakra center for the planet: Egypt. The throat chakra is the center of voice and communication. If it weren't for humanity's ability to communicate with one another and work together, we never would have made it this far. Our entire civilization vibrates, radiates, and pulses. We've swallowed our planet with radiowaves, microwaves, and infrared waves in the name of communication. And the rest of the electromagnetic spectrum is either on its way, or in quarantine. The more we communicate, the better we get. It is the key to the next step in our evolution.
Stardate 0819277465:
We have just passed the Gargamel Nebulae.
An astroid belt swims starboard.
Beware of space bergs...
-------------------------
(in frustrated regards to teen americans during my study-abroad in Perugia, Italy):
"Amish no-shoe-wearin-livin-in-the-17th-century-minus-the-fuckin-random-dudes-every-night-low-self-esteem-american-bimbo-fleece-wearin-skiing-every-weekend-callin-mom-for-money-so-you-can-get-plowed-every-night-and-disgrace-your-country bimbo whores!!"
------------------------
i am writing with 1 finger on 1 hand
that took me more than a minute to write
My collarbone is like fresh produce, snapped for refreshment. i wish it was a week old: limp and forgiving.
----------------------
I don't think you're a fallen one. I think you are the SEEKER, chasing the molecule. Only the trouble is, you don't know what the molecule is. You're chasing a shadow.
You see it cast and know its donor is something marvelous and fantastic. You chase it, but never see more than the shadow. The object you desire is always around the next corner. At each turn, you are foiled. Your life is a quest for beauty. But when you find your beauty, it's not enough. It doesn't feel like you thought it would, which sends you off chasing another shadow. I hope you find what it is you are looking for.
h
---------------
I'm watching the construction happen outside my
window. The equipment they have is crazy. There's a huge drill that appears to be drilling 50 feet or more. It just spins and
pushes its way in. I am watching the rape of the earth. Should I call a neighbor or just close the curtains? Someone aught to get that girl a whistle!
Strange and fantastic beasts made of metal and steel, awkward and precise, lumber like giants. They crane their long necks and take greedy mouthfuls of dirt, just to turn and spit it out immediately after. Bulimic robots.
It's neat.
I'm hungry like theoretical physics.
I feel weak like Stephen Hawking.
but i'm poor like Orphan Annie.
I got asked out last night by this guy that i know through the 321 Arts Collective. He was looking at me with those desperate and needy eyes that were reminiscent of so many eyes i've seen before. I told him i'm in love and he's sweet, to which he replied, "I only have so much love to give. I only have
so much love to give...and I want to give it all to someone. Just one." I nodded in agreement, "yeah, that's the way it should be." He asked me if he could make me dinner. I told him maybe some other time, but I've gotta find my lover right now.
It kind of made me sad.
I keep thinking about those desperate eyes. When I recognize them, I have a hard time looking into them. They're not even human, those eyes. They're more like a
wild animal's. A wild hungry animal that hasn't eaten
for days and it's reached the point that it'll rip the
first flesh apart it sees just to ease the pain in its stomach.
Those eyes scare me.
i would really like a hug. i could live in
one, i think. like a babe in womb.
you're really important. don't forget that.
h
-------------------------
you are my special pickle pear who fell in the dirt
and is covered but you're still so sweet and
satisfying but you're pissed cuz you're on the ground
now and no one will pick you up and eat you. they
will, pretty pony, they will."
"Dearest sweetest boy,
ye who falls in love daily with a new petite flower
ye who can make any woman feel like she is the reason the sun rises in the east and that stars twinkle. You shine so radiantly and glow upon these unsuspecting innocent eyes that they fall into you and then don't know how to get out. All the while you feed off of their beauty, and they let you through their own budding narcicism. Sometimes I wish I was the object of which you adored, for your adoration makes flowers bloom. It opens the sky and shows you its secrets. But then I realized that your eyes are so fickle that the shadows would give me goose bumps. And my face cannot stand the test.
but you still make me smile. And I love the way you do. You make me laugh with such glee, I shine for days.
And I watch you fumble like a toddler on new legs, grasping at all these shiny objects around you, but when you grab each mysterious and beautiful bauble, you anger when it twinkles just as brightly for others as you. And you crack it open, hoping to find something so sweet and marvelous, you'll know that THIS is the reason why you search so long and THIS is the one that will fill you up so completely that you'll never feel empty again. But you open it up and it isn't magical sweetness at all. It's not the universe. There's no secrets. Only metal.
and this sends you again on your quest. crackin each egg open and finding not the thing you seek.
I hope you find that thing you seek, boy.
For you are a beautiful creature that has so much love to give, you would explode if you kept it all inside of you. And I understand that. just be careful about where you put it. For not all petite flowers can withstand such weight. And don't blame them if they crumble under it. It's not their fault.
they just can't withstand
I love you, my dear
hailey"
"I spent 3 days in orympia with gorgeous gorgeous
people and it was so nice. i am covered in bruises.
we sat in underwear by the river and did cartwheels on
a golf course. we climbed trees and played leap frog
in the park. We made a pyramid out of people and I
was on top. We climbed into the root hobbit hole of a
tree on the beach at dusk and drank champagne and then
skipped rocks with our silouettes. I was wearing
running shorts and a funny wig.
It was the most gorgeous weekend. I was mobbing with
10 of the funnest craziest olympians ever for 3 solid
days. I stole 5 bottles of champagne. Do you know how
hard it is to steal 5 bottles of champagne? It's
really hard.
i'm not lying. it's real tuff.
i'm tuff. like the incredible hulk. Me and joshua got
drunk and boxed and i'm covered in bruises. It was so
fucking fun. We beat the crap out of eachother. I
like tough love. I like it when boys aren't afaid to
box with me. I can hold my own. Just don't hit me so
hard I die or fly.
i don't want to fly or die.
You are a lonely man who looks for love in all the
wrong places.
I am a lonely woman who sees love in all the right
places, but i'm shopping and don't have any money.
window shopping. besides, everyone's happy without
me. and i have funny hair. and crooked teeth. no one
likes that.
not even me.
I guess I should be a filmo. cuz film people always
are socially inept and ugly.
well, 85% of them. the ones that make it anyway.
think of george. man, what an ugly guy."
"
why don't witches wear underwear?
so they have a better grip on their broom.
that one is funny. I just did a handstand and now my
eyes are witnessing funny balls of light flying around
me like molecules. it's probably blood cells bursting
in my brain. made to seem like i can see into the
molecular structure of any given object.
like sunsets in LOSt ANGELESt...they're only pretty
until you think about why they're so pretty. Smog,
pollution, and the dissintegrating ozone layer. not
so pretty anymore, is it?
okay, yeah, it is kinda pretty still.
whatever.
As an artist, i live for hipocracy (all the while
bashing it) and so,
i must go with that."
"you are my right eye. my crooked sacrum. my unspoken
words.
And sometimes I wish i made more time for such
maladies as sitting. as sadness. as lost causes.
but there's just too much to do. i miss being ahead of
the game. now i'm just riding on it's back.
and i don't really know what to say other than
you, i like you."
"
My phone died yesterday. The screen got darker and darker progressively throughout the day and then: done. Dark as the blackest nights in space. I guess it followed the light at the end of the tunnel. It probably knew I was about to break up with it, and it just couldn't bear the pain. I'm labeling it a suicide. I've moved on to a rebound phone, which I don't care for as much as the other, but i need something to fill the void.
