In a moment of passion

I Was Very Nervous by ~xwelgex on deviantART

Standing During Sunset by ~xwelgex on deviantART

Book

Howard Roark
Chapter 1
The Fountainhead
His passion puts me to shame

Push and Pull

I find that I go back and forth between art and not art.
Over analyzing
I think too much
I think I shouldn't be doing this
I haven't got any talent
And I don't want to pawn it off on others for not being encouraging
I should be able to have confidence in myself
But it isn't there
It will be
One day
I hope
I am going to finish a painting this weekend
I can do it
I do have what it takes
I am something special
Even if I'm the only one who sees it

Procrastination Has A Face

I have finally completed it. It's taken the longest out of all of my paintings to complete. Almost 5 months. It began as a year long project, one brush stroke a day. I was going to test my patience, that didn't work, I gave up. And left it alone for a few months, only now to complete it

Procrastination Has A Face

I sat down, finally, and painted. I didn't finish it, but it's almost there. The situation for painting was different. Usually I hit a massively creative vibe and run and paint for hours. This time I was super mellow, almost to the point of being tired and falling asleep. On top of that, it was a severly erotic moment. I was honestly not paying one lick of attention to the painting, but rather to the feelings going on in my body. This was exciting. Not knowing if my brush strokes were adequate or well good, and really not caring if they were or not.
Art and Seduction

Shipping of Arts

I am selling two of my paintings, hopefully. I've found that I would much rather sell to someone I know, than to a complete stranger. At least I know they are genuinely interested, and I can get updates at to how they are enjoying them or using them. The person interested is looking at Numbers:


And Vulnerability:


It will be interesting trying to ship Vulnerability though. The canvas is 48in x 24in. So either I need to find a large cardboard mirror box, or have someone build me one. Either way it will be time consuming and expensive to ship.
Numbers is a painting that is hard to let go. It means a great deal to me. There is a quiet passion within it. Hopefully the person buying it will be able to see that.

The birds are up early

I didn't lock myself away, and force myself to be creative. I walked past my room and saw my works, and was disappointed in myself. Why, I don't know. Issues. Instead I watched the Documentary Film Channel. I thought it was an intelligent thing to do, and a fair compromise. Though I know I should have been in the paint. Another great excuse is that I'm disliking my brushes right now. None of them are doing what I need. There's an easy rememdy for that, but I ignore it. Everything is in place, the paint, the canvas, my muse. But not myself. Tonight maybe.

Early Morning

I am someone who needs to paint. There's something about the physical and emotional act of painting that I need. Yes need, not want or desire, need. It's a part of me and who I am, even though that's one thing I've tried desperately to stray away from. Why? Why would I try to tell myself that I'm not an artist. Because I have the tendency to listen to others and not myself. I was told that I was not an artist, that I was this list of other things, which in itself are all well and good, so I went with it. And now I'm feeling it, the draw, the emotional longing for the thing I love doing. But what has happened to me. I've lost confidence in my hands, in myself. I can't will myself to even attempt anymore. This pull back and forth is tiring. I will close myself off. Lock myself in. And paint. Force myself to get right again.

4/11 Nauseated

I can be cliche
Use various metaphors
Drowning in a sea
Soaring through the air
I am not so shallow
My thoughts go beyond metaphors
Similes, Hyperboles, Ironies
Emotions slightly out of reach
Unable to be expressed in human words
Alien words?
Now that's just silly
I am not one for silliness
When seriousness is what I must convey
At least now
This is it
This is really it

4/6 Evening

I am no good with my words.
It can be misunderstood as apathy.
It can be misconstrued as indifference.
It can be though of as simple mindedness.
All are false.

3/23 Afternoon

I am a gardening woman. But only when the weather is nice.
I am strangely attracted to the physiques of Iggy Pop and Mich Jagger.
I am extremely hungry and I am so indecisive that I can not make a decision on what to make myself for lunch.
I am in the mood to take a nap outside, if only I had a hammock

3/10 Evening

Who Am I?
I am late getting around do doing this pregnancy painting idea. Here is my belly just over one month. It'll get larger (obviously) and more detailed. But I think this is fun.

