Mean Reds...

    I had promised to blog about the semester, which hasn't happened, but since the semester is only two weeks in I think this is not so bad. Maybe a little bad, but I am attempting to mend my ways. The two first weeks have gone by fast, to my (happy) surprise I like all my classes. And aside from the fact that I must work with metal, all goes well.  There are projects that have or will be done over the semester, such as painting in lingerie (yet to be accomplished),  culinary duels (later this week, this I hope to win since...well, I don't want to be a slave for a day), and getting the angry art major to smile (this one I accidentally accomplished last week, I had expected a harder challenge, but maybe root beer can't be resisted), and public art (origami, banner, I can't wait on this one).
    For the seconds before I began to write I felt the mean reds, I am glad that they left soon. Last week I met my Literature professor, who is simply a fantastic very much pirate looking man. He is quite a troll and believes so much of what I believe, no hell, religions separate instead of bringing people together, religions are different perspectives on the same thing. He aims to stir up people, and I hope he does, by the end of class many of my classmates wanted to find a different professor. Personally, I can't wait for class number two.
     I just finished a book about people and discipline, whether we innately need someone or something to  follow. The book reminded me of one of my favorite Gaarder metaphors, he wrote that the universe is a magnificent magical trick, a magician taking a rabbit out of a hat and that when people are born they are at the tip of the rabbit's fur, curious about the mystery and impregnated with question to figure it out; but the trick is so slow that as people grow older they began to crawl deep into the fur and never think about such matters. I feel empathy towards Gaarder, maybe  people are a little too comfortable with the pace at the moment. Maybe this is the reason why I like my Literature professor so much, because he is so passionate about stirring up people. If I think of it even in what some people consider to be the most important things they are being led, rather than encouraged to think for themselves. Religion for example, or a specific one, Christianity people are to be sheep and follow blindly and if we look through history whenever serious doubts have been raised there has always been a separation. Why is such a collective mind preferred? people should be able to decide what they want for themselves, but are they thinking about it or just following?. I think it was a matter like this that led me further and further away from religion. Sometimes it seems that my entire life I have been distancing myself from religion from a childhood in Catholicism, to a youth in Christianity, then again an attempt in Catholicism (the only result was a group of aghast adolescents mad over too many questions, a strange election, and more questions).
    Ah, the mean reds are back. Perhaps music will be the solution. The thing about them is that they disrupt everything and leave you feeling half emptied out, hollow and rather red, a cool shade of red. A bit like hunger, but deeper or more intangible. Sometimes it goes away fast, others not so much. Sometimes what I need is a friend, sometimes a book (those wonderful companions portable companions) helps too. But music has always been helpful to me.
     Here I am sharing the fruit of wonderful photography skills paired with literature. One of my best friends will be graduating soon (as will most of my friends and art majors, soon I shall simply be known as the last Art Major in the Universe [or University...] when people refer to me a name will no longer be needed, when there is only one a title suffices) and I am to be Lolita, I hope once I get socks this will be more successful.

Murakami at Heathrow Airport...

     I enjoy reading authors that write complex plot lines, characters with lives that try to discern mysteries begun in past generations, years and sometimes decades or lives ago.I enjoy the fact that sometimes, a lot of the times, a chance meeting, a scrap of conversation, or a movie that once caught my eye will come back.

     The magic of life that I so often encounter in literature, is in fact a fact of life, paths, connections, and closed circuits, everything seems to connect. Although depending on the level of skepticism in my day I find myself teetering between two alternatives is it that everything is recurrent and causes a ripple, or that we follow sequences and are changed by every bit of knowledge in such a way that we cannot avoid re-discovering them again. Andre Breton once said, "Perhaps I am doomed to retrace my steps under the illusion that I am exploring, doomed to try and learn what I should simply recognize, learning a mere fraction of what I have forgotten" and sometimes, I feel exactly what he means, I think I learn or discover something new and a shade of disbelief runs by, have I really? then why does it feel familiar, like I have been there before, it more like a sensory or thought deja vu. Other times I feel as if this emotion comes from discovering a knowledge my soul has had before...

