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vertigo_girl
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Name: Pixy
Birthday: 4/18/1984
Gender: Female
Interests: Art: surrealism, dada, cubism, post modernism, pop art, art nouveau, art deco.
Female impersonators and burlesque. people watching, especially in dark cafes, seedy clubs and bars.
Hanging out on rooftops.
Meeting new people, especially artists, poets, musicians, travellers, foreigners... etc.
Expertise: creation and destruction... mostly destruction.
Anarchy of thought...
Arsonist of proverbial bridges.
Occupation: art slut/ fashion whore
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
10/10/2002
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| "Your room is a mess."
"Well of course it is, I have no furniture, where do I put all this stuff?"
"Have you gone through your pile of papers?"
"Of course not!"
Frustrating. I'm trying to start a new life and I'm wondering if anything could truly ever come of it. A chance to start over. I watched Running With Scissors with Kim, feeling slightly better about my life in comparison. Then I walked into my room and frowned. I buttoned the mustard coat I'd hastily hung in the closet and swatted the hem down straight.
I'll never change. Moving out might make me wiser with my finances, but it won't make me organized. It won't make me different. But I will finally have coffee in the morning, I finally took the time to plug in my coffee maker and set it.
Nwo I'm working on an anthropology project with which I was given almost limitless creative freedom, thus have been spazzing out about uninspired until the night before it's due in typical pixy style. Now I'm clipping along with my made up culter and it's made up rituals and taboos, though it's becoming suspiciously remeniscient ofa Farenheit 451- style premise. This has me wallowing in post-modern cynicism and frustration. My last concept was too Biblical referency, and the one before that too much like that movie in which no one is able to have children anymore... errrgh.
I have to wake up at 4:40ish tomorrow to have time to get ready for work by 6am to help pull off a very important (read stressful) floorset till 3. Then I have a test I've only briefly studied for after ditching class last week, and the aforementioned paper is due. (I've done about 1/6th of it so far, I think).
Why am I still awake? | | |
| Ambling forward on chubby legs, the little boy stretched out his hand to present a sheet of paper.
"Look!" said the little voice. And look the gaunt figure did. His wiry eyebrows pulled together as he tapped a twiglike finger against a thin pair of lips. He concentrated for a few moments pondering the bright, bold strokes of coloured wax.
It was indeed interesting, he though. He squinted, raised one eyebrow.
"Yes, I see...
But.
Is it archival?"
Some things are meant to change, to age to yellow.
Little girls and boys to old men and women.
Sometimes I wonder if it's wise that adults choose what sort of art and cultural artifacts should be preserved for future generations, especially when children seem to be some of the happiest, most profound humans of all.
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| I like the dark hollow look sleep deprivation leaves me with- a world weary appearance that suites my overall temperment much better than a youthful glow. I hate the papery, porous skin it leaves me with.
almost 48 hours running on only one hour of sleep the night before last and a 20 minute nap this morning, and beginning to hallucinate... more. | | |
| It's been a while since I've woken up able to recall any dreams from the night before. But I've felt druggish in the mornings lately, so I've been lingering longer in that place between sleeping and awake while I fumble repeatedly with my radio alarmclock.
Two nights ago, I had a dream in which my mom, sister and I were floating in the shallow water over a floating island. along the shore, there was a continuous barrel of a wave upon which there were numerous people surfing. I needed a place to walk across to get to land, but feared the wave. I somehow discovered that by drawing a line in the air at the base of the wave, I could part the water, creating a land path. Unfotunately this caused the wave to collapse and all the surfers fell off. So I decided against it. we began to feel ourselves pulled by the current in a slow and menacing circle, and could no longer keep a toehold on the sand which seemed to sink and undulate below. I became panicked, though I didn't show it. someone in a boat pulled the three of us out saying there are many hemispheres (though I think the correct term should have been eddies, maelstroms or whirlpools) down here and that we had passed the tip of South America. I was greatly alarmed that we had drifted that far.
Last night I had a dream in wich my grandmother told me that she was pregnant, and I tried to give her advice. That was really weird. Imagine having an aunt 24 years younger than you... | | |
| I have this picture of my ideal not-so-distant future. It's very sharp in parts, and very hazy in others.
I have my own apartment... it's in or near enough to the city, though I'm not sure which one.
My hair is still red, in defiance of nature, and I'm sitting on my antique couch (which I already own... only in this future ithe rips and unstable frame have been repaired), and I'm drinking a cup of decaf and watching My favorite movie or show. It's likely to be either Burton or Hitchcock, or maybe even some new gem.
My dog, most likely a male rottweiler named Bear the 2nd, or Rotten (after my Grandfather's nickname), is snoring with it's large head on my lap and I'm scratching his ears absently, while I contemplate getting up and heating up some leftover pad thai.
I'm alone, but not lonely. I have my dog. And though they aren't with me right then, I have my friends. I don't know if I have a man in my life, that's one of those hazy parts I can't forsee very well. But that's fine, because I have a wall full of my favorite books, a collection of rare movies, room enough to work on my art projects and a credit card that rakes in good frequent flyer miles.
My place is small, but comfortable- a little cluttered, but well decorated. It's coloured in rich, melodic palette. Bear 2nd doesn't get stir crazy because there is a park nearby where we go to play daily, and the landlord has lost his skepticism about the breed because he's such a good boy.
The credits roll, and I've fallen asleep on the couch again, with the t.v. on and my latest art project spread across the coffee table. Life is good.
*Rottweiler seems a strange choice for a small girl who hasn't had many dogs in her life. And they have a bad rep sometimes. But the very first dog in my life, Bear, was a Rott, (I was about 4), and he was the gentlest, most protective pet ever. I miss him, and I miss my lab/sheperd Misty. R.I.P. | | |
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Ex Libris: Yours Truly