3/10 Morning

Who Am I?
I am tired. Daylight Savings always kicks my behind.

Who Am I?
I am itchy. My allergy attacks haven't gone away completely with pregnancy, but they sure have subsided. Last night my side figured it wanted to turn red and raise itself in hives. So I itch, but it's not terrible.

Who Am I?
I am completely over emotional. I cried a lot of yesterday and the night before. Yes I was quite sensitive before, but now that I have a booger growing in my belly, it seems to be even worse.

Who Am I?
I am an artist. I love to paint, I need to paint. For my well being, for my emotions sake. I haven't painted in a while, and I need to, desperately.

3/7 Morning

Who Am I?
I am not able to finish any of my meals. Not sure why, but I can't. Can I go back to bed? Can you call in a substitute for me?
Who Am I?
I am playing my saw. It soothes me, and calms me down. Even though I can't play any actual songs, and I just make random noises and notes that flow together, I love it. I love it like nobody's business.

3/4 Evening

Who Am I?
I am a bloated mess. Water retention and all this hormone stuff makes me look like I just drank an entire six pack.

Who Am I?
I had a medical scare today. No, a scary person in a ragged nurses uniform didn't some in and spook me, (my terrible attempt at being funny) but I had one of my students diagnosed with the chicken pox and another with scarlett fever today. I frantically called my OB. With the chicken pox, the baby and myself are fine since I had it when I was younger, but there isn't anything they can do for scarlett fever right now, but I should contact the doc immediately if I become feverish. So let's hope that doesn't happen.

3/3 Evening

Who Am I?
I am an emotional wreck. I know things are much easier said than done in most situations, including this. But this will be the longest nine months of my life. But I'm beginning to think that that is the wrong outlook to have. With that I will be constantly pessimistic, down, expecting the worst, which isn't fun for me or anyone around.

Who Am I?
I am someone who can work out her issues through just typing out her thoughts.

3/3

Who Am I?
I am nauseous.

3/1

Who Am I?
I am terribly bloated, or is that just a baby growing in my belly?
I am extremely tired, a great combination of quitting coffee and making a baby.

2/29

Who Am I?
I am a nervous, scared, excited, elated individual.
I am 4 weeks pregnant.

Hush yo Mouth

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you had a secret, and every ounce of your being wants to share it?
Yea that's me.

Center Universe

I need to calm down. I need to slow down. I'm not sure when or why I became so amazingly stressed out. This is only at work. Not at home, not around my friends and family. Only at work. That is one of the worst places to have this sort of thing happen. My livelihood depends on my job. And if I have some ADD moment and screw it up, that would be terrible.
I just can't seem to focus, or stay on one task. I have papers that need to be filed from two months ago. That is not from laziness or procrastination, I've actually sit down to file, I just become distracted and start something else, and then become distracted and start something else. So now my desk is covered in papers and scissors and sharpies and index cards, from multiple things I tried to do. See I have a terrible memory so the moment I think of something, I know I need to do it right then or I'll forget, but when that happens multiple times in a half hour span, I have a handful of things I'm trying to do, and then I forget about all of them except the current one.
See where my frustration lies? I teach, and need to be focused and organized, in order to make the best learning experience for my students. I'm just afraid that I'm not doing that.

Allergy Attack

Twice in the past three days. This time it wasn't food related. I had a dream I had to scratch my chest in order for this poem to be more effective in the classroom, yes i know it doesn't make sense. So in turn, I ended up scratching my chest, and here I wake up with hives all over it. It's that sensitive skin thing where I won't have any issues, but if I scratch it, there will be a hive.
So yet another day of trying to teach on no sleep. It's not that fun.
I broke out of my, I'm scared to spend money thing. I bought two books of poetry, Ginsberg and T.S. Eliot, and I bought some work out things to help myself to look hot. I'm not sure why I've always had an issue with spending money, like I never had any or like I wasn't allowed to. Both of those statements are completely false, so I have no idea where the thought came from, and how it stuck for so long.
Sometimes I like to shake my head back and forth really fast.

