Thursday, July 12, 2012

Newest music!

New video! This is a tribute to Panic! at the disco. I love that band. I love this song. I hope everyone really appreciates the A' Capella version I have recorded of it.

Monday, June 18, 2012

terrible time tuesdays

 I am having the worst time focusing on things.

 I'm not meant to focus on things. it could be Wednesday,

 and around here

 every day is Friday

Why now in the summer?
why now when work doesn't exist tomorrow or forever

no such thing as work

its all just life.
life life life life

money isn't real
money isn't life

moneys for the damned who are disillusioned. 

Caught like fish on hooks being pulled

 higher and higher. 

they think the money gets them higher

closer to the surface
closer to the sun that's warped through the waters

 like a giant gold coin.
 gods money shimmering
for them
 what divine is waiting?

money brings them higher and higher,
money brings them higher and higher
money brings them higher and higher
money brings them higher and higher

 until they are on the top of the world. and then...
it breaks
the surface
a rip into the universe they should have never tried to obtain key


they cant have everything
they want whats not their right
desire of all things
sun like fire on gilded scales. The winged creatures pick at there flesh and rip away whats not so rotten.
the birds tear apart their wasted souls. 

mutilated skeletons, at the top, above all

ventured out to own everything
to grasp everything

in the sanctuary of winged beasts and giant gods
they cant go back
they have obtained all

they scorch they burn they suffocate



 how does it feel to be this high?

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

I like my coffee like i like my women un-meme

Ok... so this is  going to sound nutty, but I feel like I am on to creating a new un-meme! lol. I feel like I am creating a new un-meme which basically starts out like "I like my coffee like I like my women" and then ends with some funny correlation between women and coffee. 

I probably haven't come up with it first but I haven't heard of it in my area of the world until I thought it up myself. So its original from my head at least. Meaning I didn't steal it from anyone else. I swear to god all on my own I was sitting drinking my beloved black coffee and I thought Damn I really love this black coffee. 

And Im a white woman, so I thought it would be funny to make my status saying
"I like my coffee like I like my women, Hot, bitter, and black"

I got a few lols and next thing I knew I had like.... 30 comments with variations to the coffee joke. including:

I like my coffee like I like my women- french vanilla

I like my coffee like I like my women- Low fat mocha

I like my coffee like I like my women- from a gas station 

I like my coffee like I like my women- with a little bit of whisky

I like my coffee like I like my women- In the kitchen

I like my coffee like I like my women- Pale and sweet

I like my coffee like I like my women- black, but Imma put a lotta cream in it

I like my coffee like I like my women- Pipin' hot and spilled on my lap

I like my coffee like I like my women- Any time, anywhere.

I like my coffee like I like my women- ground up in a can.

So it seems to be a pretty hilarious trend in my small Cleveland suburban area. Of course I can't take all the credit, but I do have some pretty creative friends. No lie. Gooooood times. 

What coffee women jokes can you enjoy?

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Writing music.

I have been extremely busy.
Recently I have been working on writing music.
I am currently in contact with a music producer who is ... well you know, producing music. He writes music for general commercials, and movie trailers, or show theme songs, that's the best way I can explain it. He has made a what appears to be a pretty good living. It makes sense too, he has after all been working his kind of art his whole adult life. He has been in the music business since the 70s I believe. In my opinion  he lives a rather fancy upper middle class life as a music producer. He works when he wants- does what he wants- its a great way to live because he's generally his own boss.
 anyway that's all I have been working on lately. Writing songs for my producer. I wrote about 11 I believe. Once he figures them out hopefully we will work on them from there. unfortunately I don't think I am as motivational as he'd like me to be, but I really write what I feel.Some of my songs are moody, or strange. I write really abstract stuff. So I write what moves me. I write what I feeel. I write where the spirit of song takes me.
   I only hope that is good enough.
sssss for reading!
no really though.... thanks. I'm going to post my latest painting project online soon. keep your eyes open for it. love you all.. :) ...
I miss my boyfriend.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Lessons learned from a wonderful art teacher part 4

