MemeTome

Katrina: God’s Judgment on America — Beliefnet.com

“The hurricane [Katrina] was an act of God upon a sin-loving and rebellious nation. It’s a warning–and a call to repent.”

This article, although written by one man, strikes me as wholly representative of the giant, faceless opposition that thinking, rational, knowledge-hungry humans are consistently up against. This is The Wall our generation must tackle, and tear down for good.

It is important to be continuously aware of the kinds of pocketed communities of humans that choose to dwell in such states of mental delusion; their collective hollow voices still chime of repention, aversion, regression, into a state of stagnation.

The rest of us are here, passionately existing, striving, moving, creating, thinking, marching, along side the god wall that should not exist. What does it take to free millions of minds?

One mind choosing to be free.

(Then another… and another…)

*B

Portrait of a City

Originally uploaded by brittanygardner.

Trying something new, I drew the city, then inverted the colors in Photoshop.

Interesting effect!

implement empathetic sigh in place of laughter when passing on bad news.

Today I set foot on the land of New World.
Rich fluffy soil, nice soft textured animals… the works. Minus the unfavorable tomatoes. Hold them, I always say. And it works; the works. Compensation. Conversation. Working hard to hold a discussion I do not feel is necessary. Please refrain. This is mind dump, must organize into pit of grievances. Remember, a resolution must be implemented in order to be proven effective. How to test a theoretical challenge to be practical, if not tested? Wait, nonsensical ramblings begin to spill.

Diving back into Bach, the classical composer. Music, Music, Muse of mine. Of my friend. She purchased the cd on my recommendation. Pleased, now aim for placement. Ouch, slapped with a ticket. Hit and run? Way too fast? No, not yet you silly one, a licence must be obtained first! Free

Lipstick face, darkened eyes
I see their scotch trickling down your chin
Now Doll, please reply
surely you understand the motives
and motifs
that paint questions I have asked?

I watch their dresses, over and over and over
tears and wine and the ashy spots
fears stained with ciggarettes

Surely, time will continue its toss
falling into stride with motion
Emote, before I flick you off. You Bore Me.
I have not said that to you before. I have never spat in your face the way they did.
You clank and scream about, longing
to touch the delicate little mysteries
of bells, of song,
Still, you perch behind me whispering memories in my ear
Oh god, I remember. You do not.
I’ll forgive you then, on Adam’s Eve
that you could not face the words I’d scrawled on your face.

And in my stead, the cheap posterettes and candy stores
their hollow trucks, your sleepless nights.
Go now, rest your head upon her shoulder
in hopes that you’ll wake

Tomorrow is friday.
(I glance at the clock, and note that, in fact, today is friday.)

(more…)

I throw around the word ‘perhaps’ a lot.
It adds a nice ring to an otherwise drowsy sentence brimming with implications and possible clauses.

“Perhaps I shall persue psychology”

If I were to leave the sentence bare of that intitial wish-washer, I would be left with something I would have to seriously adhere to, or discard entirely. It is far easier to dilute meaning and save myself the trouble.
So one thinks. (more…)

Typing this from mother’s laptop.

I must get myself a laptop… it’s settled.
Portability feels grand.

?So now my day was nice and slow. Bed myself late, and woke late in turn.
?I really have to go to the bathroom right now, but ?I am in a strange room in a strange house, and there is a broken key on this laptop which makes the ?question mark pop up quite often., and ?I do not feel like treking down the hall to find a bathroom. Do not want to be greeted by strangers.

??We stopped here because my mom wants to touch up before we hit a movie. We got dinner already which was okay, and we talked alot. We talked about talking…. conversations… engagement… not the marraige kind, but the kind that makes people connected in a conversation. ?So our conversation itself was kind of good for a bit. Authentic, and that. ?For a bit anyways. ?What is it with mothers… sometimes it is wierd to think that I have a mother at all; that I popped out of someone. Bizarre.

