create_destiny: (Demented)
There's a part of me that can't wait to be a shuffling, hunched-over old lady with gray hair frizzing out from fuchsia and orange scarves, a rainbow lizard earring dangling from one ear and a silver turtle from the other. I'll shuffle through the city streets in flannel pajamas with cat socks and frog slippers. Strands of necklaces made from seeds and a vintage 2008 Canon Rebel hanging around my neck.

I'll point my camera at whomever I see and shoot without asking, for I will be a harmless old lady, the one who carries fresh cat nip in her pockets. The toothless men will give me their grins, black men will give me their faces, they won't be disturbed at my presence or wonder why, the children will twirl and run through sprinklers, dancing in the grass and showing me their candied purple tongues. I'll pull spider rings and super balls out of my pockets to give them. The Mexican women will invite me into their kitchens and show me their tattoos. Their men will show me their oil-stained hands and old scars. Hmong mothers will hold their grandchildren up to me and give me fresh vegetables from their gardens. I'll snap my camera at their clean laundry on the line, the honeysuckle bushes, the garden hose, the junk garage. I won't be afraid to shoot, like I am now.

I'll say things like, "Oh, I remember back when we elected President Obama. I was in a cabin in Terlingua, Texas with no radio or T.V."
create_destiny: (Default)
"In the main, and from the beginning of time, mysticism has kept men sane. The thing that has driven them mad was logic."

-G.K. Chesterton

Kaki King

Jul. 28th, 2009 08:08 pm
create_destiny: (Default)
I know I'm lame these days, but Kaki King ain't.

create_destiny: (spring buddha)


I want to re-make this video with my own photos.
create_destiny: (Default)
That album you listen to on the two hour drive to the airport while your sister is dying, you'll never be able to listen to that album again. Because you're hearing the album for the first time ever, and it's the soundtrack to your greatest sorrow, and it's the soundtrack to the veil between life and death, and it fits, and it's holy and it's reverent......

Or at least that's how you remember it.
create_destiny: (Default)
A raccoon just came up to my open window (with no screen). I yelled at it to go away. He backed up a few feet. I shook a bottle of Tums at him and yelled louder. He blinked at me. I grabbed the nearest throwable item I could find --- a burned cd labeled "80s music" and threw it at him. It skidded and hit his feet. Unfazed, he picked up the cd with his little hands, put it in his mouth and sauntered away with it while the boyfriend laughed hysterically.

Before you start thinking I'm an animal-hater, I was thinking only of my cat. She comes in and out of this window and I can't have no raccoon kickin' her ass and causing me a vet bill.
create_destiny: (Default)
I heard a fascinating interview on NPR today with a neurological researcher named Jill Bolte Taylor whose book My Stroke of Insight came out in paperback today. This video is from a talk Taylor gave a year ago about what she experienced while having a stroke.

create_destiny: (Default)
The Question: What is the question to which your life is the answer?

The Answer: What is the question to which your life is the answer?
create_destiny: (Default)
Dear Cormac McCarthy,

If you want me to read your National Book Award-winning trilogy that begins with All the Pretty Horses, then in the beginning, when you are introducing your characters to your readers, do not make it so freaking difficult to figure out who is telling the damn story. Because, look, when you introduce new characters, and don't give the reader any threads of comprehension as to how they are related or who the frell is speaking, then your average Mtv generation reader will give up about 10 pages in. Life is too short to read books that frustrate and bore me. For you, and for [livejournal.com profile] superhappytime and [livejournal.com profile] 1gr8poetess and for the sake of my own damn ego and love of great literature and also for my budding love of the Texas/Mexico border I gave you a second chance. I went back and re-read the first 10 pages right after I read them and was still confused and bored. If that's all part of your style or whatever, then that's fine. Just know that one girl in Northern California is gonna quit your book and talk smack about you in her Attention Deficit-addled blog.
create_destiny: (Default)
I wanna to be a vegan terrorist because I'm opposed to stuff an' stuff. I'm like an anti-anti-antivist. And a pro anti prohibitist. I wanna tattoo a bunch of vegetables on my face to show how radical I am. And not just normal vegetables like carrots and broccoli, but weird ones like Africanized elephant garlic and Chinese Monkey leeks.

I wanna pierce my third eye with a rusty railroad spike. And not get a tetanus shot just to show how hardcore I am. And then I wanna get another railroad spike and shove it up my butt and have like a chain dangling from it that comes up between my legs and attaches to my nose ring. And people will be like, "that dude is so hardcore he can hardly walk and if he sits down like a normal person he'll puncture his bowel and die."

I wanna go insane from tetanus and smash some store fronts owned by innocent Asians to draw attention to police brutality. I wanna get arrested like 173 times for civil disobedience. I wanna get all disorderly conducty and go limp bizkit when the police arrest me. I wanna eat out of dumpsters and have incurable ringworm and be like the crustiest crust punk who ever lived in this white college town. I wanna have teenage disciples who worship me and make graffiti from all my super cryptic sayings like, "Disobey the fairy shepherd hog."
create_destiny: (Default)


Dear Michael Stipe:

Yeah, so you have some new French photographer boyfriend who is 17 years younger than you. Who cares? I certainly don't, because look at his freakin' shoes!!! I'm sorry, but are you his lover or his social worker? There is just no excuse for a gay man to be wearing bad shoes like that, especially in Manhattan. And to be photographed in these shoes!?! Why, Michael, why? When am I going to be one of the three women for every seven men you are attracted to? Are you going to write songs about his shoes, now? Do you have some kind-of velcro fetish or mentally-challenged fetish? Because I can be so very mentally-challenged. You should see how I dance and fall in parking lots. I can also let some type of crusty fog build up on my glasses if that turns you on.