So I was starting new. This is when I came back to art, like the guilty lover who left for better things only to discover the grass is never greener on the other side. When I realized that all realms of creativity were art I didn’t hesitate to explore all of my talents. I started with writing, went on to drawing, then painting and singing, finally acting and dancing. I realized and reaffirmed the talents I had harnessed in classes and courses as a child. All those hours spent drawing and writing as a child came back to me and helped to show me what I truly was. I was an artist. (A creationist, in the words of singer Kerli - and I recommend all artists to look up her song, “Creationist”) 

Once on my own I realized that the last thing I wanted from my life was ordinary. That I couldn’t go a day without drawing some creature which crept out of a dream, or admiring art portfolios of some of my favorite local artists. I learned that this was what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Her words came back to me as I continued my passion. What once was hobby quickly turned to life ambition and thus along with it there was great struggle. I finally understood what she meant however, as I looked at the turnout for all my projects. The small amount of money I did earn went right back into creating. I always knew the saying "starving artist" was a true one, But I never actually expected to be one. I always figured it would remain a fun hobby.
            Despite the lack of money I knew that what she said was right. I will not stand by for anything conventional. Not that conventional is wrong in any way. Every person has a story to tell. Every life role is important. But I cannot possibly see myself in any kind of position like that. My brain is constantly wandering, my souls constantly contemplating, my heart urges me to sing and to put love into all I do, and my feet never want to stay still. I need to move, jump, run and thrive! I need colors and expression. I have such a challenging time dealing with my imagination on paper let alone containing it in my head. I must create. I need to let these thoughts escape! I am constantly looking around me with an artist’s perspective. Seeing everything with the beauty, the irony, the emotion, the bitterness and the true messages our life symbols allow us to interact with.
She certainly knew what she was saying back then. Perhaps she knew what I was before I knew. My life is art. I won’t blush or simply nod in agreement now, I feel it. I know it. I need this life. I don’t care how I end up living. I will always create. I will always strive to bring my imagination out into the world. I will always try my best to inspire others and I will always remember that life without passion is death in waiting.

I am so amazed by all she was able to do and the beauty she was able to create. There is one specific conversation that stands out for me that occurred between the two of us one cloudy Wednesday evening. We were over near the ovens, I watched as she molded white clay and explained to me the tender connection she had of the chalk portraits she had done of her daughter. They were on display to hopefully be sold. She expressed that she sells the portraits to make a living and stated strongly that the money didn’t matter to her. She disclaimed that the most precious thing to her was her daughter, but went on to say that her life is not about living in a house, not about driving cars. It was not about the clothes she could buy or the places she could travel. Her life was and still is simply art. That was all she needed. That was all she ever wanted. With a tone of humble honesty she explained, that there were years where in total she wouldn’t make more than 5,000 dollars total. There were years when she did very well and could save for all future expenses. Her life was up and down. This was the kind of life she had to expect. She pointed to one of my drawings and said that she could tell I was the same way "for people like us,” she said, “art is all that matters. It won’t change us if we can’t pay the bills of live conventional lives; because if ever there was a time when we were forced to discontinue our creation it would simply be impossible for us to continue living. Art is living. Nothing else matters, because anything else is death.”

I felt slightly guilty that she included me so strongly her ideals. At the time I felt art wasn’t my life. With a narrow mind I didn’t include music or acting as any kind of art form. My shallow teenage soul put labels on everything. Everything fell into categories. Foolishly I thought only pen and paper artists were artist. I also knew that the most important things in my life at the time were my boyfriend and the future I planned for us. Every bit of my happiness relied on a good outcome for the two of us. I admired her dedication to the craft and wished that someday I could feel as certain about what I needed to keep me going. 
years later I learned that the last year and a half of my relationship with high school sweet heart was only running on the hype and anxious promises I made as I clung to something I thought would make me happy I didn’t realize that the future I was creating was not my future. In the life I had built up for myself there was in fact no place for me at all. Every ounce of it was about "us". When I finally had the courage to leave the relationship, I realized I was left with nearly nothing.  All of my life for the past three years had been composed of planning things that never even happened, things that were way off in the future, and I was constantly relying on someone else to spend time with. I didn’t have any hobbies. I never did anything alone. Eventually I realized I didn’t really know who I was or what I liked, having focused so many of my growing years on what “we” liked. 