There will be a wake at the dump, in remembrance of the times that we shared, and in commemoration of the strong impact that it had on the environment. All those memories in jpeg that we shared are now left to the ether.
I'm in the process of imploring Bill Gates to give the Eulogy. It may be a mass burial, for all the bits of technology that have died in the past year. And I hear the plasma screen is on its death bed, so if you have anything you'd like to say to plasma before it passes into the next dimension, you should get it off your chest before it's too late.
Plasma, I'd like to say "you will be missed" but I just don't think that's true.
After the service, the funeral procession will be hopping on a boat straight for China. They are currently in the lab figuring out new medicinal technologies for reviving such tragedies. There are mad scientists making zombies out of our discarded communication devices, microwaves, and tape decks. May god have mercy on their souls.
I've been in my head for the past couple weeks, floating away into the nothingness. flying away past the atmosphere, ionosphere, on and on...
and now i'm trying to get my feet back on the ground. My head is still trying to float away, but i'm digging my toes deep in the concrete, or soil when i can find it, making space for myself amongst the AIDS and broken glass. My head may be in the clouds, but my grip is steady.
---------------------------------------------------------
I've been slowly sifting through your library, getting rid of stuff and digging out lost amazing files. I feel like a digital archeologist.
Instead of a little brush to clean the information with, i use electromagnetic space as manipulated in its physical form with keys and code. The information I hunt is sound: the physical manifestation of invisible waves.
We, as humans, are the manifestation of communication on this planet. Our motherland is Africa, and Africa hosts the throat chakra center for the planet: Egypt. The throat chakra is the center of voice and communication. If it weren't for humanity's ability to communicate with one another and work together, we never would have made it this far. Our entire civilization vibrates, radiates, and pulses. We've swallowed our planet with radiowaves, microwaves, and infrared waves in the name of communication. And the rest of the electromagnetic spectrum is either on its way, or in quarantine. The more we communicate, the better we get. It is the key to the next step in our evolution.
Stardate 0819277465:
We have just passed the Gargamel Nebulae.
An astroid belt swims starboard.
Beware of space bergs...
-------------------------
(in frustrated regards to teen americans during my study-abroad in Perugia, Italy):
"Amish no-shoe-wearin-livin-in-the-17th-century-minus-the-fuckin-random-dudes-every-night-low-self-esteem-american-bimbo-fleece-wearin-skiing-every-weekend-callin-mom-for-money-so-you-can-get-plowed-every-night-and-disgrace-your-country bimbo whores!!"
------------------------
i am writing with 1 finger on 1 hand
that took me more than a minute to write
My collarbone is like fresh produce, snapped for refreshment. i wish it was a week old: limp and forgiving.
----------------------
I don't think you're a fallen one. I think you are the SEEKER, chasing the molecule. Only the trouble is, you don't know what the molecule is. You're chasing a shadow.
You see it cast and know its donor is something marvelous and fantastic. You chase it, but never see more than the shadow. The object you desire is always around the next corner. At each turn, you are foiled. Your life is a quest for beauty. But when you find your beauty, it's not enough. It doesn't feel like you thought it would, which sends you off chasing another shadow. I hope you find what it is you are looking for.
h
---------------
I'm watching the construction happen outside my
window. The equipment they have is crazy. There's a huge drill that appears to be drilling 50 feet or more. It just spins and
pushes its way in. I am watching the rape of the earth. Should I call a neighbor or just close the curtains? Someone aught to get that girl a whistle!
Strange and fantastic beasts made of metal and steel, awkward and precise, lumber like giants. They crane their long necks and take greedy mouthfuls of dirt, just to turn and spit it out immediately after. Bulimic robots.
It's neat.
I'm hungry like theoretical physics.
I feel weak like Stephen Hawking.
but i'm poor like Orphan Annie.
I got asked out last night by this guy that i know through the 321 Arts Collective. He was looking at me with those desperate and needy eyes that were reminiscent of so many eyes i've seen before. I told him i'm in love and he's sweet, to which he replied, "I only have so much love to give. I only have
so much love to give...and I want to give it all to someone. Just one." I nodded in agreement, "yeah, that's the way it should be." He asked me if he could make me dinner. I told him maybe some other time, but I've gotta find my lover right now.
It kind of made me sad.
I keep thinking about those desperate eyes. When I recognize them, I have a hard time looking into them. They're not even human, those eyes. They're more like a
wild animal's. A wild hungry animal that hasn't eaten
for days and it's reached the point that it'll rip the
first flesh apart it sees just to ease the pain in its stomach.
Those eyes scare me.
i would really like a hug. i could live in
one, i think. like a babe in womb.
you're really important. don't forget that.
h
-------------------------
you are my special pickle pear who fell in the dirt
and is covered but you're still so sweet and
satisfying but you're pissed cuz you're on the ground
now and no one will pick you up and eat you. they
will, pretty pony, they will."
"Dearest sweetest boy,
ye who falls in love daily with a new petite flower
ye who can make any woman feel like she is the reason the sun rises in the east and that stars twinkle. You shine so radiantly and glow upon these unsuspecting innocent eyes that they fall into you and then don't know how to get out. All the while you feed off of their beauty, and they let you through their own budding narcicism. Sometimes I wish I was the object of which you adored, for your adoration makes flowers bloom. It opens the sky and shows you its secrets. But then I realized that your eyes are so fickle that the shadows would give me goose bumps. And my face cannot stand the test.
but you still make me smile. And I love the way you do. You make me laugh with such glee, I shine for days.
And I watch you fumble like a toddler on new legs, grasping at all these shiny objects around you, but when you grab each mysterious and beautiful bauble, you anger when it twinkles just as brightly for others as you. And you crack it open, hoping to find something so sweet and marvelous, you'll know that THIS is the reason why you search so long and THIS is the one that will fill you up so completely that you'll never feel empty again. But you open it up and it isn't magical sweetness at all. It's not the universe. There's no secrets. Only metal.
and this sends you again on your quest. crackin each egg open and finding not the thing you seek.
I hope you find that thing you seek, boy.
For you are a beautiful creature that has so much love to give, you would explode if you kept it all inside of you. And I understand that. just be careful about where you put it. For not all petite flowers can withstand such weight. And don't blame them if they crumble under it. It's not their fault.
they just can't withstand
I love you, my dear
hailey"
"I spent 3 days in orympia with gorgeous gorgeous
people and it was so nice. i am covered in bruises.
we sat in underwear by the river and did cartwheels on
a golf course. we climbed trees and played leap frog
in the park. We made a pyramid out of people and I
was on top. We climbed into the root hobbit hole of a
tree on the beach at dusk and drank champagne and then
skipped rocks with our silouettes. I was wearing
running shorts and a funny wig.
It was the most gorgeous weekend. I was mobbing with
10 of the funnest craziest olympians ever for 3 solid
days. I stole 5 bottles of champagne. Do you know how
hard it is to steal 5 bottles of champagne? It's
really hard.
i'm not lying. it's real tuff.
i'm tuff. like the incredible hulk. Me and joshua got
drunk and boxed and i'm covered in bruises. It was so
fucking fun. We beat the crap out of eachother. I
like tough love. I like it when boys aren't afaid to
box with me. I can hold my own. Just don't hit me so
hard I die or fly.
i don't want to fly or die.
You are a lonely man who looks for love in all the
wrong places.
