To walk through the world will an ounce of certainty. I am coming to terms with the idea of my recent introversion is really just insecurity.... So strange to be lost in your own person and feel so confused when attempting decision. Really simple ideas of choice devide me from my past self and future self.
Should I stop by the river on my way home or just go and take a nap. Is this what it means to be an adult when we all the sudden finding choice between joy and restlessness. I have felt old but happy with my almost no risk life. Not sure what to do when strangers say hello/the walls are too built up and friendliness seems so hard. It is easier to hide in my new found introversion of myself. It is all such a terrible lie.
It is so hard not to be a walking lie. My instincts seem so flawed like being lost in a brown paper bag of myself. Oh so self absorbed.
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Saturday, June 7, 2014
It Is Wrong To Be An Artist
The ego swells and spits like the hot molten lava of the sun. There are demands and no trust in another's handy work. The hot lava must swallow the project whole. The entirety of the essence of the idea must be owned completely with no room for compromise from other view points. The Designer's vision is intergalactic in nature and thus part of everything...there is no suggestion that is not already owned by the designer's vision as the atoms of space are all the same. The designer is a God.
There is no room for friends just a network of benefit from being in the shadow of the Designer. Like the planets sole sucking from the sun's glorious rays over their valleys and mountains; all the beauty they have given to them from being in the network of proximity of the sun's gravitational pull. Thus the lack of choice. As the designer is God and thus beauty is only allowed through its alignment with the Designers end mission or gravitational pull.
Your ideas are not your own but given through the gravitational suggestion from the ultimate designer. It is a cause and effect and the the designer dictates your participation. Throw away your knowledge as an artist and play the political game of admiration towards the dictator of beauty.
-The Designer
There is no room for friends just a network of benefit from being in the shadow of the Designer. Like the planets sole sucking from the sun's glorious rays over their valleys and mountains; all the beauty they have given to them from being in the network of proximity of the sun's gravitational pull. Thus the lack of choice. As the designer is God and thus beauty is only allowed through its alignment with the Designers end mission or gravitational pull.
Your ideas are not your own but given through the gravitational suggestion from the ultimate designer. It is a cause and effect and the the designer dictates your participation. Throw away your knowledge as an artist and play the political game of admiration towards the dictator of beauty.
-The Designer
Monday, April 7, 2014
That Bus--Not So Scary West of Denver
The face tattoos are plentiful and friendly.
What happens when all we think of people changes. I became the bigoted product of my environment. I found the single man that makes me feel like the worst person. The smells in Kansas and the fowl treatment of passengers had little to no effect on me and now the truth of my character slaps me in the face. I forgot the one rule....Be nice.
His name is Mark and I first saw him in Merced, CA. He must have gotten on the bus at that stop because he seemed to evolve out of the fog in the night.
I was starving as the Grey Hound did not stop for food for 9 hours on my way to Portland from LA. I got to my transfer spot in Sacramento, CA and headed straight to the grill man. He informed me with his large mustache and balding head that the grill was down for the night and he was only willing to make deep fried chicken strips and french fries. I did choose honey mustard and ranch as my dipping choices.
The grill man with no grill. I could have committed murder for a hamburger but a little chicken would do.
There was a long line behind me so after dropping my large bag in line for the bus I found a seat at a table that held a pile of papers and someone's ID card that had an American flag on it. I guessed that I would shortly be joined by someone at my table of thick blue wire. They came in hot and loud. Mark was professing his battles and shrapnel stories while accepting God all at once. "God loves infantry men" He was speaking to his buddy that was also once a military man or a follower of God. It was hard to tell. Mark's face tattoo and loudness I had miss judged immediately.
I avoided eye contact, as any well train Midwesterner that has spent any time in any city would do. It is funny when a person is rude from conditioning of a hard past. I did not grow up in the west of Denver, CO climate. I am judgmental and thus miss out on the good stories in life. I sat there for a time trying not to seem too eager to leave though my fight or flight instinct was running high. I wanted to seem cool and collected while starving inside a Greyhound terminal waiting for my flavorless fried grease sticks. The grill man motioned to me as he had gotten no one's name for their orders. His motioning happened amongst a line of other hungry passengers; he was a fabulous one man machine.
I happily sat at a new table with a older African American man. I guess I could not handle the idea of Mark asking me about either presented subject, God or War. My chicken and fries tasted just of hot grease and as I ate I slowly realized that the man I was sitting with might not have eaten in days. When he told me my food looked good I quickly realized the situation. I wish I had realized sooner I could have given him more food. If someone tells you food looks good, that is clearly nasty, they are even hungrier than you. He was a grandpa traveling to Oregon for the first time to see his grand child. Times are tough and this country does not take care of the elderly.
