Me, misunderstood, at 17.
Ozarks, Summer '07
7.31.2009
7.28.2009
7.26.2009
Photo collect
Winter '08, at Kristy's old house.
Pre cutting off my long, hair-dyed fried locks... wrapped up in a blanket, typical. The dude is silly Travis.
I need to learn how to deal with the movement of time in a more graceful manner.
What happens when you sing to yourself
I have been singing to myself lately.
Now, whether or not my voice is decent is not really important. What I have found is that tuning into this voice changes my writing voice in a way that I find to be incredibly helpful.
After all, I have not been able to write much at all (besides surface nonsense for a blog) since taking an Advanced Poetry class Spring '09 semester. It was awful. I had to transfer myself into a man who was grounded and had a distaste for flippant and airy writing. Whoever this person was that I had to transfer myself to was too heavily influenced by the crazy person I was living with, this professor who was teaching the class (so I could get a decent grade) and any other person I was having to lie to myself for in order to survive, basically. I had to play a role to realign myself.
Frankly, I was a shitty actress because I could not get out of the role without making a huge mess.
It seems, spending that much time trying to survive by adjusting the way that you speak and/or communicate is astounding. It's something that I am not sure if I will ever be able to explain to anyone else.
Regardless, I am finding my voice again and it's going to take a lot of work getting it back to decent pace. It's just that... when you are told, as a student, that the way you soak in information does not make you a writer and instead, some other kind of goon, it's a bit hard to swallow. For me, the only use of college has been to remind me that I am certainly not one of anything at all and that I must be a moron. I have always inputted and outputted my information differently and if I am going to be judged by a bunch of traditional rules (as usual) I will be pigeonholed always as something other than what they define as the tradition.
Anyway, so I sing to myself, not regularly, but sometimes. And then this person comes out that is entirely genuine but speaking a different language than before. Still, a different language, just spoken in English. I like to let her sit in and get fed with all that is Earthly before she emerges. This is just the "creator" in me, apparently. This is just another voice.
Frankly, I have many. Maybe this is why I can't bother trying to pin myself down as anything. That's the best thing, you know.
I am making little sense.
Now, whether or not my voice is decent is not really important. What I have found is that tuning into this voice changes my writing voice in a way that I find to be incredibly helpful.
After all, I have not been able to write much at all (besides surface nonsense for a blog) since taking an Advanced Poetry class Spring '09 semester. It was awful. I had to transfer myself into a man who was grounded and had a distaste for flippant and airy writing. Whoever this person was that I had to transfer myself to was too heavily influenced by the crazy person I was living with, this professor who was teaching the class (so I could get a decent grade) and any other person I was having to lie to myself for in order to survive, basically. I had to play a role to realign myself.
Frankly, I was a shitty actress because I could not get out of the role without making a huge mess.
It seems, spending that much time trying to survive by adjusting the way that you speak and/or communicate is astounding. It's something that I am not sure if I will ever be able to explain to anyone else.
Regardless, I am finding my voice again and it's going to take a lot of work getting it back to decent pace. It's just that... when you are told, as a student, that the way you soak in information does not make you a writer and instead, some other kind of goon, it's a bit hard to swallow. For me, the only use of college has been to remind me that I am certainly not one of anything at all and that I must be a moron. I have always inputted and outputted my information differently and if I am going to be judged by a bunch of traditional rules (as usual) I will be pigeonholed always as something other than what they define as the tradition.
Anyway, so I sing to myself, not regularly, but sometimes. And then this person comes out that is entirely genuine but speaking a different language than before. Still, a different language, just spoken in English. I like to let her sit in and get fed with all that is Earthly before she emerges. This is just the "creator" in me, apparently. This is just another voice.
Frankly, I have many. Maybe this is why I can't bother trying to pin myself down as anything. That's the best thing, you know.
I am making little sense.
7.25.2009
Just the truth
In risk of sounding really lame, I have been having profound conversation lately.