     Between a search for authors I came across a name, Murakami. I looked it up and found that he had written a novel called "Norwegian Wood". Today, although unknown to me I was to pursue a trail left by myself and a chance encounter months ago. Almost half a year ago, I was waiting for a thrice delayed flight back home. Having arrived early only to find that the flight had ended up being delayed. We now had about seven hours to spend in Heathrow Airport, thus me and Moriarty had much time to kill. We spent between a bookstore where I was able to find a copy of The castle in the Pyrenees by Jostein Gaarder. Then we went into a video store, where I found a movie called Norwegian Woods,  which first called my attention because of its title (I'm a Beatles fan), but the summary seemed interesting as well. Yet, seeing as I was currently a broke wanderer I could not buy it (it was seven pounds over my tiny budget of three pounds), I left it and made a mental note to see it when back in my continent. Sadly, the movie was not available. 

    Today, I stumbled into the author's name, looked for the book on my dear friend amazon, and ordered it. After almost half a year, five months and a few days actually, this search, this tiny example of reoccurring, has continued, hopefully to be followed by an interesting book.

Moving In, Questioning My Existence...

   Moving in and moving out, an activities that I have done at least nine times, from houses, dorms, and tiny but lovely apartments. Although, I know that some people find then sad or nostalgic I hardly felt, oftentimes I feel as though I never will conect connect a place like that... I ask myself what home is, but it has never been a tangible place for me, and I can see friends having this almost loyalty to a city or a house but I've never felt that. In part, I think it is not something I want or something I am wired to want. Over the summer I was able to go on a backpacking journey. My favorite experience was the fact that I was absolutely untied I could flee a city as soon as it had tired me or as soon as I wished for a change of setting. Constant change is something that I welcome whole-heartily.
   Today was move-in day at my university, first change of the year I suppose, big although perhaps equally big as beginning self-portraits. (an activity strange enough for me, like with places sometimes I feel a bit disconnected to my physical "self", I think it was Rimbaud who said that "I is another", feeling I am very, very well acquainted with. Sometimes when glancing at the mirror I am surprised to see that the figure looking back is in fact me, these self-portrait, I feel, are helping me understand this lacunae in my comprehension of myself. It is this same theme of "who is I?" that fuels most of my work.) Perhaps I will have a new room mate, which for hermits like me is not the most suitable option. It comes as a surprise that in a few short days I will begin a new semester, for classes I am mostly unsure of what I want to do (other than sometimes creepy eerie and often existentialist sculptures, Humpty Dumpty figurines, anthropomorphic balloons [which probably belong in the eerie category] ... how I wonder how the semester will unfold).

P.S. I figured out how to put label in these posts, technology I am discovering your secrets.

Hupty Dumpty would like a friend...

   Second day of blogging, this is nearing a personal mark in anything keeping a journal related (if I get another post, it's a new record). Today has been a nebulae of emotions expanding from anger, sadness, tardiness, to happiness, confusion, and a bit of repeated stress (brought on by a consistently mistaken identity). The idea of tossing thoughts to the cyberspace is growing on me, it like sending a small vessel to the unknown, and the unknown has always been an interesting place. Today I fell even more in love with the wonderful artist, Odilon Redon. His work is bizarre and at times awkward. I wish he was alive nowadays our drawing could be friends, particularly Humpty Dumpty.
    I read a book a long time ago, the main character asked a wizard -why?- to which the wizard simply replied -why not?-  I like such a hands on approach to life, although I do enjoy thinking over the abstract concepts so I may very well be insane... but a bit of insanity makes for an interesting life in my opinion thus I am quite at ease with my unbalance mind. What is balance anyways? This leads my mind back to Odilon Redon, he was just so imbibed with the magic of life. Fantastic, fantastic work! it is convulsive (like Breton once declared beauty should be, and I extend to life) and my soul is exalted when looking at his work. It is a wonderful feeling when Art does this.

Eye-Balloon by Odilon Redon

Hello Technology, First Day of Blogging...

   Today, or tonight rather marks day one of my blogging experience. Although at first this seemed like a bit of an awkward thing for me to do, after a few moments of struggling with technology I decided to do this. A few days ago one of my closest friends asked me to have a blog, to know my thoughts, I replied she could just ask me; as a reply I got a whimsical metaphor of how asking was like fishing but blogging would be diving and discovering.
    Then, I figured that this is rather like a diary or a journal, which I have always intended to keep, so here goes my first blogging experience.