Whatever. Screw you. I'm happy for you. You better marry this one.

Call me if you need a gaybee mama. But do it quick because my eggs are about to expire. My rates are low, especially if we skip the turkey baster and do it the old-fashioned way.
create_destiny: (grover)
So I pull into the parking lot at work this morning looking fabulous because I just got a haircut and highlights and I park my car and I'm walking through the parking lot holding my head a little higher than I normally do and I'm almost at the entrance (as are a couple of snobby co-workers who can NEVER condescend to look at me, let alone speak to me because what they do is SO much more important than what I do or some shit like that) when I trip on my shoe and lurch into one of those awkward gravity slam-dances where you are running and falling at the same time and I finally catch myself after like FIVE HOURS but not before spilling the entire contents of my purse including a bunch of loose tampons and a box of over-the-counter gas-relief medicine that has a big-ass label that screams "I'M A LOSER BECAUSE I FART A LOT." And these classy jackasses I work with walk right over my rolling tampons and don't say a damn word to me.

Rain

Feb. 28th, 2009 07:41 pm
create_destiny: (Default)
Rain is traditionally considered a sign of God's blessing. Too much of God's blessing will kill you. Sometimes I think this drought in California is my fault. Like God is punishing the entire state for the wretchedness of one girl in the north valley. I read a book recently about Afghanistan and the author mentioned a seven-year drought in the region and it relieved me to think, I know THAT one wasn't my fault.

What the hell kind of ego-maniacal delusion of grandeur makes one think their patheticness is important enough for God to withhold rain for three years in an entire state? I don't even know if there's a word for that in the DSM Reference Book of Mental Illnesses but the words ape of humility come to mind.

I miss rainy Indiana summers: the sudden mid-day darkness, the alchemical scent of anticipation and ionic stillness in the air.......

Then a deafening CRACK of thunder, scaring the piss out of dogs and babies, followed by the clatter of white rain coming down in sheaths on houses, streets and cars, like the whole town just entered an automatic car wash.

Two days ago, when I walked out of the building I spend 40 hours a week in, I was greeted by large, low-hanging, 3-D, fluffy, white clouds in a deep blue sky. It was like somebody hit the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button on a photo in Picassa. It took my breath away. You don't normally see 3-D clouds like this in Chico, just smog, which I've recently learned is more China's fault than the Bay Area's.

It's very rare that a thunder storm comes to the Chico area, and when it does it freaks people out. They act like it's judgment day or something. But it makes me want to run outside and fling myself into it's arms and say, God, how I've missed you.
create_destiny: (Default)
BF: Are you okay, baby?

ME: I'm fine. Why?

BF: I was talking to my i-pod.
create_destiny: (Default)
I just finished reading Rebecca Walker's memoir Black White and Jewish and I freakin' love this woman! If you don't know, Rebecca Walker is the fabulous daughter of African American writer Alice Walker and Jewish Civil Rights lawyer Mel Leventhal.

I read Black White and Jewish to gain insight into the life of a racially mixed girl because my protagonist in the screenplay I'm writing is the offspring of a Caucasian Mother and an African American Father. Ms. Walker's book has provided a world of insight on what it's like to straddle two heritages. Let me just say, Middle School is bad enough without having black girls threatening to beat you up for "acting white" and white girls treating you as "suspect." There is much more I'd like to read/study/watch/learn in order to make my character more believable.

This whole RaceFail 09 or The Great Cultural Appropriation Debate of Doom thing really put a damper on my creative energies, and I've been doubting my "right"? to tell a story through a racially mixed girl's eyes and I've even considered taking the the easy way out and just making this character white.

But damnit! I want racial and sexual diversity in this screenplay.

What gives me the right to tell this story through a racially mixed girl since I'm white as the day is long?

My answer: I can imagine whatever I want to imagine. And from my imagination I can create whatever I want to create.

Whether or not it's believable or good is another thing entirely.

But, GET THIS! Rebecca Walker offers a Manuscript Consultaion Service. And sure, it's probably expensive as fuck, but maybe I can get "The Boyfriend" who believes in me (right honey?) to pay for it so that when I'm a successful screenwriter shacking up with Chace Crawford in some artsy Soho loft he can sue me for monetary compensation since he footed the bill for my consultation with Rebecca Walker right before I won that Oscar and made my millions.

One really good thing that has come out of the racefail dialogue for me is the discovery of this link on white privilege. I thought I was pretty up on my white privilege awareness, but reading this has opened my eyes to a lot more.
create_destiny: (Default)
BF: I have the hiccups.

ME: I know a fail-proof cure for hiccups.

BF: Do I have to stick something up my anus? Because I already fell for that one once.
create_destiny: (Default)
Recurring argument with the boyfriend:

ME: "My Mama told me, I better shop around."

HIM: "Mama said knock you out."

ME: "Shop around!"

HIM: "Knock you out!"

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