Monday, April 2, 2012

A wonderful lesson from a wonderful art teacher. Part 2

 In the four months I was there I excelled with my sketches and oil paintings and was able to create with such an ease I had never before experienced in my life. In all honesty I am currently les refined in regards to skill and technique due to the lack of guided practice and less structure in my foundations.  Back then, however, there was nothing I felt I couldn’t make.
All it took was a gentle nudge here and a little push there and my ability blossomed. Once I was able to feel comfortable in my capability there was nothing preventing me from imagining wonderfully elaborate things.
Being able to think something in my head and then actually accurately draw it out to life was, and still is, one of the most important aspects of art to me. I use my art to bring my wild whims out into the real world so I can live in them physically with added texture, mobility, scent and obviously sound. As a musician and an artist I love to incorporate sound into art. I think the added touch truly brings everything to life. I occasionally use bells, wind chimes, rubber bands and guitar strings.
For me the process of convincing a wild thought out of my mind and into the tangible world is a frustrating task because I don’t just want to explore a partial version of what I think, I want it to be complete. I want the real deal in its entirety. I want to feel like I am walking into a dream. There are short periods of time where my writing and painting is a complete wreck and turns out nothing like I planned it to be. Not only does this stop me from creating, it stops me from imagining anything at all. I’m very stubborn you see, even when dealing with myself. Sometimes things must be perfect. Compare my frustration to going on a grand vacation and wishing you had a camera to record you experience, but alas, you are not allowed to bring one. I want to relive the things I think and keep them forever in time, preserved so that the whole world, or as least anyone who cares to see, can march in with me and experience the  realm’s only vaguely available to me personally. And even then it’s experienced in little bits and pieces. 
My wonderful art teacher started out charging me standard rate for lessons, but when I could not manage to pay for them any longer, she allowed me to take lessons in return for cleaning services, and occasionally baked goods :) She was a splendid woman. During my lessons we discussed every topic imaginable. I learned a great deal about her youth, her love life, and her experience as a mother with a teenage daughter only just younger then myself