Swells of Discontent

A common thought and response that runs through my head...

Maybe if I keep my mouth shut, things will be better, he'll like me more, I won't be such a bitch, and I'll be the perfect person to live with.
If I keep my mouth closed I'll turn into a doormat. My opinions will never get counted, and all of the beauty of the little things about me will never get seen.

Which is more important, which is the right thing to do? I don't believe anyone ever fully learns how to live with someone. There is no such thing as personalities that just fit like a puzzle. There are always quirks. It's just up to you to figure out if your man enough to accept those quirks as part of that person, and stop trying to change them.

Character

I'd like to become a person of character

Teriyaki

That will be my kryptonite. Yes I broke down and had Chinese food. I know I shouldn't have, but I was so hungry, that I had a terrible headache. So I ate it, and all of it at that. I could have asked for it dry, without the sauce and I probably wouldn't be having this conversation with you right now. But I didn't. I wasn't too smart. And I made the decision on my own, so I can't ask for your sympathy.
So I'm running on a total of 2 maybe 3 hours of sleep. My head, my right shoulder, and my left ribs, have some of the nastiest looking hives I have ever had. Again, I am not looking for sympathy, just letting you know how I'm feeling.
But besides that, I woke up with extraordinarily large hair. Something I've always loved, yes I do love big hair. I showered before bed and slept in wet hair, and yes, I love the results. I'm also highly considering going red again.
Yes I am well aware that this is probably one of the least interesting blogs from me. But today I'm feeling least interesting that usual.

Paints, Ice, Habits

I'd like to show you a new painting I did, but when I went to hook up my camera, I noticed the wire was busted. So later I suppose. I honestly hate it, the painting I mean, thats just how I work, but what I am excited about, is, well hold on. Ok its two 12 x 12 canvases. Side by side. And I painted so they were connected with the brush strokes on one side. Then I thought, I wonder if I can make them match on the other, so I set out, then I wondered if I could make them match when one was placed above the other. And yes, success. Well hey, at least I'm excited about it.
So getting into new habits is difficult. As well as breaking old ones. I've got to shower every evening as well, to help with my allergies, and washing off of the crud that I've come in contact with during the day. So far it's worked. But when I remember, I'm usually too tired to force myself into the shower. Oh I've also got to get in the habit of deep cleaning my house once a week, since I'm basically allergic to dirty houses. And when I say I'm living in a dirty house, I don't mean filth, I mean I'm the worst at dusting. That's it basically, and that dust is what kills me. I know most people say, they're allergic to dust as well, but I don't think it causes your skin to swell and itch, and well, I don't remember the last time I could actually breathe through both of my nostrils at once, or even clearly through one.
Enough of that.
It's cold outside, very cold, but no precipitation, and I was hoping to have the school closed. Oh well, looks like I'll be there bright and early. But Friday's aren't so bad. Tests, and fun games, so it should be pretty laid back. And I need to get to sleep earlier, yes I'm like a grandma when it comes to going to bed, but I'm dead if I go to sleep at 11 and wake up at 5. I don't need to wake up at 5. I could technically wake up at 6:30 and still have plenty of time to get to work. But I can't shake this number....5....
I suppose I have this odd issue with having to never feel rushed. I've gotten into such a routine. Listen to what happened to me yesterday. I had gotten distracted and was running behind my usual schedule in getting to work. I usually leave the house around 6:45, get to work at 7, sit in my classroom until 8:15 when they send my students down. I think I have a real issue here. I must be over an hour ahead of schedule, always. Oh wait, I didn't say what happened yesterday, so I was behind schedule, and didn't make it to my classroom until 7:30. I honestly felt panic stricken the whole morning. Could this be a control issue? Do I feel like I have to control time? Why?
Let me think on those questions a bit, I'll get back to you tomorrow hopefully on that. My way of thinking through something is to sit and paint it out. Paint the emotion, the feeling, the issue, and it'll get worked out in some strange abstract way.