So anyways she should be finished her makeup soon, so I must quickly finish this and then ask where a washroom is located! I am positively squirming here and it is making me careless with my text phrasing and paragraph stylization!!

?Oh yes, ?I also went shopping today. (?Oh ?I figured out why that question mark keeps popping up, it is because the ?Shift key hits the question mark next to it when ?I click it. So I must be more careful) I bought a shirt and some hats. I like the idea of hats and ?I think that they are highly practical in cooler weather.

You know, this laptop has a better suited keyboard for me than my own computer. Size-wise I mean.

Chow

Painting up a storm.
Did a Bob Dylan portrait yesterday and started Greta Garbo today.

I’ll upload snapshots … once I find the digital camera!

The first painting since kindergarten was David Bowie a few months back after I splurged on a set of oil paints. Unfortunately I went of track and gave up because I ended up making him look awful. Second attempt was this wierd face with no reference… which I quite like, but my sister does not. Third painting was about a month ago when I found a lovely photo of Sharon Tate and attempted to recreate it. I stopped halfway through because I got bored, but it still looks okay. The last two (Dylan and Garbo) are looking alright and it is quite gratifying to see improvement in my technique!
Oil paints are quite lovely, but I would like to try acrylic soon.

I work the nightshift this evening which is always interesting. Last time I was treated to a set of bare bums pressed against the windows of the restaurant at 2:30am. Ah, art in its many forms.

Sometimes I think I am fine.
On some level, I know I must be.

I would like to have somebody to speak with. Real words, a real conversation. Not this crap that people fill and empty their mouths of.

“Oh did you see Nikki’s new dress? lyke OMG”

I have always been starved for true discussion. I thought that things would be easier as I got older. I thought I would meet other minds full of beauty and perspective. I longed to see other faces of people who knew, people who wanted to know. Yet as I sit here in a moment of reflection I am confronted with the realisation that in fact what I seek has become even more scarce and far-spread as I grow.

Not even intellect, this is not what I desire. I am starving for engagement. Smart ideas and well read words can be fine, but I want something else entirely. My ears perk up at even a hint of the kind of truth I am looking to share and discover and explore. It could be anything, anything at all, so long as it comes from the kind of depth of perception and cognition that houses truth and meaning. The kind of conversation that makes your mind dance and your blood flow. The kind of life-affirming exchange of ideas that makes my body tremble with energy and excitement.

Instead, Self-Deception. Everywhere.
People standing, people talking, people looking around, holding their bags and wallets and cards and food. “I said EXTRA mustard!” “Don’t TOUCH that, Annie!” “Get out of the left lane, asshole!”
I don’t care. But I wish it was different. I wish people had ideas. I want to stop biding my time. I don’t want to rest my mind. Everyone is rushing around, I used to envy the air of purpose. I want to be busy. I want to be tired. I want to feel motion. They have deadlines, speed limits, no time for work, no time for play, no time to live, no time to talk. “Hurry up! I have a plane to catch!” Slowly I discover that they don’t have a destination.

And so what could be my greatest joy is also the greatest sadness. I wish this world was ours. OURS, not theirs. I long to take it. I want to be touched by real hands. I want my ears to hear real words. I don’t want excuses and apologies. I want to create meaning! To witness it! To give birth to it.

To you who agrees, I love you. I wish this was your world.
In school I was told of Kinetic and Potential engery.
You sit idle, your beauty only in your potential. You have gained your meaning from this capacity.
“And we Fear and Hail the day he sets FIRE! Pheonix Rising.”
I want to hear your music. What would it sound like? Oh god, it would be outstanding.
“How did you find yourself here, of all places? In this tangled corner of the universe, suspended, motionless above it all, like a flame, paralyzed.”
I weep for what I will never see. Perhaps one day I shall free you. My payment will be our freedom.
I want to build the bridge. I can do what you can not. You, in your infinite beauty, are trapped. But I am not. I am here, choking, but only in image.
I am free, I am not a part of it. I will sing your songs, the ones that should have been yours. This should have been your world.
I am not you.
I love you.