What happens when all we think of people changes. I became the bigoted product of my environment. I found the single man that makes me feel like the worst person. The smells in Kansas and the fowl treatment of passengers had little to no effect on me and now the truth of my character slaps me in the face. I forgot the one rule....Be nice.
His name is Mark and I first saw him in Merced, CA. He must have gotten on the bus at that stop because he seemed to evolve out of the fog in the night.
I was starving as the Grey Hound did not stop for food for 9 hours on my way to Portland from LA. I got to my transfer spot in Sacramento, CA and headed straight to the grill man. He informed me with his large mustache and balding head that the grill was down for the night and he was only willing to make deep fried chicken strips and french fries. I did choose honey mustard and ranch as my dipping choices.
The grill man with no grill. I could have committed murder for a hamburger but a little chicken would do.
There was a long line behind me so after dropping my large bag in line for the bus I found a seat at a table that held a pile of papers and someone's ID card that had an American flag on it. I guessed that I would shortly be joined by someone at my table of thick blue wire. They came in hot and loud. Mark was professing his battles and shrapnel stories while accepting God all at once. "God loves infantry men" He was speaking to his buddy that was also once a military man or a follower of God. It was hard to tell. Mark's face tattoo and loudness I had miss judged immediately.
I avoided eye contact, as any well train Midwesterner that has spent any time in any city would do. It is funny when a person is rude from conditioning of a hard past. I did not grow up in the west of Denver, CO climate. I am judgmental and thus miss out on the good stories in life. I sat there for a time trying not to seem too eager to leave though my fight or flight instinct was running high. I wanted to seem cool and collected while starving inside a Greyhound terminal waiting for my flavorless fried grease sticks. The grill man motioned to me as he had gotten no one's name for their orders. His motioning happened amongst a line of other hungry passengers; he was a fabulous one man machine.
I happily sat at a new table with a older African American man. I guess I could not handle the idea of Mark asking me about either presented subject, God or War. My chicken and fries tasted just of hot grease and as I ate I slowly realized that the man I was sitting with might not have eaten in days. When he told me my food looked good I quickly realized the situation. I wish I had realized sooner I could have given him more food. If someone tells you food looks good, that is clearly nasty, they are even hungrier than you. He was a grandpa traveling to Oregon for the first time to see his grand child. Times are tough and this country does not take care of the elderly.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
On in to the Beauty of a snowy Mountain
That little sweet driver man got us there. We clapped as we entered the blue striped buss-port. Luckily one of the passengers knew where the grey Hound Station was because our driver's phone had died and no one on the buss that had a working cell phone wanted to let him borrow it for the GPS. Times are tricky and dreams run high on the Grey hound. Folks tell tales on opening bars in New York City and paying crazy amounts in rent and gentrification. The poor, we know the plot of the cities and the plans of constant growth that do not include us.
Most folks do not volunteer the information of why they are travelling and other obviously embellish the truth to fit their American Dream. Some are travelling salesmen while quickly transitioning to manual laborers to different audience. Heading to San Fransisco from no where that can be mentioned and claiming to have been part of every community that we travel through. Sounds so lovely to me to be part of any community that I let the lie linger in the air as I focus further into my book.
I made my first coffee at the Grey Hound Station in Denver. I mostly wanted to sleep last night and now I want to soak it all in the beautiful peeks and valley of the Rocky Mountains. I honestly can not imagine a more lovely experience that what I am currently enduring. Wispy little trees littering the mountain side. In side of a fresh new buss with a plug for all the technology and I think people can not be so loud faced with the infinite beauty of mountains. Knowing that we are all part of it and feeling the weight of the great puffy clouds above the mountain peaks how can you be in hurry when we are lucky enough to view this vision.
Pulling into Vail, CO with smell of break dust..and the site of mountain cottages. This view validates the TV watchers idea of Colorado. Thin people going up and down ski lifts and thrusting themselves of lofty mountain tops. This place must be constant vacation. How can one be lucky enough to have this be their stop of of the Grey Hound. What a culture shock.
Most folks do not volunteer the information of why they are travelling and other obviously embellish the truth to fit their American Dream. Some are travelling salesmen while quickly transitioning to manual laborers to different audience. Heading to San Fransisco from no where that can be mentioned and claiming to have been part of every community that we travel through. Sounds so lovely to me to be part of any community that I let the lie linger in the air as I focus further into my book.
I made my first coffee at the Grey Hound Station in Denver. I mostly wanted to sleep last night and now I want to soak it all in the beautiful peeks and valley of the Rocky Mountains. I honestly can not imagine a more lovely experience that what I am currently enduring. Wispy little trees littering the mountain side. In side of a fresh new buss with a plug for all the technology and I think people can not be so loud faced with the infinite beauty of mountains. Knowing that we are all part of it and feeling the weight of the great puffy clouds above the mountain peaks how can you be in hurry when we are lucky enough to view this vision.