Hots

I'm fully aware that this would be a much more interesting blog if I had some cohesion.
Have you ever woken up quite early in the morning, the kind of early where it's quite dark and still out? I enjoy this part of the day, the whole day is ahead of me, anything could happen, it just depends on me, the choices I choose to make, the people I choose to talk to.
I tend to do much research during this time. I feel as though my mind is ready to be bombarded with knowledge. Here is what I've found this morning.
Scientists are studying the correlation between blow jobs and throat cancer. So watch out you premiscuous head suckers. Though part of me wants to say screw it, its awesome, and if you're good, well what a shame for the lucky guy who could be having his mind blown by you.
That was completely random, but I liked it. Not sure who my 'readers' are, but I hope you weren't offended by that.
I'm feeling more and more like an adolescent boy. That's all I think about. Well not constantly, but quite often. What could I do, could I try something new, I wonder if this works.
Ok so yes, my research this morning revolved around fellatio.

Aspirations

I'm finding more and more that I certainly have high aspirations, high hopes, high dreams. And most often times I act on them. And still most often times, I never finish them.
I paint, but not as often as I should, and I want to show, but I rarely go out and find places.
I play the musical saw. I have one and have played it twice. I want to play more often, but I don't. Why, I'm not sure.
I'm trying to write a novel. It's begun, and evolved and died. It began with Bob Barker, it evolved into an obsession with high profile old men, I tried to focus again, and remain on one man, left Bob Barker out, and focused on Iggy Pop. Then stopped mid story for realization that this novel could really go no where. Besides there's no dialogue in it. It's just me telling you what's happening. Most real novels have stories and conversations, and ebbs and flows.
Oh I just realized that it is. I second guess myself. I belive I can do these things. I believe I'm good enough, I'm creative enough to do it. And somewhere along the line, doubt comes into play. And suddenly, I'm not good enough, I'm not creative enough. And I might as well give up now before I humiliate myself.
Who knew this blog could be so therapudic for me?
Through my rambling, basically talking to myself, I could find out so much about how my brain works.
No more doubt. If my novel sucks, it sucks, at least I had fun writing it. If I play the saw terribly, at least I tried, most people don't ever go so far as to try anything new. And if my paintings are atrocious, well screw you, because a lot of myself went into each one. So either my true self is atrocious, or they're all wrong.
I never expected that to end so powerfully. But it did. Now let's see if I can stick with that idea.

