Meandering Thoughts on a Monday Noon...

The book I am currently reading gives many thought. It makes me recall things from my current experience. It also makes me want to write more. Perhaps it is the fact that I'm in a building I don't come to often or maybe the fact they it is nearly desolated was makes me more pensive... Then again, it might be the meditative atmosphere, the book, and my latest reconnections. The question that came into my mind, and actually there is someone in particular I want to ask, is "how do you feel?" Not necessarily emotional. Actually, quite specifically I mean how do you feel as a physical being. The thing is that I don't feel accustomed to being a human... Fingers, movement, breathing... There is something marvelous about being a human and having the capacity to realize this, to ponder on our soul. I feel young, most the time I don't, but it feels on the surface. I am feeling my youth, my physical youth with my older intangible.

Nervous Breakdowns...

What is a Nervous Breakdown? And has anybody had one?
After a presentation on Joan Miro our professor asked this. Although  the term has become commonplace and we use it often when prompted with a question I could  not place it. I just looked it up, it is defined as "a bout of mental illness that is so severe it directly impacts their ability to function in everyday life". I suppose by this definition my answer to the latter question would be yes, often, sometimes, every once in a while. Although, I never described them as such but regardless here they are, inconstant, vagrant...

Querido Kerouac...

«Enamórate de tu existencia»

-Jack Kerouac


Escribo, escribo, escribo y recuerdo a Kerouac...

Sickly Ramblings...

    It's been a long long time since I've written and so being almost bedridden (I mean, I could go elsewhere but my body is too irritable for that, so in bed I stay) and officially in vacations it must be perfect timing. My day has consisted mainly of sleeping, reading, and tea. Quite sincerely, I'd aimed higher for this vacations but after a grueling week of perpetual all-nighters I think the body needs a rest. Well, not really my soul is not tired but frankly my body does not wish to cooperate.

    A friend once made a piece about the body not being enough. Lately, I have been feeling more and more in-sync with this notion. Intangibly I am alright, intangibly I am not sick or tired... but the body needs rest. Too tired to continue, since I didn't achieve what I set out to do I'll add an image.

My last still=life of the semester.

Fragile Sentiments...

Lately I have become imbibed with the notion of people having crystal globes on their head in my paintings I had the meaning set for this since the notion was conceived, yet, as I was walking perhaps two hours ago I stumbled into a new meaning these same globes had for me. Before going to work I was seem a friend I was trying to be find a golden fish (a fish that turned out to be simply fictious) and a secret, he was making prints. After a few seconds of searching for the secret I developed a theory (a rather far fetched and albeit sad theory, but I needed to see if it was true) and rushed to the other studio, I walked in to find perhaps twenty or thirty prints and a seemingly slightly vexed or at least aloof friend (sadly, as single-minded as I can be paid no notice to this fact and began to ramble about my theory). Theory was moot since there had not been a fish at all. Conversation soon turned to pointlessness with questions such as "Why do Art when no one cares?" and emotional turmoil about having to depend on other to live as an artist. However at this point I was already late for work and had to go. I began to write a letter (still unfinished) addressing some of these issues. Sometimes I process better when writing.

to sleepy to continue... tomorrow you will meet me again cyberspace

Absolutely Tired...

I am absolutely, completely tired, yet, not sleepy... today I wanted to try something out no music, no movies, no reading, no technology... I failed recurrently but for many hours I succeeded. I love to read, and to just listen to music yet how is this constant activity influencing my brain? For me it is very important to answer this, is all this making me be more inspired or not? After my couple of hours of not having all that I previously mentioned I became more acutely aware of the amount of time that all this took (reading complete worth it, as are movies and music, sometimes, but for example the time I use just browsing the web...or simply keep myself busy, instead of using my time wisely [here I don't mean working to become wealthy or powerful, I am simply referring to doing something that would enrich my soul] I began to paint) And after working on my self portrait until stopping was necessarily I came to bed and found that I was completely tired. And it is this feeling burned out how I feel I should be living my days, doing, doing, doing (painting, drawing, friends, family) this is the being burned up feeling I want. If I still have more in me by the time I hit the bed them maybe I could have done more.This exact tiredness is what I felt almost all days last semester and it was worth it, I grew in so many ways.

As a foot note I want to add to myself that rest is also valuable, energy sometimes needs to be regained.

Farewell Cyber-world!

Writing To Document Different Swings...

     What does it take to be happy? I wish I knew, sometimes I feel in kilter and alright, but once I open the door for the question I am over flooded with emotions more often than not sadness, sorrow. It has usually felt for me that as long as I remain in action I can stay composed but when it stops, or when I am still I crumble, always this feeling, a void. I am feeling this now,  I just stormed away all because of a remark for interrupting, my own fault, it not a normal way to react. I don't expect normalcy, I don't believe in normalcy; but I wish I could change this in me, I usually have flashes that I often regret, asking for forgiveness does not feel like enough. It takes a lot to control myself at times like this and I don't always achieve it, it's instant regret. I don't stay mad for long, but I remain feeling guilty for the outburst for a long, long while. In painting I was told quite often that it was as if I where two people; as far as emotions are concerned I feel that way how can one be so enamored by life when the other is in pain, regretting, and containing the tears. Where is the balance? Which is the self?
     Silent Sadness, stashed away for me, it has a terrible way of creeping up, simply enveloping me, brought on by anything making me desolate. In my opinion my nature is melancholic, for a while most people disagreed, but I am becoming more able to cope, I think. I am fixing myself little by little.