I am a lonely woman who sees love in all the right
places, but i'm shopping and don't have any money.
window shopping. besides, everyone's happy without
me. and i have funny hair. and crooked teeth. no one
likes that.
not even me.
I guess I should be a filmo. cuz film people always
are socially inept and ugly.
well, 85% of them. the ones that make it anyway.
think of george. man, what an ugly guy."
"
why don't witches wear underwear?
so they have a better grip on their broom.
that one is funny. I just did a handstand and now my
eyes are witnessing funny balls of light flying around
me like molecules. it's probably blood cells bursting
in my brain. made to seem like i can see into the
molecular structure of any given object.
like sunsets in LOSt ANGELESt...they're only pretty
until you think about why they're so pretty. Smog,
pollution, and the dissintegrating ozone layer. not
so pretty anymore, is it?
okay, yeah, it is kinda pretty still.
whatever.
As an artist, i live for hipocracy (all the while
bashing it) and so,
i must go with that."
"you are my right eye. my crooked sacrum. my unspoken
words.
And sometimes I wish i made more time for such
maladies as sitting. as sadness. as lost causes.
but there's just too much to do. i miss being ahead of
the game. now i'm just riding on it's back.
and i don't really know what to say other than
you, i like you."
"
Friday, May 8, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Uh Oh album cover for Huh-Uh
This is the whimsically tragic cover-in-progress i'm working on for the new Huh-Uh album, Uh Oh!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Internet Love video
Internet Love video for Huh-Uh (my band) for the Northwest Film Forum 24-hour film challenge 2006. By Hailey Gaiser, Jeremy Mather, Tonjia Rhen.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
I would like to talk about cellular phones.
I watched a news story the other day about 'sexting' which is, as you can probably guess, sending sexy texts. Though not really texts at all, but picture messages. I mean, with a new communication technology, of course sex will find it's way in there. We are sexual beings, starting at our conception. Each of us started with an orgasm (in exception with those 'science babies'). I think this is perfectly normal. And it is perfectly normal for children and teens, in exploring their own sexualities (with each-other, mind you), to explore their budding sexualities through the most accessible and least-controlled contemporary communication technology: cell phones.
Kids have cell phones these days as early as age nine, because parents want to be able to get ahold of their kids. But in that, these children are set free with this device that can text and take pictures and send pictures, but they're not given any tools with which to be safe, smart, and polite with them. Kids text during class, at the dinner table, late at night, early in the morning. My 17-year-old cousin must send over a hundred texts a day (when I've visited her family, i hear the text alert every couple minutes for the entirety of the time i'm in the vicinity, and I assume it carries on after I'm not.)
What upset me about this story is that these children are being charged with CHILD PORNOGRAPHY! An 18 year-old boy had a naked picture of his 16 year-old girlfriend (they were high-school sweethearts and had been together for two years) and he got caught with this image in his phone (how he was 'caught' was unclear to me). He is was charged as a child pornographer, expelled from school, had his computer taken away, and is now a convicted sex offender. His life is now ruined because he was not taught how to be smart with his celly. This is a great tragedy.
There was another girl who had been caught with a naked image that she had taken of herself when she was twelve, which was about three years prior, and was being charged with child pornography. These children are made to think that they're doing something wrong, that they are bad people making bad, dirty, evil mistakes, when they're only going through their own processes of self-discovery with the tools that are being given to them.
Why is it in western civilization, when there is a problem or an ailment or frustration...only the symptoms are treated. And when you only treat the symptoms, the problem stays, it just treats the surface of the problem.
I don't think the problem is that children are exploring their sexuality with technology. It has always happened and will always happen. It just so happens that the newer technologies are more expansive, and it is possible for these images that are taken in the privacy of ones own home, can be hacked and intercepted by anyone with the skills, world-wide. And children are not taught cell-phone safety or etiquette.
This is an exact repeat of the mistake of teaching abstinence in schools, which lead to: AIDS. After AIDS, the topic of sex-education could no longer be ignored. All because of some conservative, religious values being placed from one generation onto another, when all the rules had changed and those values were no longer relevant. It is the responsibility of the parents and the educators to EDUCATE and help move the next generation into the future with the guidance of information.
With all the intelligence that humans possess and the extreme abilities that they are discovering, why is it that the prior generations are still fucking up the new ones with their archaic values, stubbornness, and vanity? And then each generation spends their life trying to get over all of the issues that were being piled on them by their mentors and educators during the most formative years of their life? And any educator that tries to step in and be honest about reality with children ends up being banished from the education system. It all seems really fucking backwards to me.
All i'm saying is: rather than ignore, educate.
Hailey
I watched a news story the other day about 'sexting' which is, as you can probably guess, sending sexy texts. Though not really texts at all, but picture messages. I mean, with a new communication technology, of course sex will find it's way in there. We are sexual beings, starting at our conception. Each of us started with an orgasm (in exception with those 'science babies'). I think this is perfectly normal. And it is perfectly normal for children and teens, in exploring their own sexualities (with each-other, mind you), to explore their budding sexualities through the most accessible and least-controlled contemporary communication technology: cell phones.
Kids have cell phones these days as early as age nine, because parents want to be able to get ahold of their kids. But in that, these children are set free with this device that can text and take pictures and send pictures, but they're not given any tools with which to be safe, smart, and polite with them. Kids text during class, at the dinner table, late at night, early in the morning. My 17-year-old cousin must send over a hundred texts a day (when I've visited her family, i hear the text alert every couple minutes for the entirety of the time i'm in the vicinity, and I assume it carries on after I'm not.)
What upset me about this story is that these children are being charged with CHILD PORNOGRAPHY! An 18 year-old boy had a naked picture of his 16 year-old girlfriend (they were high-school sweethearts and had been together for two years) and he got caught with this image in his phone (how he was 'caught' was unclear to me). He is was charged as a child pornographer, expelled from school, had his computer taken away, and is now a convicted sex offender. His life is now ruined because he was not taught how to be smart with his celly. This is a great tragedy.
There was another girl who had been caught with a naked image that she had taken of herself when she was twelve, which was about three years prior, and was being charged with child pornography. These children are made to think that they're doing something wrong, that they are bad people making bad, dirty, evil mistakes, when they're only going through their own processes of self-discovery with the tools that are being given to them.
Why is it in western civilization, when there is a problem or an ailment or frustration...only the symptoms are treated. And when you only treat the symptoms, the problem stays, it just treats the surface of the problem.
I don't think the problem is that children are exploring their sexuality with technology. It has always happened and will always happen. It just so happens that the newer technologies are more expansive, and it is possible for these images that are taken in the privacy of ones own home, can be hacked and intercepted by anyone with the skills, world-wide. And children are not taught cell-phone safety or etiquette.
This is an exact repeat of the mistake of teaching abstinence in schools, which lead to: AIDS. After AIDS, the topic of sex-education could no longer be ignored. All because of some conservative, religious values being placed from one generation onto another, when all the rules had changed and those values were no longer relevant. It is the responsibility of the parents and the educators to EDUCATE and help move the next generation into the future with the guidance of information.
With all the intelligence that humans possess and the extreme abilities that they are discovering, why is it that the prior generations are still fucking up the new ones with their archaic values, stubbornness, and vanity? And then each generation spends their life trying to get over all of the issues that were being piled on them by their mentors and educators during the most formative years of their life? And any educator that tries to step in and be honest about reality with children ends up being banished from the education system. It all seems really fucking backwards to me.