Lasting

I lasted longer than I did the first time I tried to fast.
I began getting horrible stomach pains and was nauseous to the point of having to stop teaching in the middle of lessons. It did make me realize how serious I need to be with my diet. I'd still like to do that fast sometime. I really don't want to do it alone. I wonder if I've always been this dependent on people. I know one of my biggest crutches is with my paintings. I thrive on feedback and comments. I feel disappointed and not accomplished when I don't receive the reactions I want. So here on out, I'm going to force myself to just paint, paint for me, and love every second of it. Even if those I'm closest to find it appauling, and galleries consider me not a good fit.
It's only been one paragraph and I've jumped all over the place.
Back to the original point. It'll be hard sticking with this severely strict diet, but I think I can do it. Good lord, again, I feel like I need support and encouragement to make it easier. Maybe I should just move to the middle of no where for a year and learn to handle things emotionally alone. That sounds like a pretty good idea actually.
Then again, is it so wrong to yearn for praise, encouragement, support and feedback? In a sense, no, but I think I've become far too dependent on it. I'll have a bad day, or consider myself a horrid person, or a terrible artist, if I don't get a certain amount of those.
I've always been the person to run away from things. So my natural reaction to fix this problem is to stop posting my paintings, stop telling people what I do, since I fear I'll rely too much on their comments. But I realize this is a childish thing to do, so I will continue to paint and post them, and write and speak and tell people the things I do. I'll just learn to be content with myself. Now this is going to be much harder to practice than to say.
I just read an article on food allergies. Less than 2 percent of adults have food allergies. Way to be different huh? And most adults do not outgrow their allergies. So basically there's no hope, and I have to learn to deal with this. All wheat, corn, soy, peanuts, eggs, raw fruits and raw veggies, and their byproducts. Sometimes I wish I could make my friends and family realize how serious it is. That I can't just go out to lunch with them, that having just one piece of whatever it is will be ok, becuase it won't. I'll pay for it later at around 2 am when it gets through my system and I'm covered in hives. I think that's why most of them don't take it seriously. They never see the reaction. Good lord, even my husband doesn't see becuase when he falls asleep, he falls asleep. So I'm left to deal with it alone, standing in the bathroom, looking at the mess all over my body, and crying, because that's all I can do. Medicines only work temporarily and creams do nothing. So I stand there and hold myself. Yes this may seem dramatic. But one day you wake up in the middle of the night, covered in hives that itch so terribly you scratch them only to feel releif for that moment, becuase you know they aren't going away. You scratch so much you begin to bleed. And you look around and realize you have no one to comfort you, no one to hold you, no one to help you in your pain. And you tell me I'm how dramatic you feel. Some days I've wished for the hives to stay around until I come in contact with someone I know, so they can see. But it almost never works out that way. So I don't sleep, and I have these hives that no one ever sees. I'm surprised no ones decided I was crazy.

Solids

I've made the impulsive decision today to start the Master Cleanse fast. I ate a sandwich yesterday, which technically I shouldn't have, with the wheat and egg and most likely soy in the bread, the soy in the dressing, and the raw alfalfa sprouts, which I felt immediately.
So here I am, it's 5 am, I was planning on doing the healthy thing and going to the gym before work, but being as I slept all of two hours because of the hives, which now cover the left side of my face, my neck, my left arm, and my right leg, I probably won't be showing myself at the gym. On top of this, which this is bad, and I've usually not had this accompaning the hives. My stomach feels as though it's trying to eat its way out of my body. I can't deal well with stomach pain, so I might be exagerating, but in my opinion, this is some of the worst pain anyone can feel.
And here I am, alone, forced to deal with it. The one thing I want, besides the pain to disappear, is to have someone here, awake with me, holding me. But there's serious doubts that that will happen. It's never once happened in my ten years of this severe allergy issue, why would it start now? I used to believe that man was inherently good. Or at least that there was some amount of good in all men. In situations like this, it blows my mind that those closest would choose to ignore it, and allow me to go through this suffering alone. I can say with an honest heart that I would never be so selfish.
But back the real point of this. The fast. Lemons, water, cayenne pepper, and maple syrup. And hopefully the toxins and allergens and all of the stuff that's taken over my body will be shut out and I can go back to living a normal life.
A normal life. That's a statement. I'm not sure I'd even know where to start with that.

Dream Feb. 7

Not sure of the actual date, but it's stuck with me so I decided to write it out.

I am myself. American, blue eyed, and a Muslim. Though for some reason I was much larger than I actually am. Anywho, I was still a school teacher, in my American school. A parent wasn't too fond of me, so she decided to set me up so that I'd get fired. She said I touched her child, I can't remember if it was violent or passionate. Either way, I was fired. I began working at an electronics warehouse. Similar to Best Buy but around the size of a Sams Club. I worked towards the back of the store near the televisions. I was conversating with a male coworker and as we all know, Muslim women can not talk to men unless it's their husbands. Someone must have seen, because a hit was soon put out on me. I saw two men who I knew were there to kill me. I tried to hide behind the boxes of televisions, but they found me and I was killed. Then the dream starts over, exactly the same, and I notice this. So I decided to try and change it so I won't die. I take off in a different direction, and hide around the store manager's office. I feel that I've been successful and that I have changed my dream. As I start to leave this hallway, and towards the exit, they've spotted me. This should be impossible being as I've changed the dream. But they find me again. No matter what I tried to do to change it, it still ended up the same. Profound huh? I run outside, I make it to the street before the parking lot, as I turn to see if they've followed me, I see one of the hitmen right behind carrying a KORG keyboard. He uses it to hit me in the back of the head. I die, again. The funny thing is, and this usually happens, is when I die, I immediately leave my bpdy and am watching myself be killed. Then the dream is over. So I see myself, laying on the ground, in my traditional clothing, with a gash, well more like an open wound, about the size of a grapefruit on the back right side of my head. The man throws down the keyboard and walks away. No one does anything.

