Manics and Panics in Sea Salted Wood

Hello, Rollercoaster, how are you? Has your rattle been fixed? That jingle, jangle, terror ride, I’ve come to know so well. I’m sick of your ups and downs, but I keep coming back for more. More of those manics and panics, in your sea salted wood. So, let’s finally spin this carnival home… Blow out the light, and ride in neon darkness. The intuitive kind. The kind that you feel in your gut. The kind that hurts when you open your eyes up real, real wide, because nothing is ever as soon as it seemed. Or is it even better?      Oh, Rollercoaster, my love has X-Ray Vision, and I can watch my bones breaking at the very sight of this Thing called ‘Reality’. This word placed on smoke & mirrors & credit checks. There is no life here, only things. Things running on wheels & plastic & overstock companies; with their baby blue logos designed by someone who paid 100K to sit behind a desk all day. Open the window, friend! Let some air in! Feel it sting your eyeballs when you open them up real, real wide. Send shock waves through your nervous systems and banking institutions, and go book that trip to Bali. Live under canopies; white and wrinkled from sea dew, and the sap from swaying trees. Leave your iron at home. Enjoy your new wrinkled life. Slice off a little piece of that heaven for me, and glue it to a postcard. 42 cents and a dime. Heaven has a cover price. Sticker price. Dollar admission at pearly gates like the smiles of 10,000 lovers & martyrs & beggars & thieves.     The happiest men keep the saddest women. The happiest women break the happiest men. But we all return back to that starting position. Death grips at full throttle, and trigger fingers send pulses of heat through one city, to the next.      I am without knowledge or worry; Simple and Beauty. Still, my hands are ready for action. Reanimation. Reincarnation. Clenched fists, or peace signs; let me fight for something. Something called holy, and wet from new birth. And please forgive me for being sensitive to the weather; sensitive to migration patterns and southern winds. For when the leaves blow, they take my beggars with them. Traveling in packs and flutters of rusty gypsy wings. But I’m still here. Spinning in this direction, and not that one.

So, Rollercoaster, what is the point in this Trying & Riding & Dying, if no one is around to see it? Who holds my reanimated hand? Who crosses their fingers for my safe return? Who confirms my joy isn’t just madness, playing tricks on me?

“You do”, says the Rollercoaster.

“You do.”

Seafoam Messes

I can feel you up and down my body.

Lightning bolt eyes; Ready to leave me.

Ready to find something bigger, better, flashier.

Turn up the volume now, I’m ready to hear it.

Ready to see it.

Ready to find the twine that interlocks us,

and dissconect it.

Break it with my tiny fingers,

Cut it in half with my desperate teeth.

I’ve come here once, twice, & third times a charm.

Full circle now. I can taste it.

Taste it like sweat & tears & empty seas, pretending they’re on vacation.

But they’re always here.

Crashing into eachother.

Making seafoam messes.

Calling it fate.

Calling it nature.

Calling it anything but love.

Your Soul Is The Whole World

Re-Define Gravity, Baby.

This one’s for the Dreamers…

There’s a psychological state of living called the ‘Temporary Life.’ One always waits for the day when their life will really start. When the mediocre illusion of Life will finally lift, and all their deepened fantasies will come true. I’ve been waiting a long time. I’m much better at living in a world of my fantasies, than creating a reality worthy of joining in a permanent way. I’ve been aware of this part of myself for years now, but once in a while, I’ll find myself dead smack in the middle of it again. Trying to metaphorically rub the sleep out of my eyes, estimate the damage of my unconsciousness, and wake up to a current state of tangible reality. Months will pass by, and I wonder where they’ve gone? Where have I been? Whose been running the show? Not me. Certainly not me. I’m in, what feels like, a constant state of passenger. Mustering the focus, confidence, and self-discipline to change seats and drive this sucker somewhere useful, meaningful, or productive can often feel impossible…and it kinda makes me want to hide under my bed with a bottle of tequila and a pack of cigarettes…