Various experiences with an inspiring Art teacher

A few years ago I was privileged to take art lessons for several months at Sable River Art Studio in downtown Elyria, which, unfortunately is no longer running.  My art teacher was a wonderful woman with a wide smile and a silly habit of sticking her tong out and including the most unique cacophonous sound effects while explaining things. She was full of wisdom and insight and knew so much about the city and the cities in north east Ohio in general, having been born and raised in the area. I took it upon myself to fund my own art lessons when I just turned 17 due to panic attacks I was experiencing. I thought that perhaps fiddling my fingers around with the art projects and goals that once amused me so much as a child, would help calm my tired mind and stop my constant obsessions with the future, death, failure and loneliness. Bad habit soon grew to the ridiculous mark of extreme annoyance. She was quite supportive of me through the months I attended, keeping me busy while also listening to my problems. She wasn’t an art therapist, but I felt very comfortable talking to her and opening up to her and so at least to me, she quickly took on this role.
I was drawn to confiding in her by her natural and casual way of handling conversations. She never seemed surprised or disturbed by the questions I asked and always responded softly, or with a joke that would lighten up any slump I was slipping into. At the time my instructor held a great influence on me. She played part mother figure, part life coach, part art teacher.
While attending sable river I learned to understand my own mother. My instructor would tell me about the mistakes she had made with her daughter. I always imagined my mother to be correct no matter what. I was at the time, very frustrated thinking that I was always wrong. When I realized that parent’s aren’t perfect, I felt better about myself. Realizing that I wasn’t always wrong and she wasn’t always right was really helpful to how I interacted with her, and how I responded to her criticism. My mother and I had a valuable relationship I was able to take note of the things that were important, and let go of the things I did not agree with. I learned so many other things about life, like what to expect out of a first time, high school romance. She would lecture that I had to be realistic about love; I have to trust my feelings and allow things to happen naturally, and not force ideas onto the relationship. She told me I was a bit naive to think that I would be in a relationship with my high school sweetheart forever, but laughed as she stated she knew her words fell on deaf ears. 
I learned about sex - no not the technicalities of it, but the emotions surrounding it. That it was ok to have want and lust and feel things. That humans share some of the same sexual impulses and instincts as animals. She also told me; despite the aforementioned points of common human nature, I should always think before I act, realize what consequences sex might have and openly reinforce the notion that it is not old fashioned or boring to wait things out. 
What I am trying to say, I suppose, is that I feel like a great deal of my lessons were not art lessons but life lessons. Aside from the learning experience there was quite a bit of healing. I was going through a very low period of my life and had almost constant anxiety attacks. She let me come to her every day with almost the same exact worry or concern as the day before and never stopped me from speaking and never got annoyed with me.
She always comforted me and taught me how to take my fears and emotions and express them in my art. I would leave her room feeling better each time. Eventually with much help from not only her, but a very supportive mother and my then boyfriend (who really went through hell and back with me during that time) I stopped having anxiety attacks. I stopped worrying my life away at every turn or lull in life’s pace. I have not since had a spell of anxiety attacks that could compare to the emotional hurt i then experienced. It took me a few years to learn to simply live, to learn to take on life as an adventure, but this is already long enough and that is a story for another day.


I apologize for not writing any real posts recently. I had intentions of writing something today but am very tired after spending the majority of the morning at an audition for a new film. 

The audition actually went very well, so I spent the majority of the evening there also. I received a part, not a lead or supporting role, but a titled part which is still larger then an extra! I am utterly thrilled to begin acting and will post more details on the project as soon as I can!!!!!

Soon my boyfriend and I will celebrate, but for now were just so gosh darned tired.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

HA HA embarrising life things cought on tape surely to be used against me when I am older.

When I was 15 my mother was awesome enough to let me get my belly button pierced. It was like . . . 5 days before my 16th birthday. 

I was scared TO DEATH.

I remember it hurt so badly I wanted to SCREEEEAMM ----- or laugh. I laugh a lot when things become overwhelmingly painful.

So here it is. Now it is your turn to laugh

at my goofy hair or my braces.

Laugh away. :D 

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

As for the rest

I'm going to watch a black and white movie with Grandpa Joe on Monday.

Here are some Pictures of the trips of this past week.

Taken from up in a tree

Where creek and river collide

Daww! Sleepy little snail!

And maybe a video If I can find one.

Just an average day.

spent the entire day hiking. Went out to dinner with my grandfather for his birthday.

Grandpa Joe. Hes the one I watch black and white movies with.
My other grandfather lives in west Virginia. I called him last night and found out that he is dying. His kidneys are failing. This (obviously ) upsets me. He could go on dialysis. But he tells me he'd rather die then go on dialysis for the rest of his life.

He feels that if he allowed himself to be put on dialysis, his condition would rule his life, and hes never been that kind of man.

I'm telling the story the only way I know it. The way I was told it. And people don't speak of the past much, so I had to sew bits and pieces together. 