Rejection

Why is it that rejection is so difficult to accept? Others opinions hold so much weight sometimes. As though my idea of success is dependent on them.
Let me go into some details. I've been trying to find a gallery to show my art, and I've dabbled in a few local shows. I tend to find discouragement. And not only from the galleries themselves, but rather from friends and those I consider dear. I refuse to agree with them, that I'm not good enough.
But am I just setting myself up for only future failures and disappointments?
I think I've just made up my mind.
As much as I'd love to have my art shown in a gallery, I don't think it will ever happen. I'm just being realistic.
It's disheartening really.
But when you don't hit the mark, you don't hit the mark, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Christopher Walken

Oh I think I've started something quite scary.

Wandering around an old movie grounds, I became quite overwhelmed by the size and magnificence of it all. Bustling people and hurried faces paid no attention to me. I was an extra and of no significance. I always had a habit of finding comfort in others who were as uncomfortable in social situations as I was. He was sitting in a chair, of obvious importance, but still he had that look that I’ve had before. I knew I could safely stand next to him, without feeling pressured to converse or pretend to be interested. As I stood by his chair, he didn’t take notice. He was lost in his thoughts, just like I usually am. I was drawn to him more each moment. Though he was far older than I, which mattered not. Similar souls should know no limits. I was perfectly content with standing in agreed silence, but he took notice of my presence. He was startled a bit, and then began to give a speech about his refusal to sign autographs and what not. I could have cared less about Hollywood bullshit. I just enjoyed his company regardless of his status. I might have been too blunt, but I assured him that I could care less about an autograph. The look he gave me told me that he had never been talked to like that. I suppose he had gotten so used to being hunted down and admired by all, purely for his famous state. When I realized he was taken aback, I proceeded to introduce myself and explain that I just wanted to stand in the company of someone who looked to be as uncomfortable as I was. The next few hours were quite extraordinary.
I don’t think anyone had ever taken the time to get to know him for who he really was besides the actor. We shared stories, family, wishes, and desires. It was my far the most refreshing conversation I have ever had.
Once filming was over with for the day, we shared a meal and still more conversation. There was no hope for a lucky night, it was the farthest thing from my mind, and I believe his as well. But our intentions can not be blamed for the natural progression of two people connecting on such an emotional level. It’s quite interesting how pure honest conversation causes one to suddenly become quite attractive. I’m not saying I didn’t find him handsome before, but now it was different, it was noticeable. The kind of noticeable you can’t seem to get away from.
Christopher Walken and I.

Bob Barker

I decided to begin a story about Bob Barker and I. Let me assure you that I do not have a thing for old men, nor Bob Barker in general. I found it quite fun to just pretend. Oh lord, I hope this isn't the beginning of some random romance novel obsession.

It was over a distant conversation, that I realized the magnificence of Bob Barker. He was shy and avoided my eyes often. His passivity drew me in. It made me want to know him more, to see him for who he really is, and for him to see me for who I really am. I’ve never been drawn to the Chuck Woolery type of man. The kind of man who knows who or what he is. If he’s got it all figured out, when what can I add to his life? But Bob, he didn’t have it all worked out, and he wasn’t satisfied with that. In this I knew I could add something to his life, not to boast of my own doings. It just feels nice to know that I have a purpose in such a wonderful man’s life. From my point of view, he wasn’t too interested in me at first. I wish I could remember, and pinpoint the moment when he began to take an active interest in who I was. My memory isn’t too good anymore. He must have a constant inner dialogue going on. His emotional transitions seem to spring up out of nowhere, causing him to seem impulsive; but I know different, I know he thinks, he analyzes every minute detail of the situation; thinking of his and my current emotion, before he acts. It is a long and difficult process, but oh so perfect in the end.

