chantico: (Spellbound)
Southland Tales if you are not familiar with the mythology that it is working with = stuff happens.
Southland Tales if you are = stuff hapens-- and why, how, for what purpose, and what happens afterward.

I need to watch that again, several times, after doing some reading. I'm not sure how I feel about that as a movie-- I think, in some ways, a piece of art can fail if you have to know a "secret" language to interperate it. On the other hand, that might very well be the point.

Whatever the case may be, I now know what I can say myself at any point I feel like shattering is despair:

I am A Pimp. And Pimps don't commit suicide.


Oct. 24th, 2007 11:36 pm
chantico: (Grateful)
Big update coming soon. For now, new art!

Communication )
chantico: (Adrift)
I firmly believe in the power of the human mind over matter, particularly our own fleshy bits. Unfortunatly, without massive psychic powers, there are some things insidious enough to slip past our notice until its too late to change them.

My brainmeats are the texture of rotten melons )
chantico: (Mellow)
My life doesn't feel as mundane as it's activities sound to be. Whenever someone asks me How are you doing? or What did you do today? I Can think of nothing of external interest to say . . . I read. I played Guitar Hero. I puttered around on the internet, did laundry, ate food and watched a movie. I painted a little bit and worried a lot and maybe worked out. I worked. This is my life currently-- a revolving door of everyday tasks and little markers of existence. The strange thing is, I don't feel particularly discontent with it, as shallow as it seems from the outside. I can't decide if this is a good thing-- that I've found some form of contentment with just living-- or a bad one. Contentment is nice; adventure makes for better stories in the long run, though far less happiness.

But right now, I don't think adventure is necessarily what I need. I'll have plenty of that in the coming fall, and beyond that, the growling of thunder on the horizon of my life that is graduation and Great Change. That storm is one I can't even contemplate right now; I still can't grasp Italy through shimmering of summer. Right now, routine and repetition are my joys, and more so my lessons. I'm realizing I grew up over the winter-- how the fuck did that happen? When did I suddenly become okay with the usual? More to the point, when did I realize that the usual is not the enemy-- and that it's time to learn from it with patience?

Monotony builds habit, and there are habits I need to develop. Spontaneity works best, I think, if there's a solid foundation for it to explode on top of. It's romantic to be a beautiful disaster, but it's wise to be a beautiful balancer. How am I going to go to Italy when I'm losing my debit card every week? When am I going to get a portfolio together and claim myself an artist, if I can't stop slacking and do some art? If I am such and amazon in mind, why can't my body reflect that?

It's the same struggle and battle I always have, just illuminated by new insight. And less a struggle . . . more of a gentle acceptance of fact. The image I have stuck in my head right now is of fields of summer grass, touched by wind and glowing with heat and sunlight. That's what this state of mind feels like.
chantico: (Suspect)
So [ profile] deadmanwade pointed out to me last night that I have an exceptional problem with accepting positive emotion. I'm *real* good at fostering hate, jealousy, distrust, anger and depression; but when it comes to the opposite spectrum, I can only capture emotion in fleeting moments before they dissipate. My happiness greenhouse is ineffective (perhaps I should turn to hydroponics?).

This really shook me up, A. because he is right, and it's something I know and have been struggling with as I try to slough off the funk I've been in and found it more difficult than I realize and B. because I hate being weak, and moreso I *hate*, HATE having this pointed out to me. My immediate reaction is to knock the legs out from the person by being as nasty as possible (while visions of ripping out their filthy wagging tongues dance in my head). The trapdoor between my brain and my mouth, while loosely flapping most times, becomes well padlocked, though you can still hear the howling of the thing behind the door. I am not the kindest of individuals when my power is threatened, when my strength is shown to be weakness.

Ugh, even typing out these truths makes me feel destructive; I want to break my own fingers for admitted my mewling, I want to starve myself, I want rage at people close to me so that they will go away and I can feel like I've punished myself.

And the fact that these are the things I feel means these are exactly the things I need to look at.

So why can't I stay happy as easily as I stay angry? Why do I strive for an imagined power, an unscalable emotional tower, when I know intellectual and spiritually that the greatest strength and power is found in admitting and accepeting your own weakness?

This is complicated by the fact that I feel worse for not being able to realize these things, and then that just pulls me down farther.

Here is the dialogue I have with myself most often: "Okay, I need to be 'insert blank here' and stop being 'another blank'". My expectations of happiness are always qualified by these statements. "I shall be happy when . . ." Maybe that's why it is easier for me to hang on to negative emotion-- it is focused very securely on the sphere of the present.

Mrr. So let's add on some more questions the one I posed before:
1. How can I learn to trust myself?
2. How can I alright with being weak?
3. How can I make happiness a thing of the present?
chantico: (Reflective)
It's strange how doom and gloom can cling to you. A good mood is so easy to lose, and a bad mood is so hard to shake; I think depresssion and wallowing are some of the most addictive things ever.

Not saying I'm particularly down right now-- I'm busy and nervous, but not *bad*. I just find myself whingin a lot more than I need to and getting cranky over small things. I also feel distant-- not from people, but from self-awareness. When I peer into my own head, it feels foggy, and clogged up with spider webs or anxiousness.

I think a lot of it has do with Italy. Soecifically coming to terms with the chasm that exists between the preparation that I am doing to go (the automatic, machine actions of figuring out money, working through school, filing paper work) and the realization that I AM FUCKING GOING TO ITALY. The excitment, joy, and pride that would come with that realazation are distant; I can barely see them waving at me from the other side, and sometimes I can hear the echo of their shouts, but I feel like I can't access them.

The chasm? The pyschological gap where I feel undeserving of achievment, like I've somehow cheated to get this, like I am not worthy of it, fed by a river of certainty that I can not have this, that dreams do not come real. Not for me.

Which is of course the LAST fucking thing I want to be acknowledging, because I know that sort of thinking will be the thing to sabatouge it.

I'm frustrated. I want, I know I need, to build a bridge to the other side, or better yet, simply take a leap of faith and start walking, but I don't know *how*.

How do I trust myself? When did I *stop*?
chantico: (Default)
I was very, very depressed and cranky earlier, and then the universe took pity on me and gave me three things to cheer me up: A button that popped off my coat last night, found in the middle of S. Rogers street; a taxi cab driver who gave me a free ride 'because he felt bad about people walking around in he cold'; and frozen berries in my mom's fridge (*burbles*).


The real meaning for this post is that I need some help coming up with ideas for an art project I'm undertaking. I need physical, ritual componants for these metaphysical concepts-- like a sword for Air, a cup for Water, etc.: Healing, Ecstasy, and Destruction. I was contemplating Dust for destruction, but that's more like an aftermath thing than something that would represent the act of destruction itself.

Any suggestions?


chantico: (Default)

May 2014

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