I wrote this a couple years back, and thought about it while sitting on a giant rock at Joshua Tree back in August (where the photo was also taken.) Magically, it still really means something to me. When going back to a lot of the writing I was doing 2-3 years ago, there’s so much that directly relates to where I’m at right now. Almost in a spooky, intuitive way. My life was incredibly different in 2009. Growth does in fact move in strange spirals, and not in some straight, upward line. I definitely feel I’m coming back to a place where I left off some time ago…

V I S C E R A L

 I’ve been writing like a mad-woman recently, and I hope to keep doing so. I don’t know the last time I’ve felt this inspired. As much as it pains me to admit, writing (in it’s many different forms) is becoming something I’d like to explore and take more seriously…try to develop. It’s hard for me to admit this, because then I have to critique myself, and be open to critique..and that sucks. Much more enjoyable to just write for me, my eyes, and stay in my own little-light-proof-world with it all.

Fizzle In The Key Of Minor

I’m afraid I’ve already come to a place of neglect with my dear and well-intentioned blog! Life has felt a little lack-luster and greyish beige as of late. At least I’ve crawled far enough out of the funk to start looking for solutions to spice up these monotone colors. It sucks to see the inspiration obtained from travels and big life changes has fizzled away with daily monotony, sleep deprivation, and cocktail hour. Oh dear. Oh dear.

Time to re-ignite my own fire, baby!

Trying to figure out how to do this without simply quitting my job and driving back into the desert…

Renting a red convertible this time. Living in my bikini again.

Let’s see what I can come up with…

Joshua Tree.

Pictures Speak louder than words….

Open Wide!

Our Campsite was unbelievable. 

Scouting locations/preparing for the next morning’s photo-shoot!

Queens of the Mountain!

Feeling small in the best possible way.

Morning VIEW from our tent’s window! Craziness!

Morning Writing….Good luck reading my handwriting! 

There’s nostalgia in the palm trees

Day 1.

We didn’t plan much on this trip, but did plan to spend our first road-tripping afternoon at Venice beach, then drive to Joshua Tree to set up camp before dark. Unfortunately, I’m a loser, who slept through her alarm clock… so we got off to a late start. The Highway 5 drive to Los Angeles is far from new to me, but certain aspects felt new… As I had a heightened awareness and excitement for poofy clouds and sandy golden colors.

After battling some Los Angeles assholes behind wheels, we mistakingly parked at Muscle Beach, instead of Venice. Where we then had to battle fanny-pack-wearing-tourist on the boardwalk, as we hunted for something to eat that was not dipped in grease. This was not happening. We felt confused. This was not the Venice beach we had remembered/imagined. Around the time we finally got our beaches straight, we stumbled upon an adorable Jamaican-beach-hut- restaurant called, Cha Cha Chicken. It was delicious, and oh-so energizing. Especially after the grumpy LA traffic, and cattle-call of Santa Monica tourists.  Luckily – my curried jerk salmon, smothered in pineapple sauce, with a side of fried plantains – put joy right into me.

FEED US

Assumed profanities and nicotine cravings, while navigating Los Angeles Traffic.

The cure to such grumpiness is Cha Cha Chicken and Watermelon Lemonaid….

When we finally reached Venice, we were greeted by many scattered dreadlocks, vagabonds, and medical marijuana doctors. Near a large building, decorated with the gaint Rumi quote; “Reach high, reach for your spirit” – there were a couple of young travelers holding a sign of their own; ‘Traveling. Out of food.‘ In the spirit of good traveler juju, I offered them a bag of trail mix. In return, they offered me “god bless” and smiles. As I watched them munch on my raw cashews and dried blueberries, this simple experience made me realize how thankful I am to have my generosity back. Back in an available, fulfilling, and genuine way. In a way that hasn’t really been there for me in a while. The past couple years of emotional exhaustions, bitterness, and resentments have greatly healed over these recient months. A couple other opportunities for generosity presented themselves throughout the trip, and I happily acted upon them. These seem to be the kind of actions that make me feel right in my own skin again. Balanced out. It’s such a valuable thing, to begin giving yourself what you need. Funny how, in turn, it makes  giving to others, so much more rewarding. Even in the smallest ways.