Swimming against the Currents

I painted this yesterday. Here are my unprofessional thoughts.
The softness of something meant to be terrorizing. The fear and panic of having a force push you away. Imagine the overload it does to your mind. Your body knows its limits, and when it's been reached, things slow down, go a bit blurry, and you have an odd peace when you know you shouldnt. Shock sets in.
Waters seem so inviting at times. And you step in, boldly. But soon the joy of the moment is gone. You've lost your footing and spiral out of control.

Natural Body Functions

I am a female, and I fart, I burp, and I poop.

I am often ridiculed by my friends and peers for these things. Why must I be ashamed the my body works properly? Who made up these rules anyways?

Farts. Everyone does it. But most people go to great strides to keep it from happening, or at least anyone from noticing. They'll sit there, and realize they need to fart, then they'll try with all their might, not to be noticiable when they clench their butt cheecks together hoping to prevent it from occuring. Or if it's beyond their control, they'll try their hardest, use all of their available muscles to let it out slowly, so slowly that no one could ever tell.
Could someone please explain to me the reason we are all so self conscious? I would like to live in a time when I wouldn't have to be ashamed of my body natually digesting food.

Burps. Yes, I do that as well. And it's not wrong or disgusting. All it tells the world is that either I ate too fast becuase I don't get a lunch break, or that I had a soda or beer. Why in the world is that wrong? It isn't, so I shouldn't be ashamed of the effects.

Poops. Now seriously. It isn't lady like to poop, or tell people, or even hint that you do this most detestable thing. This one will be the shortest rant of all. So fucking what?! I eat, I poop, it happens, deal with it.

Utterance

Articulation, a transfer of words with multiple meanings.

There's such a work involved in keeping relationships alive, be it friendships or romantic. And the one piece that can make or break it, is communication. It's been said over and over again in various self help texts, but notice, if you will, what happens to the person you believed to be very close, when things get busy and you don't speak for a time. Notice the person with whom you speak quite often. They consume you.

It is a terrible balancing act that I fear we will never get a handle on.

If I never spoke from today on, what would be the outcome? Would those I love drift away? Do my words really carry that much importance? What if I chose to speak only in art, color, and paint? Those people who cared enough about me would watch intently. They'd try to discover what I was trying to say. It could give me an idea of who enjoys me for the person I truly am, and not what clever thing decides to come out of my mouth.

Words, Letters, such small insignificant things. They draw you in, they push others away, they create, they are wonderous forms of artistic expression.

Health, Beauty, and Santiation

Walking robots. That's what we've decided we all need to be. No ailments, no oddities, no differences.

If I get a zit on my face, I have automatically become "unattractive", "unhealthy", and well basically "unclean". I bet not many know that a pimple is actually the direct result of your body trying to heal itself. How can that be so bad? My body works, it's fixing itself, but lord no, don't let anyone know this, don't let anyone see you, hide out until it goes away, or plaster yourself with paint so no one sees, but we all see. What's the point in hiding it with paint when it is still visibly seen? Pretend like nothing's there. We're fooling ourselves.

Why can't we celebrate the fact that all of our faces are different. Some have scars, stories to tell, some have pimples, showing me that your body is working, some have extra skin, some have lines, some are round, some are square. Who's to say that one is better than the other? Yes we all have our preferences, and that's fine, but to lay the blanket statement that "if your face looks like this" you are considered unattractive and might as well hide in your apartment and don't even think about going out, or talking to someone you find pretty, it'll never work.

Yes I've just rambled on about pimples. It's who I am, get used to it.