He ran away from home at 13 to work on a farm and pay his own living. He did this because his father was an alcoholic, and scared him when he yelled at him and his mother. When he was older he managed a coal mine. This was in the 70s. He made millions. He invested- and poorly. The coal business eventually collapsed. (at least the one he was running.) He ended up broke. Most likely turned towards alcohol abuse. He never stated this, but photographs and other family things provide all necessary evidence, but I really don't want to slander my own grandfather. He was sober when I met him, and strong and good. After this he quickly learned a new trade, because by this time he had a wife. He also had a child, the light of his life, to provide for. He went into construction and found good money there. His marriage eventually failed. His wife move to Ohio with their child. He paid child support and continued to work, spending his money as he felt, and usually this wasn't the best way possible. Not the best way for him, at least, but he helped a lot of people. He was a family man, but not only for his own family. He went around the neighborhood and bought school clothes for all the families, fixed house things and helped single mothers in the area, making sure sons had haircuts and daughters had nice clothes and pretty jewelry to wear to school. He wanted to provide for all the children. Even if they were not his own.

He learned about foster parents and liked the idea. Though being a bit old fashioned didn't think he had to run through any specific organization to be  a foster parent, he simply sought out families that needed help and support and took care of their children and their families, buying school supplies, showing up for school concerts and church choir performances, conferences and sports events and the occasional doctor appointment. He made sure to invite specific families- especially the ones with young children, on vacation with him every year, when he would go to  Myrtle beach. He made sure they didn't pay a penny.

When winter came around he bought everyone hot chocolate and coats. he called them his foster children. When I was born he sent gifts through the mail. Dress up clothes and Giant teddy bears and shoes and coats and dress shoes and always candy. He knew I liked harry potter and bought me chocolate covered frogs. Once he got confused and thought willy Wonka was part of harry potter for some reason (?) and sent me willy Wonka chocolate bars. I still loved them. I felt very strange receiving his gifts, having never met him. It took me a while to understand how someone who I had never met could love me so much. He bought me shoes when I needed new shoes and they were my favorite. He bought my mother and my younger brothers gifts too, even though they were not biologically related to him. He was a wonderful man. I think his favorite thing to do was buy things for people.

He was always making money and doing business, but I think everyone knows he wasn't exactly the best business man. In return for services once, my grandfather was promised a house, a beautiful house, for his daughter, he worked very hard and received little pay for all the houses he built in this complex, believing that eventually one of them would belong to his daughter, and he could give her a proper start. Nothing was ever put in writing, my grandfather was a trusting man. And in the end he got screwed over, penny less and no house for his child. it was downhill from there. work got harder- pay was less. He got remarried to a charming woman. But sadness after bad decision after sadness hit them and he ended up in a mobile home supporting three individuals who - due to great loss and deep depression, and tragic deaths left and right, husbands, brothers, and sons dying, found themselves too sad to work. Too sad to live.

It is a nice mobile home, right by the river. He lives amongst friends and neighbors, and my grandmother is very funny, and my young cousin, is very smart. He supports them. I understand they are sad. I know he likes helping them. I know they are sad, having lost fathers sonds husbands and brothers all at once in a streak of bad luck. But now as my grandfather finds himself near death, I wish someone would be there to step up. I wish someone could pull out of the sadness and help him. After all he has done. They are old enough and capable. simply saddened.

I know depression can halt a lot of life's things.
But lets face it
When he dies
There will be no one to support them.

They will either have to get jobs or die.


That's how poor they are, and that's how much they depend on him.

My grandfather had a billion friends. If he died there would be a billion people, all his  "foster children" will be at the funeral. A billion people at his funeral. And no one can help him? I could help him. But I live two states away. I will support him, but he would want them to be supported too. Those I cant, and wont help. I will help him. I would help him. If I could. I don't know what to do. I know what the right thing is. Even if I did move down south and work to support him as a dental assistant, to support him so he could stop working . . . there would still be no one to support,  them. The three sad people he lives with. The three people he supports.My income wouldn't be even enough to help them.

They cant help them. They don't know how any more. They are too sad. Its terrible because his kidneys have been running 44 percent for the past year and he keeps working, well. Until now. He cant work now. I feel like hes working to death. hes supporting them to death. They are killing him. And now no one can help him.

And so he'd rather die then to not be able to help those who need his help.

He'd simply rather die.

And I don't know what to do.