Venice and Bicycles go together like peas and carrots.

When we finally reached the shore, the wind was already kicking up, and it was a little chilly. Only one day at the beach before driving into the desert, and I’ve been craving the ocean intensely this year. We must get in. Despite the chilly wind. And we did. And it did not disappoint. As wave after wave crashed into me, I felt cleansed, refreshed. Ready. Happy. Just really, really, really happy. We adorned ourselves with strips of seaweed, and talked about building a sea-house right under the boardwalk, so we could stay in the ocean forever. Maybe we would become a mermaid tourist attraction. Making enough money by selling our seaweed accessories, and would only have to emerge from the water long enough for Cha Cha Chicken and red wine.

The sun was already setting as we walked back to the car. Too late now to drive up to Joshua Tree and set up camp. After an hour of concidering staying in Venice for one more night, we decided to get the hell out of LA. With our almond chai lattes warming our sea-drenched bodies, we headed for the desert. A few hours later, a billboard somewhere along 60E beckoned us to Palm Springs. We ventured onto Highway 111, which eventually turned into a strip of pure nostalgia. Linned with old motels and huge palm trees. The scene made me feel transported back to the 1960′s. The second we rolled our windows down, I was amazed by a smell never inhaled before.  At a loss for the right word, lacey acted as my human thesaurus, when she said ‘tobacco.’ Perfect. The hot, midnight air smelled of fresh rain, earth, and tobacco. Intoxicating, with just a hint of vanilla. As I crawled into my $42.99 bed, I could still taste sea water in my mouth. Smell earthy, wet desert outside the motel window. What a beautiful stimulation of the senses.

A little beach before the desert, certainly never hurt no one.

The following morning, I found a quiet little space on the motel steps to write and drink bad coffee. As I was reflecting on the first day of this trip, I found myself in one of those rare moments, when I felt my life actually happening. And I was actually happy about what was happening. It only made me more excited for the little inner and outer treasures I may continue to find along this trip. Hanging around Palm Springs for a couple hours… we cruised downtown for tacky shops, and ate breakfast around 9am in 105 degree heat. Then headed off towards Indio, in search of big ol’ Joshua Trees. Aaaahhhhh, Joshua Tree.

Thats a whole other blog post within itself…to be continued…

Still Floating…

Home. What to do with myself now? I slept for 13 hours last night, apparently catching up on some much needed sleep. The groggy feeling is not helping with this transition. The last week has been an absolute whirlwind, and I’m so thankful for it. My sinuses are still recovering from the desert climate, ‘I went to Santa Fe and all I got was this damn bloody nose!‘ NOT! If anything my brain must be hemorrhaging from all the amazing art and mindful reflections at 85mph.

I already miss those huge cotton ball clouds. I already miss the smooth, pointy curves of gold and purple lining the horizon. I have so many photos, words, and inspirations from this trip! Yet another reason I wanted to start this blog. Serving as a means to channel some self-demanded focus and organization of it all. Instead of just letting the images and energy overwhelm me, backing away slowly, untill I’m all burnt out. I don’t want to keep burning out. I’d like to find a way to attach myself to a steady stream, and flow with it as long as possible. I think I will try to break apart each day of the trip into seperate posts over the next week or so, giving each experience it’s fair due.

Until then..here’s a collage I was playing with today, using oil pastels and photos from the trip. My Little ‘Ode to O’Keeffe’…

The Road to Santa Fe….

Breaking.Out.Of.My.Comfort.Zone.

Tomorrow morning starts a week long, road tripping adventure, through three states of desert! The mojave sky. Aztec Textures. Indian Country. Arizona Cacti. A Camera. Roadside Jewely. A Backseat full of Clothes. And a Red Headed Model named, Lacey. Its hot. Its dusty. It’s way the fuck out of my comfort zone. I could not be more excited.