All i'm saying is: rather than ignore, educate.
Hailey
Thursday, March 26, 2009
back-log blog
This is my new blog on the intronet. And these are some postings from my myspace blog that i've been keeping for years. I just wanted to start this blog off with some back-log. Some are funny, some are wierd, some are dramatic. etc.
h
-------------------
My heart
is slowly
splitting in two
and i
just so happened
to have run out of glue
--------------------
Creativity
I made a whale out of Tshirt scraps and stuffed with Tshirt scraps. His name is Whale-bur. He has a polka-dotted tail. He probably has family down by the bay (where the watermelon grows). I am in love with him.
we all need love, right? And my chosen love is a small but weighted representation of an ancient species on their deathbed. Whales are like the giant turtle in the Neverending Story. And they are sick, and sneezing all up in the oceans (because someone decided that plastic would be a better food source for the sea, but forgot to send out any informational pamphlets on the subject and so no one knows how to metabolize the stuff)
If any of you scientists out there get a minute, maybe you could get that pamphlet together? There's templates on the internet. It could be very helpful and i'm sure greatly appreciated (plastic is growing in popularity among various fish and bird gourmet. Out with phytoplankton, in with photodegrading bottlecaps!) Maybe a recipe book is in order? Grab your slickers, there's gonna be a brainstorm.
i wonder why those weight-losing program ads always use foods like pizza, hamburgers, noodles, brownies, ice cream...which are not foods you should associate with health. I mean, they're good as a treat, but not as a diet. So it keeps people in unhealthy eating patterns stuck in those same patterns. It's marketed to fail. I guess that's how they keep the checks rolling in. There's a Weight Watchers ad on my myspace page, and it has a big slice of greasy peperoni pizza on a plate, with the words FREEDOM. FLEXIBILITY. WEIGHT LOSS 'with a plan that fits your life'. So it keeps people behaving the same, thinking the same, patterning the same. If you want to make changes in your life, how does it make sense to keep everything the same?
change is inevitable
which is comforting.
but it's impossible to see what we're looking at
which is unnerving.
We must look to creativity for guidance
Hailey Gaiser
---------------------
Stardust, A Self Portrait
we were all born together, at once. More than scientific theory, I know this to be true in my cells. My cells know this to be true. Every time some knowledge bomb gets dropped, or some kind of earth-shattering piece of information makes it through my skin in vibrations, translated by the tiny vibration-translators inside my skull, just outside my brain, my cells send a shock-wave of tremendous shivers all throughout my body...from toes to the tips of my curly follicles...letting me know how real it is. It's so obvious.
but I digress.
I would like to take a trip back to my birth. Not MY birth, exactly, but the birth of the greater me. The US. I'm not exactly sure how it happened (it gets a little fuzzy looking back so far), but my earliest memory that is clear is a massive supernova. The supernova sent out dust and gas expanding outward faster than anything we can possibly comprehend, silent as an empty room. As silent as the moment before you get a call informing you a loved one has died. As silent as the moment after you say something you regret. A silence that would give off the impression of stillness, were you not paying attention. These star particles had no particular place to be, and so continued to travel through space exponentially. But all that time moving outward, they began to develop their own little tiny gravities and like magnets began to gravitate toward each-other. Forming little bits of carbon, H2O ice, iron, and other such popular members of the ever-reliable periodic table. Eventually, these bits would grow and grow and grow to the size of moons, then small planets. Then those bits started crashing into each other and coagulating cooperatively.
With the right combination of elements and alien water molecules to harbor biologic development, things began to change. Cells learned how to clone while DNA's memory for mistakes encouraged evolution. Sea creatures got a taste for more terrestrial delicacies, and species developed extremely complex symbiotic relationships.
We were all trying to figure out how to stay alive in this hot and harsh place in which we had incarnated. Light from stars that had long since died shone on our fatal follies and savage triumphs.
My blood remembers all this, but it's hard for my brain to translate, so if I get some details a little fuzzy or even fabricated--write a letter to my dreams. The address is;
:
:
:
please leave no return address, as interdimensional mail service requires none.
h.
---------------------
i wish i could remember every face i've ever fallen in love with, so that i could paint them on 3x5 cards that i would use to line my hope chest. and then every time i opened it, my stomach would leap up and give my heart a high-5. I would reminisce with them all the fluttering and twisting that went along with such perfect lines. I would memorize each curve and angle, all the shadows and light that turn my nerves to cannons. and remember how lucky i have been.
--------------------
i make
rocky pirate ship mountains
of sandy beaches
the caged bird committed suicide
with a dirty martini and a cigarette
$8.95 plus racial slurs
to kill the light before
it could dim
-------------------
Miscellaneous fortunes have been landing in front of me like fallen rocks. Right when I think i'm putting too much trust in myself and life and i'm really screwed this time, the sky opens and fortune gets my hair wet. I start to lose track of the path because i've been on it so long that i forget that it's even a path that i'm walking on. It's like saying a word over and over again, and its meaning trickles away. Like walking up stairs until you start to doubt if your legs will keep lifting you up. That next step might never come. Then you get to where you were going and realize why you were going there in the first place.
and it all seems so magical. The navigation of life is one of my favorite games. Even when it sucks and I don't want to play anymore. Cuz I know something REALLY good is gonna happen soon and I don't want to miss it.
Today Eric told me that scientists are turning light into matter and back into light again.
Light=energy. matter=energy. we're just a bunch of vibrating particles. We are constantly moving at an atomic level. If we can turn light into matter, and matter is everything and our source of light has a reliable couple more billion years in it... think about what we could do!!
this is very exciting news. especially for the state of affairs we're in (resources being tapped, species dying away, humans piling on top of eachother and poisoning themselves, dot dot dot)
I understand this study is very mollecular at this point. There is no PB+J replicator on the holodeck. But technological evolution (synonymous with OUR evolution) is spiralling up so fast that anything can happen now! Fiction is disappearing. The lines are all blurring. I love the future. It's so beautiful and amazing and grotesque and confusing and enlightening.
(thank god for my friends. my cup runneth over)
I love that music is starting to sound more and more like electromagnetic pulses and electricity (which sound like nerves firing and the voices of aiiens [which sounds like insects chirping and the atom bomb]).
I love that fashion designers are starting to work with found materials, and the remodification of prefabricated clothes is just as popular (if not more, amongst the young) than working from scratch. The appropriation and deconstruction/reconstruction of 'trash' (unwanted objects, materials, etc.) is SO IMPORTANT. There exhists so much on this planet already to be worked with. supporting "new" is just feeding the machine. The industrial revolution is over. We are a part of the ANTI-Industrial Revolution
What's "NEW" is no longer new. It is new to work with the old. To kill the machine, we have to starve it. It feeds on the resources of people. People who willingly enslave themselves to stuffandthings. It seems like they do it to build their perfect pod to live, breed, and die in. A perfect pod with entertainment, comfort, and convenience. Perhaps they're preparing themselves for space.
homes are, after all, getting smaller. People are all just getting ready to spend their months sitting down watching a screen in space for lightyears enroute to the next available homestead.
