Burnt.

Sometimes I'm amazed at my drive to continue photography no matter what it does to me. Freshman year, my papercut hands met with a spilled tray of fixer. I don't think they ever quite healed right because they scarred over like hell. Countless times I've pinched my fingers in an enlarger. I've been stuck in the head with rusty nails while crawling through an abandoned building. Today may just take the stupidity cake. While balancing a messenger bag, camera, and coffee I decided I HAD to get a cool picture of smoke blowing in the wind. So from my nearly 3 year old pack of Lucky Strikes I lit one. Well, lit isn't quite the right word. I fought the lighter. I have never been good with Bic lighters, especially since I accidentally got high in science class in 6th grade when the flint wouldn't strike. The flame finally popped out and promptly blew over my thumb. I have a nice round blister on the very tip. Oh my god, it hurts. But given the choice of a superficial burn versus burning out, I'll take the skin damage any day.

The Majesty of Colors

I've been writing a journal assignment for my art history class. Yesterday's lecture covered theosophy and Kandinsky, closely intertwined with color and feelings. A few weeks ago I bought a Missoni scarf at Crossroads Trading. It's in dark colors--black, blues, and purple. The schizophrenic zig-zag pattern combined with the colors led me to dub it "The Scarf of Nightmares."

When I was young I had a few very memorable, very artistic dreams. There was one done in a flipbook/sketch kind of view, one done in some kind of chalk flipbook style on black paper (it involved me opening up kitchen cabinets trying to find popcorn, but I found this evil blue box that grew and shot popcorn everywhere), and one that involved an evil bowling pin terrorizing a claymation town.

I had interesting dreams as a kid.


If you haven't heard of "The Majesty of Colors" I suggest you give it a play.

Like Tempest

Sometimes, given how connected we are on the internet, cutting someone off completely is like playing a high-level game of Tempest. You know, that Atari one. You spend all this time shooting down flippers, tankers, and the like (ie, blocking someone from your networks) and then you finally warp down the tube.

Except you gotta watch for spikes (those alts/networks you kinda forgot about) or you'll hit them and explode in a blaze of lines. It's frustrating, but I think I've got them all. I'm warping down that tube and continuing on with my life. No negativity, no more bringing me down.

In other news, I have a job interview tomorrow with the financial center on campus. They're also looking for someone who can work through the summer... which I can. Keep your fingers crossed.

brb hypothermia

Today may be the most consciously alive I've felt in a while. Sure, I feel great every day, but sometimes I fall into the monotony. Wake up, eat breakfast, go to classes... you get the idea. I decided to switch it up a little today. I had to go buy film for photography class. The campus shuttle drops us off at Rockridge BART during weekdays, and Looking Glass Photo is only on Telegraph. It would be good to get out. I haven't taken my bike out on the streets in ages. Three miles in a nice, flat area would be relaxing and beautiful.

Seems the weather had different plans. It was overcast when I woke up, overcast when I had lunch, and overcast when I waited for the shuttle. Now or never. I pressed my luck. If it's been overcast this long, it's probably going to hold on a bit longer, right?

The moment I stepped off the shuttle a raindrop smacked against the tip of my nose. Undaunted I pedaled down College. The rain held back, for the most part. When I hit Alcatraz it started to drizzle. There was no turning back. There never was. My lack of helmet and proximity to cars didn't faze me at all, surprising considering the fact that I almost got car-doored on purpose in Richmond at 12 and I once threw myself over the handlebars when I was 13. I didn't have time to worry about that today. I flew down Telegraph headlong into the rain as the wind picked up. Those little spiky balls from sycamores bounced all over the street, mingling with leaves and branches. I chained up Crockett (so named for his Miami Vice color scheme of pepto bismol pink and mint chocolate chip green with gorgeous neon purple lettering) and purchased 4 rolls of film.

Upon exiting, it was raining sideways. No shit. There was no other way back than to ride back. The rain poured on as I unlocked the chain and locked the seat back in. I rode straight into the rain, and then I felt it. Complete exhilaration. The water felt like needles as it hit me. I bounced between declaring "Oh Jesus this HURTS!" and "WO HOO HOO HOO! I'm fuckin' ALIIIVE!"

Rain has never felt so good.

Fear of Sleep

I'd felt pretty good since cutting him off. I know it's the right thing to do. All of the negativity was dragging me down, and that is something I won't put up with any more.
Sunday night I could tell something was up. I couldn't fall asleep. When I finally did, it didn't last. I woke up having some kind of panic attack or night terror. I mistook whatever it was for an asthma attack.
Whoops. Hello, heart palpitations!
Last night I got out of here and spent the night in wine country. And so I slept somewhat soundly, surrounded by vineyards. Perhaps tonight, back in Oakland, I will sleep just as soundly.

Creativity Surge

I seem to have replaced one thing with another. With caffeine cut off for me after 6 on weekdays, I now obsess about art. I stayed up until 1 getting ideas I wanted to pursue. This is a strange feeling for me. I don't recall being this creative for years. I have been antsy all day and waiting for a spare moment to actualize everything. I feel like I can do these things again. No more feeling like I burned out so early like a young star after Sam the Butcher. That was one success of many.
It's good to be creative again.

Impermanence

Today is Ash Wednesday. Today I went to my first church service. Ash Wednesday features the imposition of ashes, reminding us that we are dust and someday, we will return to our former state. I pause to think of the impermanence of life. I have existed for 19 years, Mills College for 158 years, and so on. How long exactly will things last? I contemplate the silver in my ring. It fits together like a puzzle. What was it doing before it got mined? Who made this thing, anyway?

I can recall a line from Philip K. Dick's "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" pondered by Rick Deckard.
"This rehearsal will end, the performance will end, the singers will die, eventually the last score of music will be destroyed in one way or another; finally the name “Mozart” will vanish, the dust will have won."

Over the next 40 days I will say goodbye to Mountain Dew and caffeine after 6 PM on weekdays. Already I'm craving it. Perhaps now that I'm somewhat less caffeine-addled than normal, I can focus on more important things on my life rather than my next fix.