A White Christmas

I remember a time like this, years ago, sitting on the back porch watching the snow fall in silence. A time before the hustle of adulthood set in, before the years of college, the bills, the jobs, the general demands of civilized society. Back in a time when the greatest expectation was a finished chore and the sharing of a toy. There’s something magic in the falling of snow. Something that allows deep breaths of renewal and general cleansing of the spirit. There are few things as powerful, majestic, and God given as the mighty roar of the ocean, but the silence of the falling snow, the world covered in white and purity, is a close competitor.

24

I recently turned 24. It shocks me to think in less than a year I will be a quarter of a century. And in all this birthday confusion, ponderings have bubbled to the surface. What am I doing? Why am I here? Why am I so damn scared to leave yet petrified to stay? Ya know, all those quarter-life crisis questions that haunt you in the middle of the night and force your exhausted self to count jumping mermaids which slowly start to lose solid form like "The Persistence of Memory" as sleep covers you causing bizarre and startling dreams.

I worry and wait and sit, confounded by what I think I want to do and what I am actually doing.

I long for something I'm not quite sure of yet.

I want to break away from society.

I want to run.

I want to see mermaids playing on the shore and follow their laughter into the future.

Sevierville

Already I feel as if my soul is being sucked out. This place does that to a person. I feel as if I’ve been placed in purgatory with every piece of my car I unload and job application I fill out. It is so much more than hate I have for this place—it’s fear. As I listen to a neighbor’s morning alarm go off (at 10AM, I may add), I realize that I’ve been up for a few hours and done nothing. That’s what my life will be like if I stay in this place. I keep telling myself that this is just another summer break, that I’m biding my time till August, but the truth is that it’s not. College is done. I won’t return to Lee in the fall. While I plan to move to Atlanta and live with Dana, I’m afraid of what this place does to a person. I saw my brother yesterday, and it appears as if he’s given up. He told me that he’s realized that it doesn’t matter where you are because it’s all the same. I don’t want that to happen to me. He used to want to get out of here. I don’t want that to happen to me. I can’t let that happen to me. If it does, my art is lost—the loss of that would be too much. All these telephone wires and cars and apartments—they offend my sense of purpose. Such destruction and death we have wrought for the sake of money. Such an evil thing. A piece of paper or cloth and people murder for it. It is ridiculous the emphasis put on possessions. Watching a mother finch teach her baby finches to hunt for food, I realize how much of joke humans are. So much potential destroyed by greed. Tis disheartening.

Never going to graduate

Frustration mounts as the end nears. Oh, wait, it doesn't near. It keeps on and on. 

This stupid cross cultural is driving me crazy. It looks as if I won't be able to graduate till December now. And I still have to find a cross cultural. Someone shoot me now, please. I promise I won't sue.

Enough melancholy. Art time.

"Water Nymph"
This was an assignment where we had to take part of a painting and recreate it. This is from Franz Marc's "Waterfall" piece.

"A Girl and Her Book"

This piece was commissioned. It is untitled.

"Van Gogh Meets Ocoee"

"Love in the Time of Hollywood"

"A Lovely Cup of Tea"

Bouncy Ball

Last week was my last spring break ever. It was delightful and full of mirth and enjoyment, but I came to realize just how scared I am with graduating and moving on in the world. What if I never get to live with my fairy friend again? What if my marvelous college friends fall into the abyss of lost communication? I always shudder at change. I remember going through this exact ball of emotion when graduating high school. In fact, I chose the college that I did because my best friend was going here. Life is a giant bouncy ball. One that's out of control. You're bouncing on the wall, desk, floor--hitting everything. Then you finally stop.

Beauty regimes--STOP IT!

What is wrong with the world?!?? Seriously, people! People are dealing with a change in eye pigment so that they can have longer, fuller lashes. I will never understand the incessant need follow the pathetic flow of societal demands. Look in the mirror! You're beautiful! If you throw off the constraints of moronic civilization and allow the Dionysian in you to flow free, you'll find that the inner beauty greatly outshines the physical.

Go dance naked in the woods under a full moon and feel how beautiful you are!


http://www.stylelist.com/2010/01/15/latisses-side-effects-have-some-folks-on-the-fringe/?icid=mainmaindl5link3http%3A%2F%2Fwww.stylelist.com%2F2010%2F01%2F15%2Flatisses-side-effects-have-some-folks-on-the-fringe%2F

The Ormond Frisbee

Sitting in the Florida sand,
waiting,
as the girls dance along
the waves.
Screaming and laughter,
as one loses footing
and spits the salty brine.
They stumble, from their time
as mermaids
with sand encrusted feet,
and land
on the beach blanket.
The wind picks up,
it senses the time,
the moment
as warm fingertips toss
its circular form
to drink of the tiny tide pool, and
soar with the Scuttles.

I miss the ocean. I miss the water. I want my mermaid fins.

Explaining away belief

As I was combing through consignment shops and antique malls this past weekend, I discovered a postcard with manatees on its front. Naturally, upon this find, I immediately clutched it to my being in a rather pathetic display of drama, for now I had another piece to decorate my mermaid journal with. Since this discovery, I have been traversing the web for a more concrete reason as to why mermaid sitings are believed to be manatees, but have simply come to the conclusion that no one wishes to believe anymore.

Sadly, I have known this truth for quite some time, but I began to think on religion. I am a Christian. I believe in God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit. I have no problem believing in such things that I cannot see. I also believe that mermaids, unicorns, the fae, and other such supposed fairy tales are truth. However, in these pathetic, scientific explanations for mermaids (the worse below)

"This vortex of air, constantly changing temperature, acts as a distorting lens that exaggerates the height of an object at sea level but not its width. Seen through this distorting wall of air, the top of a seal's head, or even a rock, can appear like the towering mermaid"

I began to fully understand just how much people cannot believe in something that they do not understand. This bothers me on a much greater level as I apply it to my faith, and the faith of billions. Are they truly believing? Is this why there are 30,000+ Christian denominations? If one person just cannot believe the same as another then is the solution a new church? I don't think people understand what believing is.

It maims my spirit.

A little introduction

Not completely new to the blogging world, but new to this site, it has been several years since I have attempted an online journal. However, as I near the end of my college career, and find many of my friends and confidantes scattered across the globe, I feel the need to write and connect with people in a different manner than that which I am accustomed. I cannot promise faithful dedication to this site or process, as it is something that I am attempting in a moment of spontaneity (which sometimes does me more harm than good), but we shall see.

I gather an introduction of some nature would do well for those that do not know me personally, therefore, here are a few things that I enjoy.

A lovely cup of tea, a blank sheet of paper and my favorite green pen, a perfectly executed roundhouse kick turn around back kick, a delightful piece of literature, the fabled half human half fish, watery fingers consuming my skin, a fairy dream as sunny rays kiss my skin, the delicious scent of nutmeg tickling my nostrils, chocolaty goodness coating my tongue, an engulfing hug, using my senses to create, the melting hues of a perfect sunset, a tart blackberry, mane lashing my face on the back of a galloping steed.

I am part mermaid. My mother's side of the family are descendants of Portuguese fisherman. The family as an unnatural addiction to water. Long months at sea with nothing but smelly, bawdy males as companions, and thusly there blossoms the mermaid descendants.

An artist at the core, I live for life, for the experience of the unknown, for the chance to capture a truth. My medium varies with my mood. I try it all and succeed in most. Recently, the realization was put upon me that I did not choose the Arts, but that they indeed chose me. I could no sooner part from their whispered seduction than climb to the moon on a ladder of Legos.

This is me. Welcome to my ramblings.