However it goes, i'm into it.
h
----------------
i'm about to hop on my rocket ship and head straight into the sunset. After I pass through the sunset, i hope to transcend (or "bend" as it were) to some other location on the great fabric of exhistance. I might just bend through the earth and land, belly-up, in the middle of some dance floor in Berlin. There could be a flash of light, and then utter darkness, as I bend and stretch for all eternity into a black hole (as it slows time down to almost stillness, unfortunately for me). In that time frame, I won't be 27 for another billion or so years! I don't want to wait a billion years for my steak dinner and trip to the Exploratorium.
I am obsessed with the idea of finding a crop circle in Ireland while i'm there. Maybe I can communicate telepathically with the leader of the spacefleet. But what if I accidentally contact the house chef instead? Or the pilot. Or the house slut.
Approaching another apex of yet another cycle, but I can't tell if i'm right side up or upside down. I'll go ask gravity.
It's a fabulous day for a joint and a vicodin. don't mind if i do.
HG
-----------------
I am standing on a mountain in the center of my galaxy, which is oblong in the universe and has its own microbial dial. There's no atmosphere, so it's hard to breathe, but I don't find it to be cold. Anyway, I remembered to bring a sweater on my little journey into space. I brought my favorite sweater and a pack of Now and Later's. I'm eating one now, and i'll save one for later. I don't even like candy, so why i brought it will stay in the house mystery file until it is solved.
[Currently in said FILE is as follows:
1. who was snoring in the bathroom for 4 hours last tuesday?
2. where did the purple gangster singing frog out back come from?
3. why did someone leave ski boots in the twins' room?
the file is in constant influx, and is currently awaiting actualization via documenting]
There was a message sent to my inbox that was just a geometrically perfect sphere, with four other spheres on its square (also perfect). I recognized the image as being depressed in the middle of a corn field in Wilkshire, England in 2005 (a heavy year for such formations). The image was its own language and made me feel at peace. I think it was the perfection of each curve. I knew that if i measured each curve and each line in relationship to each other, no mathematical formula would go incomplete. They would each equal the exact ratio in which they must in order to achieve perfection.
More and more of these messages keep appearing; in my dreams, in the sky. A colossal translucent orb appeared before I awoke for a morning Philz. It had a face that resembled the wizard from Oz, and I feared its capabilities. I have no comprehension of such technology, and I know that i'm not ready to.
the last time i remember feeling like this was climbing toward the peak of a mushroom trip, surrounded by human podules and colorful lights, originating from where I imagine was some kind of a space ship.
I would hope they have a plush interior. It's really hard to travel and fold through space and time if you don't have a comfy seat. I would imagine, anyway. Unless the trip is instant, of course, and then it wouldn't matter so much.
My return vessel is approaching, and I have to prepare myself molecularly. I'm still getting the hang of this whole thing, so I hope I don't do something dramatically wrong and stretch into oblivion via some black hole/worm hole type space anomaly.
tell Nasa i'm waiting for my documents. It's been 3 weeks now and i need them for phase 6 of the mission.
H
------------------------
I was sanding this wall today, and then another wall, and another...and then the ceiling, and another ceiling, and then the floor moulding....and i got to thinkin. I got to thinkin about the universe and the celebrity. I got to wonderin...has Brooke Shields ever caulked a crack? Has Justin Timberlake ever smoothed a bulge? Have Ashley and Mary-Kate ever had to wipe a wet towel over a dusty wood? I doubt it. And if they did, it was under a COMPLETELY different context than the one i now speaketh of. And by that, i mean it was probably pornographic, not manual laboric.
I mention these things because I have decided to change my career path, halfway down the road. I guess it would be more comparable to changing my direction before I ever left the driveway. Or the garage. Or even the house, for that matter. I've decided that my girthy arms have chosen a path for me. And this is the path of labor ready. The path of manual penence. The path of the ultimate bicep. And my, what a bicep it is (I say biceP instead of bicePTS because I am brutally right handed and as the work moves through the days, time tells it's tale by the obviously assymetrical form of my body. If it were to be described, perhaps an image of the elephant man comes to mind? One profile resembles an early-20s Arnold Schwarzenegger, while the other more of a late teens Crispin Glover.
I must, at last, return to the glorious monotony of the daily grind (my lunch break has ended). I am so over art that the mere thought of it makes me want to vomit profusely in a very uncompositional manner.
but good colors, nonetheless
haileyg
-----------------
I'm in an opium den with electric currents carrying motivators. I'm painting a mural, sewing a space suit, building a pair of ass-pants, and finding time in-between to move forward with my jedi training.
I want to buy a farrah fawcet wig. a lucille ball wig. a geisha wig.
moon boots, snow shoes, flip-flops
the wave is coming! The big one that is going to crash my world to the ground, forcing me to start all over again. Fires destroy forests for the same reasons. There are so many little fighting buds suffocated by how comfortable i am. So much of this heartbreaking potential.
to youth!
-----------------
i'm on the edge of a crashing wave, riding it (and waiting) like standing at the top of an escalator in my dreams that declines faster than I can fall. I'm waiting for the wave to find land, and to toss me to my destination. After I dust myself off (and clean the seaweed out of my hair) i can grow some shallow roots and maybe get a job or paint someone's wall. I could get a bedroom set and perhaps some matching curtains to pin ribbons to.
I crawled out of the rabbit hole and it's hard to make sense of the real world. I'm so used to bright colors and dancing walruses that the city seems so drab. But all that time away has swelled my ass and made my fingers floppy. And the pressure change from pulling my head out of the clouds has given me the bends. But I have a strong heart and a strong back, so i'm sure i'll recover.
psychological adjustment, however...
that's a whole other story.
------------------------
(this is an email i wrote to noah a long time ago. i thought it was funny)
I'm on my way to an intergalactic ninja battle station. i'm to level four now and it's very stressful. I've been training nonstop and i think i pulled a hamstring when I was doing the double 9 triple star thrower kick. fuck, it sucks. My sensei says that I need to focus more and stop eating doritos before training, but I don't have the heart to tell him that it's my secret. without the ninja-fighting power of msg, I would be nothing. I would be no more amazing at intergalactic space fighting than a common art student (no offense). The last time I was at the station, they had free pizza, and I'm hoping they will this time, too. It's kind of a 'last meal' gesture because we DO fight to the death, and you never know when someone's gonna slip up.
when you make it to level four (there's only 10 levels) that's when it gets gritty. I lost a toe last time and had to have some secret scientist in omaha grow me a new one on the back of a mouse. So it's kind of hairy now. But I need my toe for balance, so it had to be done.
I'm writing you now from the shuttle space pod (there's now internet service! for only 5$ extra, i can email whoever I want AND surf the web!)
My prayers are big and my hopes are shifting regarding the long haul ahead of me. If my next email is cryptic and unreadable, know that I have lost my mind and it will only get worse. Don't cry for me, i'm already dead (so to speak).
know that I will always remember you, in some way. be it smell, or the sound you made with your mouth when you chew. I will still have my sense of smell.