I’m most definitely in a place of reinforcing, and experiencing the opportunities of trust. Trust in myself. Trust in the unknown. Trust in fate. Trust that everything won’t fall apart if I let go. Sweet, sweet, surrender of my pseudo controlling ways. Amazingly, I’ve been ‘planning’ this trip with someone who has the same desires for herself… So we havn’t been doing much planning at all! We know a few MUST VISIT destinations. A route or two in mind. And thats about it. Research has been done, the rental car is payed for, the camping tent is borrowed, eyes are wide open, the rest is left up to spontaneity.  The rest is left up to wherever the hot, lizard covered, road may take us.

 I am expecting to come back with OODELS of photos, an extensive amount of turquoise, a heart full of petroglyphs, a rejuvenated third eye, a righteous tan, and hopefully no scorpion bites.

It was my goal to get this blog online, before I left. Mission Accomplished. Now I hope to start making more sense of it, just as soon as I get back!

::::

Doodle Madness!

I found it so perfectly, synchronistic that my Papaya datebook decided to have ‘you can fly when you want to’ printed for the very week,  I am, indeed, taking flight!

Inhale. Exhale.

So this is my blog. I am starting a blog. Been procrastinating on this for a while, though it’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. There is a strong feeling of ‘who the hell am I, to think anyone will care what I have to say, share, express, create?’ This can feel a fearful, foolish, and narcissistic endeavor to me…but there comes a time when the heart of my intent, has to outshine my fear of others’ misconception, criticism, or even worse, apathy.

There is so much beauty in daily life to recognize, appreciate, and spread along. I hope this blog can serve as an purposeful medium for me to share what is meaningful, stimulating, and magical to me. I truly feel that inspiration makes the world go round. Those who have inspired me the most, are those who’ve had the strength to be vulnerable. Those who have carved their own little drum out of once, splintered, wood, and found a way to dance to that Self Created Beat. Those who have been able to transform what ails them, into what heals them, helping others along the way. Those who have chosen humanity over ego strokes. Those who aren’t afraid to be raw and open. It’s always been my highest aspiration to be a part of that perpetuating cycle. To give back to that lovely, collective, pool of inspiration. Depth and light – Sparks and heat, that have been so valuable to me. Shaky self-esteem and good ol’ fear, have kept me from really trying my hardest to fulfill those aspirations. I hope this blog will serve as a healthy motivation for me to start creating more! Helping me to work out some kinks and insecurities that I’ve long experienced, when trying to find a place for myself in these worlds. Here’s me, fingers crossed, that I will keep up with it all, and not allow fear to steal my mojo, as it has so many times in the past. As I’m writing this, I can still feel those cruel and criticizing hands wrapped around my neck, but I have faith in loosening the grip.

Committing to the moment is horribly terrifying for me. Perfectionism is a killer. The pressure of permanancy can put my body into embarrassed knots. In my mind, there is always a time in the future when I will be more prepared. More Together. More Talented. More Skilled. Ready. Stronger. Better. And just…plain ol’ MORE. The day of being ‘good enough’ to persue what I want out of life, without making a complete ass out of myself, is always on the horrizon. I can no longer sit in a dark corner, and wait for the day when I am the perfect artist, writer, photographer…or for the day when I even CONSIDER myself any kind of artist at all! The best I can do, is try to be as true and encouraging to myself as possible. To where I’m at right now, what I want right now, and to what I have to offer in this very moment. It’s the best that any of us can do. Hoping the fear will fade. Hoping the peices will start coming together. Hoping that maybe I can help someone not feel so alone and trapped by their own fears, by openly and honestly expressing mine. (even though no one is reading this! ha!)

We cannot try to appease and live up to some future image of so-called ‘readyness’ or ‘good enough.’ Now is the time. For the day will never come –  if we continue to wait for it. All we have is right now, right here, right in front of us. Trusting in that can be terrifying and horribly disappointing. With all our rawness, flaw, disconnected pieces, and nightmares of mediocrity. (which is all the yummy, yummy, good stuff; when objectivity is obtained!) I’ve been fortunate enough to learn over the past few months how ONE, SINGE act of courage… can stimulate MANY, MANY more. I’m trying my best to keep riding that ‘brave-wave’ and see where it may take me!

If we insist on perfection, there leaves no room for progression.