Pulling into Vail, CO with smell of break dust..and the site of mountain cottages. This view validates the TV watchers idea of Colorado. Thin people going up and down ski lifts and thrusting themselves of lofty mountain tops. This place must be constant vacation. How can one be lucky enough to have this be their stop of of the Grey Hound. What a culture shock.
When drivers change for the worse
Well, Salina Kansas seemed like a nice stop. We were mostly on time until the old bus could not properly lift the gentle man in the wheel chair. He was almost though the door when it became clear that the devise would not work properly and if we could manage to get him on we might not be so lucky in getting him off...which would really be horrible as the ride so far had been so stinky. I am not sure how that man was getting to his destination but it was not gonna happen on our buss.
The wheel chair incident set us back 40 minutes and I guess the jolly good driver did not clearly inform the next stop of the situation. Hays, KS we stopped in a dark parking lot I could not tell if there was a quick stop or a laundromat for the parking lot but it was certainly rural and needed a buss out. A nice Asian man was to be the substitute driver as the intended driver had not yet shown up and most of the folks on the buss had connections to make in Denver, CO. We later learned that the new driver had never driven to CO before and had only been working with the buss line for two weeks...Oh and did not have a route slip for all the stops and was using his phone navigation to guide to our destination. I was appreciative of his courage but some how the majority of the rest of the buss were very huffy about the situation.
I found out as we drove into the night that my new seat companion was a Grandma that makes the buss trip twice a month from Denver to spend time with some grand babies that live in Wichita. She was a lovely woman I'm guessing in her 50's but could have easily been older. She worn three coats in April in Kansas. The outer layer coat was a lovely faux leopard fur coat with matching fez style hat. It was nice to be sitting by a lady of her own fashion. A very sweet woman who has a low tolerance for the back of the buss hootin' and hollerin'. I was devoted to my book and successful at blocking out the loudness and disrespect.
I had over heard two other ladies that were on voyages to visit grand children. I had not expected the Grey Hound to actually be a considered form of transport for older woman travelling alone. The Grey hound seems to be the mostly traveled by independent passengers waiting for the seat mates and hoping for the best. I have mostly been lucky so far on the seat mates only one person I wished could have smelled a little nicer. Soon I will also wish that I smelt a little nicer though as I will be on the buss for over two days with no shower and steadily fermenting in a steal box...yum
The wheel chair incident set us back 40 minutes and I guess the jolly good driver did not clearly inform the next stop of the situation. Hays, KS we stopped in a dark parking lot I could not tell if there was a quick stop or a laundromat for the parking lot but it was certainly rural and needed a buss out. A nice Asian man was to be the substitute driver as the intended driver had not yet shown up and most of the folks on the buss had connections to make in Denver, CO. We later learned that the new driver had never driven to CO before and had only been working with the buss line for two weeks...Oh and did not have a route slip for all the stops and was using his phone navigation to guide to our destination. I was appreciative of his courage but some how the majority of the rest of the buss were very huffy about the situation.
I found out as we drove into the night that my new seat companion was a Grandma that makes the buss trip twice a month from Denver to spend time with some grand babies that live in Wichita. She was a lovely woman I'm guessing in her 50's but could have easily been older. She worn three coats in April in Kansas. The outer layer coat was a lovely faux leopard fur coat with matching fez style hat. It was nice to be sitting by a lady of her own fashion. A very sweet woman who has a low tolerance for the back of the buss hootin' and hollerin'. I was devoted to my book and successful at blocking out the loudness and disrespect.
I had over heard two other ladies that were on voyages to visit grand children. I had not expected the Grey Hound to actually be a considered form of transport for older woman travelling alone. The Grey hound seems to be the mostly traveled by independent passengers waiting for the seat mates and hoping for the best. I have mostly been lucky so far on the seat mates only one person I wished could have smelled a little nicer. Soon I will also wish that I smelt a little nicer though as I will be on the buss for over two days with no shower and steadily fermenting in a steal box...yum
Smells like cinnamon apple candies in here.
This stop is much nicer than my original boarding location in St. Louis, MO. I am basing my assessment on smell alone and have not looked up from my tiny screen that I am currently reaching out to you on. This building is a triangle as the last location was a mere hallway of glowing primary colors. The windows of the Grey Hound station in MO where oddly childish as a way of teaching its riders the fundamentals of color theory through distorted light. I sat there waiting for my boarding opportunity with wafting smells of old pet piss soaked carpet. There was of coarse no carpet in site.
I began hearing tales of a greater buss, a new kind with wifi and electrical plugs for our phones. The bus I was on was all that I had expected so I felt no lust for the unknown. Though I am hopeful that I may encounter the mystical blue Grey hound buss during a leg of my voyage. I guess folks that were traveling from Indianapolis had a taste of luxury and were very unhappy to board the crap bus of the 90's. I personally was shocked to find out that Grey Hound the poor person transport would bother updating until things were actually broken....The world can surprise.