I hope the normal life is treating you well.
we're always looking for ninja's, if you tire of "art-making"
Love you dearly
Samurai hailey
-------------------------
h
-------------------
My heart
is slowly
splitting in two
and i
just so happened
to have run out of glue
--------------------
Creativity
I made a whale out of Tshirt scraps and stuffed with Tshirt scraps. His name is Whale-bur. He has a polka-dotted tail. He probably has family down by the bay (where the watermelon grows). I am in love with him.
we all need love, right? And my chosen love is a small but weighted representation of an ancient species on their deathbed. Whales are like the giant turtle in the Neverending Story. And they are sick, and sneezing all up in the oceans (because someone decided that plastic would be a better food source for the sea, but forgot to send out any informational pamphlets on the subject and so no one knows how to metabolize the stuff)
If any of you scientists out there get a minute, maybe you could get that pamphlet together? There's templates on the internet. It could be very helpful and i'm sure greatly appreciated (plastic is growing in popularity among various fish and bird gourmet. Out with phytoplankton, in with photodegrading bottlecaps!) Maybe a recipe book is in order? Grab your slickers, there's gonna be a brainstorm.
i wonder why those weight-losing program ads always use foods like pizza, hamburgers, noodles, brownies, ice cream...which are not foods you should associate with health. I mean, they're good as a treat, but not as a diet. So it keeps people in unhealthy eating patterns stuck in those same patterns. It's marketed to fail. I guess that's how they keep the checks rolling in. There's a Weight Watchers ad on my myspace page, and it has a big slice of greasy peperoni pizza on a plate, with the words FREEDOM. FLEXIBILITY. WEIGHT LOSS 'with a plan that fits your life'. So it keeps people behaving the same, thinking the same, patterning the same. If you want to make changes in your life, how does it make sense to keep everything the same?
change is inevitable
which is comforting.
but it's impossible to see what we're looking at
which is unnerving.
We must look to creativity for guidance
Hailey Gaiser
---------------------
Stardust, A Self Portrait
we were all born together, at once. More than scientific theory, I know this to be true in my cells. My cells know this to be true. Every time some knowledge bomb gets dropped, or some kind of earth-shattering piece of information makes it through my skin in vibrations, translated by the tiny vibration-translators inside my skull, just outside my brain, my cells send a shock-wave of tremendous shivers all throughout my body...from toes to the tips of my curly follicles...letting me know how real it is. It's so obvious.
but I digress.
I would like to take a trip back to my birth. Not MY birth, exactly, but the birth of the greater me. The US. I'm not exactly sure how it happened (it gets a little fuzzy looking back so far), but my earliest memory that is clear is a massive supernova. The supernova sent out dust and gas expanding outward faster than anything we can possibly comprehend, silent as an empty room. As silent as the moment before you get a call informing you a loved one has died. As silent as the moment after you say something you regret. A silence that would give off the impression of stillness, were you not paying attention. These star particles had no particular place to be, and so continued to travel through space exponentially. But all that time moving outward, they began to develop their own little tiny gravities and like magnets began to gravitate toward each-other. Forming little bits of carbon, H2O ice, iron, and other such popular members of the ever-reliable periodic table. Eventually, these bits would grow and grow and grow to the size of moons, then small planets. Then those bits started crashing into each other and coagulating cooperatively.
With the right combination of elements and alien water molecules to harbor biologic development, things began to change. Cells learned how to clone while DNA's memory for mistakes encouraged evolution. Sea creatures got a taste for more terrestrial delicacies, and species developed extremely complex symbiotic relationships.
We were all trying to figure out how to stay alive in this hot and harsh place in which we had incarnated. Light from stars that had long since died shone on our fatal follies and savage triumphs.
My blood remembers all this, but it's hard for my brain to translate, so if I get some details a little fuzzy or even fabricated--write a letter to my dreams. The address is;
:
:
:
please leave no return address, as interdimensional mail service requires none.
h.
---------------------
i wish i could remember every face i've ever fallen in love with, so that i could paint them on 3x5 cards that i would use to line my hope chest. and then every time i opened it, my stomach would leap up and give my heart a high-5. I would reminisce with them all the fluttering and twisting that went along with such perfect lines. I would memorize each curve and angle, all the shadows and light that turn my nerves to cannons. and remember how lucky i have been.
--------------------
i make
rocky pirate ship mountains
of sandy beaches
the caged bird committed suicide
with a dirty martini and a cigarette
$8.95 plus racial slurs
to kill the light before
it could dim
-------------------
Miscellaneous fortunes have been landing in front of me like fallen rocks. Right when I think i'm putting too much trust in myself and life and i'm really screwed this time, the sky opens and fortune gets my hair wet. I start to lose track of the path because i've been on it so long that i forget that it's even a path that i'm walking on. It's like saying a word over and over again, and its meaning trickles away. Like walking up stairs until you start to doubt if your legs will keep lifting you up. That next step might never come. Then you get to where you were going and realize why you were going there in the first place.
and it all seems so magical. The navigation of life is one of my favorite games. Even when it sucks and I don't want to play anymore. Cuz I know something REALLY good is gonna happen soon and I don't want to miss it.
Today Eric told me that scientists are turning light into matter and back into light again.
Light=energy. matter=energy. we're just a bunch of vibrating particles. We are constantly moving at an atomic level. If we can turn light into matter, and matter is everything and our source of light has a reliable couple more billion years in it... think about what we could do!!
this is very exciting news. especially for the state of affairs we're in (resources being tapped, species dying away, humans piling on top of eachother and poisoning themselves, dot dot dot)
I understand this study is very mollecular at this point. There is no PB+J replicator on the holodeck. But technological evolution (synonymous with OUR evolution) is spiralling up so fast that anything can happen now! Fiction is disappearing. The lines are all blurring. I love the future. It's so beautiful and amazing and grotesque and confusing and enlightening.
(thank god for my friends. my cup runneth over)
I love that music is starting to sound more and more like electromagnetic pulses and electricity (which sound like nerves firing and the voices of aiiens [which sounds like insects chirping and the atom bomb]).
I love that fashion designers are starting to work with found materials, and the remodification of prefabricated clothes is just as popular (if not more, amongst the young) than working from scratch. The appropriation and deconstruction/reconstruction of 'trash' (unwanted objects, materials, etc.) is SO IMPORTANT. There exhists so much on this planet already to be worked with. supporting "new" is just feeding the machine. The industrial revolution is over. We are a part of the ANTI-Industrial Revolution
What's "NEW" is no longer new. It is new to work with the old. To kill the machine, we have to starve it. It feeds on the resources of people. People who willingly enslave themselves to stuffandthings. It seems like they do it to build their perfect pod to live, breed, and die in. A perfect pod with entertainment, comfort, and convenience. Perhaps they're preparing themselves for space.
homes are, after all, getting smaller. People are all just getting ready to spend their months sitting down watching a screen in space for lightyears enroute to the next available homestead.
However it goes, i'm into it.
h
----------------
i'm about to hop on my rocket ship and head straight into the sunset. After I pass through the sunset, i hope to transcend (or "bend" as it were) to some other location on the great fabric of exhistance. I might just bend through the earth and land, belly-up, in the middle of some dance floor in Berlin. There could be a flash of light, and then utter darkness, as I bend and stretch for all eternity into a black hole (as it slows time down to almost stillness, unfortunately for me). In that time frame, I won't be 27 for another billion or so years! I don't want to wait a billion years for my steak dinner and trip to the Exploratorium.
I am obsessed with the idea of finding a crop circle in Ireland while i'm there. Maybe I can communicate telepathically with the leader of the spacefleet. But what if I accidentally contact the house chef instead? Or the pilot. Or the house slut.
Approaching another apex of yet another cycle, but I can't tell if i'm right side up or upside down. I'll go ask gravity.
It's a fabulous day for a joint and a vicodin. don't mind if i do.
HG
-----------------
I am standing on a mountain in the center of my galaxy, which is oblong in the universe and has its own microbial dial. There's no atmosphere, so it's hard to breathe, but I don't find it to be cold. Anyway, I remembered to bring a sweater on my little journey into space. I brought my favorite sweater and a pack of Now and Later's. I'm eating one now, and i'll save one for later. I don't even like candy, so why i brought it will stay in the house mystery file until it is solved.
[Currently in said FILE is as follows:
1. who was snoring in the bathroom for 4 hours last tuesday?
2. where did the purple gangster singing frog out back come from?
3. why did someone leave ski boots in the twins' room?
the file is in constant influx, and is currently awaiting actualization via documenting]
There was a message sent to my inbox that was just a geometrically perfect sphere, with four other spheres on its square (also perfect). I recognized the image as being depressed in the middle of a corn field in Wilkshire, England in 2005 (a heavy year for such formations). The image was its own language and made me feel at peace. I think it was the perfection of each curve. I knew that if i measured each curve and each line in relationship to each other, no mathematical formula would go incomplete. They would each equal the exact ratio in which they must in order to achieve perfection.
More and more of these messages keep appearing; in my dreams, in the sky. A colossal translucent orb appeared before I awoke for a morning Philz. It had a face that resembled the wizard from Oz, and I feared its capabilities. I have no comprehension of such technology, and I know that i'm not ready to.
the last time i remember feeling like this was climbing toward the peak of a mushroom trip, surrounded by human podules and colorful lights, originating from where I imagine was some kind of a space ship.
I would hope they have a plush interior. It's really hard to travel and fold through space and time if you don't have a comfy seat. I would imagine, anyway. Unless the trip is instant, of course, and then it wouldn't matter so much.
My return vessel is approaching, and I have to prepare myself molecularly. I'm still getting the hang of this whole thing, so I hope I don't do something dramatically wrong and stretch into oblivion via some black hole/worm hole type space anomaly.
tell Nasa i'm waiting for my documents. It's been 3 weeks now and i need them for phase 6 of the mission.
H
------------------------
I was sanding this wall today, and then another wall, and another...and then the ceiling, and another ceiling, and then the floor moulding....and i got to thinkin. I got to thinkin about the universe and the celebrity. I got to wonderin...has Brooke Shields ever caulked a crack? Has Justin Timberlake ever smoothed a bulge? Have Ashley and Mary-Kate ever had to wipe a wet towel over a dusty wood? I doubt it. And if they did, it was under a COMPLETELY different context than the one i now speaketh of. And by that, i mean it was probably pornographic, not manual laboric.
I mention these things because I have decided to change my career path, halfway down the road. I guess it would be more comparable to changing my direction before I ever left the driveway. Or the garage. Or even the house, for that matter. I've decided that my girthy arms have chosen a path for me. And this is the path of labor ready. The path of manual penence. The path of the ultimate bicep. And my, what a bicep it is (I say biceP instead of bicePTS because I am brutally right handed and as the work moves through the days, time tells it's tale by the obviously assymetrical form of my body. If it were to be described, perhaps an image of the elephant man comes to mind? One profile resembles an early-20s Arnold Schwarzenegger, while the other more of a late teens Crispin Glover.
I must, at last, return to the glorious monotony of the daily grind (my lunch break has ended). I am so over art that the mere thought of it makes me want to vomit profusely in a very uncompositional manner.
but good colors, nonetheless
haileyg
-----------------
I'm in an opium den with electric currents carrying motivators. I'm painting a mural, sewing a space suit, building a pair of ass-pants, and finding time in-between to move forward with my jedi training.
I want to buy a farrah fawcet wig. a lucille ball wig. a geisha wig.
moon boots, snow shoes, flip-flops
the wave is coming! The big one that is going to crash my world to the ground, forcing me to start all over again. Fires destroy forests for the same reasons. There are so many little fighting buds suffocated by how comfortable i am. So much of this heartbreaking potential.
to youth!
-----------------
i'm on the edge of a crashing wave, riding it (and waiting) like standing at the top of an escalator in my dreams that declines faster than I can fall. I'm waiting for the wave to find land, and to toss me to my destination. After I dust myself off (and clean the seaweed out of my hair) i can grow some shallow roots and maybe get a job or paint someone's wall. I could get a bedroom set and perhaps some matching curtains to pin ribbons to.
I crawled out of the rabbit hole and it's hard to make sense of the real world. I'm so used to bright colors and dancing walruses that the city seems so drab. But all that time away has swelled my ass and made my fingers floppy. And the pressure change from pulling my head out of the clouds has given me the bends. But I have a strong heart and a strong back, so i'm sure i'll recover.
psychological adjustment, however...
that's a whole other story.
------------------------
(this is an email i wrote to noah a long time ago. i thought it was funny)
I'm on my way to an intergalactic ninja battle station. i'm to level four now and it's very stressful. I've been training nonstop and i think i pulled a hamstring when I was doing the double 9 triple star thrower kick. fuck, it sucks. My sensei says that I need to focus more and stop eating doritos before training, but I don't have the heart to tell him that it's my secret. without the ninja-fighting power of msg, I would be nothing. I would be no more amazing at intergalactic space fighting than a common art student (no offense). The last time I was at the station, they had free pizza, and I'm hoping they will this time, too. It's kind of a 'last meal' gesture because we DO fight to the death, and you never know when someone's gonna slip up.
when you make it to level four (there's only 10 levels) that's when it gets gritty. I lost a toe last time and had to have some secret scientist in omaha grow me a new one on the back of a mouse. So it's kind of hairy now. But I need my toe for balance, so it had to be done.
I'm writing you now from the shuttle space pod (there's now internet service! for only 5$ extra, i can email whoever I want AND surf the web!)
My prayers are big and my hopes are shifting regarding the long haul ahead of me. If my next email is cryptic and unreadable, know that I have lost my mind and it will only get worse. Don't cry for me, i'm already dead (so to speak).
know that I will always remember you, in some way. be it smell, or the sound you made with your mouth when you chew. I will still have my sense of smell.
I hope the normal life is treating you well.
we're always looking for ninja's, if you tire of "art-making"
Love you dearly
Samurai hailey
-------------------------
I had this fucked up dream last night. I was staying in this house with all these different people (some of them being played by famous actors--like jack nickolson) and they kept turning up dead. There was a shed out back and there were a few people that kept killing everybody. We were whiddling down to a strong few. All I really remember about it was that I was all pissed off that they kept putting the dead bodies (some with severed heads, some just bloody from stabs) on my bed, and getting my PILLOWCASES ALL BLOODY! I just remember thinking how 'that's not gonna come out, can't you just keep them in the shed?'
eventually i ended up in ireland looking for a cottage to stay in, and ended up on a raft with a dog bed on it on some lake. I remember being stressed out that my accent was a dead giveaway for an american. No one would accept me.
I really hope i get a residency soon. My life is killing me (ironic as that sounds)
I miss carving into a clean, though perhaps scratched and warped, copper plate. I want to work on a copper plate the size of a DOOR! and just etch the shit out of that thing! oman that would be so awesome. There should be a haiku about printmakers
printmaker paper
carving on a copper plate
I can't afford it
------------------------
i have not long to write for i am in the middle of the Great Mountains and have found refuge in a seemingly-safe cave. The ceiling is low and the stench is high, but there happened to be an internet terminal (luck has shined its face again!) and a coffee bar, so for the moment I am content. I know not when the occupants of this cave may return, so i must make this brief and to the point.
the bruscetta is a bit dry and the coffee a little bitter, but luckily there are sugar packets and i am not too picky. It has been 3 days and three nights since i've tasted the magic of fresh pastries and clear mint-infused water with a squeeze of lime zest. I don't know how much longer I can survive this way. It is starting to make me hallucinate.