It does smell almost lovely in here as the bathroom situation from the metal tube I have been placed in for the last 4 hours was fresh with human fecal matter that escaped each time the bathroom door opened, which was all too frequent. I find it a wise curtesy to wait to use the bathroom during the stop for which there are plenty. I think it took 45 minutes before the bathroom was was deflowered up on my first boarding. I am now in Salina KS and the bathroom is going to be cleaned before we get back on.
Hearding back on the bus was not so bad with the same driver a jolly large african american man with a really great way of dealing with the screamers at the back of the buss. I think for a driver to make it work they really have to be quite cool and laid back and perhaps turn a deaf ear to the complete and utter nonsense that can happen when people can not charge their electronics. I am very thankful for the technology that everyone has....It gives us all a little privacy in a cramped world.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
My Time Cost Less
I want to meet this country in all of its' glory..... I am hopping on the Grey Hound April 3, 2014 and heading to LA. I am guessing most people taking the Grey Hound across country are not doing it for the sake of the ride but my trip is intended for that purpose.
I am a lucky lady and have friends that I can stay with to shower and visit with over my 11 day voyage to LA---Portland---Seattle---St. Louis. I hope this trip is the beginning of inspiration on several fronts. I am hoping through tolerance that I gain an appreciation for the under thought of poor traveling through the night to jobs or to find their place of home with family. I am also desperately seeking acceptance among the people that I feel I belong.
I have had three different people offer to help me buy a plane ticket out to LA for my friend's wedding which makes me 100% luckier than the majority of the people that will be on that bus for the 40 hours it takes to get to Los Angelas. But honestly, I can not afford the $400+ it cost to fly on a plane to California and as a low income earner I have more time than money. My time cost less than other people's time. (I do not make much per hour)
Thus the Journey.....
I am a lucky lady and have friends that I can stay with to shower and visit with over my 11 day voyage to LA---Portland---Seattle---St. Louis. I hope this trip is the beginning of inspiration on several fronts. I am hoping through tolerance that I gain an appreciation for the under thought of poor traveling through the night to jobs or to find their place of home with family. I am also desperately seeking acceptance among the people that I feel I belong.
I have had three different people offer to help me buy a plane ticket out to LA for my friend's wedding which makes me 100% luckier than the majority of the people that will be on that bus for the 40 hours it takes to get to Los Angelas. But honestly, I can not afford the $400+ it cost to fly on a plane to California and as a low income earner I have more time than money. My time cost less than other people's time. (I do not make much per hour)
Thus the Journey.....
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Sometimes Fashion Dies
Well it is all over from here. My staple of employment for the last 6 years is gone. I guess there is nothing left to know about retail anyways. Perhaps I never belonged there in the first place. I am not sure how to look into the past and know for certain if things were good or if the past is just sugar coated by bad memory.
I started working in retail fashion part-time in 2007 and I really enjoyed the idea of creative control over my environment and I considered myself fashionable but poor. A thrift store junkie from a time when interesting vintage clothing could still be found for 50 cents. I had gone to fashion design school and have some basic knowledge about garment construction. I should fit right in...right? Well as it turns out I am not mean or super judgmental which might be written into the handbook for fitting in. I was still generally accepted. I even made some friends though excluded from invites to hang out after work and really was not considered one of the cool kids. I think I was tolerated. Just a hangers-on that was dependable and user friendly. I have no drama. No real need for conflict and I honestly find it easier to show up to work rather than come up with some lie to justify my absence.
I think the truth in the past can be labeled accurately by the function it has served. I always had a place to work if I was in between jobs. The pay was low but helped me feed myself. I did learn how merchandising and buying for market are important for a retail business. I met fun people over the years; some that think of me as the creative person I am and others that don't.
I started working in retail fashion part-time in 2007 and I really enjoyed the idea of creative control over my environment and I considered myself fashionable but poor. A thrift store junkie from a time when interesting vintage clothing could still be found for 50 cents. I had gone to fashion design school and have some basic knowledge about garment construction. I should fit right in...right? Well as it turns out I am not mean or super judgmental which might be written into the handbook for fitting in. I was still generally accepted. I even made some friends though excluded from invites to hang out after work and really was not considered one of the cool kids. I think I was tolerated. Just a hangers-on that was dependable and user friendly. I have no drama. No real need for conflict and I honestly find it easier to show up to work rather than come up with some lie to justify my absence.
I think the truth in the past can be labeled accurately by the function it has served. I always had a place to work if I was in between jobs. The pay was low but helped me feed myself. I did learn how merchandising and buying for market are important for a retail business. I met fun people over the years; some that think of me as the creative person I am and others that don't.
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