I am beginning to think that it is god's will for me to travel and scour alone along this dreary and unforgiving landscape. Not once but twice have I had to sit on hard stone, without a pillow or softie for my tender tush. And there are no ATM machines up here in the desolate wild for me to make a withdraw. And even if i did, there would be nowhere to spend...alas!
But I am keeping my spirits high with the help of some "uppers" that I made sure to stash in my butt before embarking on this long journey, and I am patting myself on the back for that quite over-zealously (the spot that I repeatedly pat is beginning to rub raw. I really need to think of another way of congratulating myself)
soon, i fear, i must leave. i don't know how or when i will ever see any of you ever ag.....oh shit....i hear something........it looks like...AHH!!
p.s. my plants need watered and my baby needs sexed, so if anyone can find the time in their busy schedule to "lend a helping hand" it would be much appreciated
H.
-------------------
I seriously need to post some video of my true life story. My true life story is seriously lacking press coverage. I need a candy bar named after the cold sore that i have on my face. I need a clothing line based on my choices of hygiene. I most definately need a scent that is made to smell the way the inside of my lower intestine smells. And then title it something witty and put it on the shelves. THIS IS THE REAL LIFE it will read. or YOU THINK YOU'RE PRETTY NOW, WAIT'LL YOU TRY THIS STUFF! or something equally as misleading and stupid.
i want a burrito.
my band (HUH-UH) is playing a show at the Funhouse on Sunday and i don't really feel ready but i'm sure it will be fine because the venue will be packed with daydrunks who have been working on a buzz since noon. We play at 7. do the math.
i'll probably be one of them. maybe not. i can't predict the future anymore. I got hit on the head by a semi truck and have since forgotten even where I put my car keys. And even my car.
in fact, i don't even know if i own a car. That's how bad it's gotten.
these blogs that i write are really stupid. but maybe that's the point of art. that there isn't one. or that it's stupid...
leave a message and i'll call you back.
i will be starring in my own sitcom soon called "hailey makes cookies" and the whole series is me in different episodes in different outfits and different hair colors making different batches of different kinds of cookies.
lemon drop.chocolate chip.sugar.gingerbread.gingersnap.mint chip. lemon merangue
and sometimes i burn them, sometimes i don't. sometimes i've got shit smeared down the back of my nightie, sometimes i don't. The attention is all payed to the details. Seemingly, it's the exact same episode over and over again. same script. same blocking. same camera angles. It's in the details that we (you) find meaning. hair color. shit stains. cum stains. length of skirt. height of socks. whether or not the socks match.
the buttons on my lapel. who calls me on the fone. whether or not i speak to them in a condescending, compassionate, or coy manner. whether or not i invite them over for cookies.
the shape of the cookies. little houses. little pumpkins. little penises. little buggies. little bugs. pederast.
anyway, the show will be airing soon, so keep your radio dialed (it's a radio show, didn't i tell you? i do all my own stunts.)
also, my dog died.
i loved that goddamn dog.
damn you, fluffy!
DAMN YOU!!
--------------------
so i decided to become a scientologist. i don't wear underwear anymore. i forfeit all of my assets, my money, and my body to the church. i've decided to become an invalid. or a parapalegic. i'm definately going to become an alcoholic. or at least a pill junky. dammit i want to be interesting too! i called Mary-Kate Olsen today and she didn't answer the fone. again. she never answers the fone when i call. i'm calling her right now....ringing....ringing....no answer. ringing...ringing...ringing............................no answer. i think that there are at least one hundred dollars in my bank account and that makes me a valuable citizen. i deleted everything on my hard drive today and started over. this is symbolic. buddha would have done the same thing if he was practicing in 21st century united states art school. i think i'm going to get drunk tonight. so drunk i might fall down. or yell at a stranger.or sing at the top of my lungs to a home bum. or run and jump on a ledge and fall and skin my knee and then wake up tomorrow and be like...'did you hit me?' to whoever is in the room. and then not believe them when they say "hailey, dude, i wasn't even with you last night. remember? i was here. eating an egg sandwhich" or whatever. i don't know what's gonna happen! i can't predict the future! (i'm beginner scientologist. that is for the more advanced ones.)
--------------------------
i'm currently etching 2 plates, one with michael jackson on it. the other with the elephant man. they look strikingly similar when looked at in the right way. oh, how tragic tragic.
i wish to invite them to my birthday party. we may drink tea and sing songs. wear silly hats and CHEERS! to the new day! Michael will bring a puppy for all the little children of the world, and Joseph will bring a brand new sushi set. We'll sit in a circle on the floor, eating sushi rolls (flown direct that day from Japan) and drinking teas and wines (that we mashed up ourselves in the bathtub). nobody will be sad, and we'll all have balloons! and comfy slippers that gramma made. and pie. there'll be pie, too.
michael will wear a cape and superhero mask. joseph will wear a jogging suit with a sequined neck. and i'll wear a gold-lamay dress-suit with tapered legs and shoulder pads. and a giant black and red bowtie.
after tea and wine, we'll move to cakes and then after cakes we'll move to smokes.
after smokes we'll each read a chapter aloud from lord of the rings, and fall asleep together on the floor with all the billions of puppies.
----------------------------
blog rhymes with smog.
and smog is alliterative with city. and city rhymes with shitty. and smog smells kind of like shit...
i'm in school, i should be working on a paper that is about what i think women's future is in visual art...and it's such a vague, huge topic and i just don't know...where to start. there's so much to say and when one has so much to say, it's hard to say anything.
i just moved into a house, the basement, with two other people. and that's interesting. we'll see how it works out. sharing a room, sharing a bed. i'm reaching that time again when im just going crazy in life. i can't handle school, i can't handle home, i can't handle humans. it makes me all wierd and awkward and kind of sad, even. which people pick up on and then they want to know what's wrong, but they really don't. cuz if i started to tell them they'd change the subject or start telling me how to change the way i feel. and some things you just have to work through. some emotions you have to experience and then be through them instead of just changing them. or maybe i'm not eating enough...
whatever it is.i don't like it. maybe i just need an adjustment. chiropractic. maybe i need a million dollars. maybe i need my baby blanket back (it disappeared. left it at a friends house, went back to get it...and it was gone. so sad. )
maybe i need a lover. or a dog. or a cat. or an agent. a lawyer. a new house. a new city. a new haircut. a new pair of shoes. a drink. a smoke. a hit of weed.
maybe i need a life changing experience. a near-death experience. an acid trip. a hand massage. a kiss. a chocolate bar. a bath. a new book. a new face. new teeth. new glasses.
a dad. a sane mom. my family. a baby. a boyfriend. a girlfriend. a german 3some. a new fetish. a new bed. daily vitamins. a sushi set. an ottoman. a poposan.
someone to talk to. someone to listen. someone to feed me. someone to feed. someone to make me laugh. someone to tease. someone to climb rooftops and be illegal with. someone to share my new sushi set with.
someone who loves wasabi. who loves crispin glover. who hates people who hate michael jackson.
who likes me.
--------------------
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)