They have reminded me of the reason why I love the people that I love.
They have reminded me of the reason why I love the people that I love.
Bugs like my flesh
Last night was fun despite my forgetting the majority of it. I guess that's the point. I woke up in the morning and literally peed for five+ minutes. That is weird.
Stopped and got some good toddies, went to a gallery, am back home now and getting ready to put on a record and clean my apartment. My aunt and uncle are in town and will certainly want to come by and check out my place and my cats.
Now, none of that is important but this certainly is:
Last night my cats brought in a very large insect. It was brown with prickly looking legs. It had a good enough shell to shield itself from their abuse. I eventually saved him and put him back outside after a bit of fear because he was so frightening looking. I am assuming he was some kind of predator. I like insects but if they are on my physical body I do not like them. I am currently dealing with two mysterious spider bites... again. Spiders really enjoy my pulse, apparently. They must enjoy biting into my skin.
Anyone know what that scary thing is? I took pictures of it but they are no good. I went outside a bit ago to see if the bug had survived the cat attack and apparently it did.
Stopped and got some good toddies, went to a gallery, am back home now and getting ready to put on a record and clean my apartment. My aunt and uncle are in town and will certainly want to come by and check out my place and my cats.
Now, none of that is important but this certainly is:
Last night my cats brought in a very large insect. It was brown with prickly looking legs. It had a good enough shell to shield itself from their abuse. I eventually saved him and put him back outside after a bit of fear because he was so frightening looking. I am assuming he was some kind of predator. I like insects but if they are on my physical body I do not like them. I am currently dealing with two mysterious spider bites... again. Spiders really enjoy my pulse, apparently. They must enjoy biting into my skin.
Anyone know what that scary thing is? I took pictures of it but they are no good. I went outside a bit ago to see if the bug had survived the cat attack and apparently it did.
7.24.2009
7.23.2009
Bus ran 15 minutes late then drove past me.
I am home, again.
Is it either you're with us, or you're the enemy?
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
-Whitman
Is it either you're with us, or you're the enemy?
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
-Whitman
Growin' out me hair
It's back to my color! Now a year and it'll be all long. Wee excited.
Earrings by Smetaldesigns. A long time ago a boy liked me and gave me earrings that he made on the condition that I wear them often. And I do, they're sweet!
7.22.2009
7.21.2009
7.20.2009
7.19.2009
Columbus Park, KC
Sorry I keep on updating today, folks. I have either been in a stage of depression and funk or have been full of hopeful inspiration.
But besides that, yesterday I recommended that my dad come to Kansas City for his birthday and go to Garozzos. The restaurant was amazing. But more importantly, it's located in this part of town that I fell in love with upon entering, Columbus Park. There is not a place like it around here, that I have noticed. I want to explore it soon if anyone is interested. I want to raid some Asian markets and Vietnamese restaurants. Somehow, this area resembles something that is not Kansas City. For those who do not live here, I wish I could find photos of some of the neighborhoods. If I get my camera up and running I may be doing just that.
But besides that, yesterday I recommended that my dad come to Kansas City for his birthday and go to Garozzos. The restaurant was amazing. But more importantly, it's located in this part of town that I fell in love with upon entering, Columbus Park. There is not a place like it around here, that I have noticed. I want to explore it soon if anyone is interested. I want to raid some Asian markets and Vietnamese restaurants. Somehow, this area resembles something that is not Kansas City. For those who do not live here, I wish I could find photos of some of the neighborhoods. If I get my camera up and running I may be doing just that.
Sunday morning, 2009
Wake up.
I find one of the reasons why I can't identify myself to anything right now (which, should be taken advantage of while it lasts, instead of loathed) is because nothing is being documented.
Junk Room, 2007
7.18.2009
Preesh is a good word.
Feelin' just downright rumbly today.
Somethin' is a'happenin' today. My prophetic dreams are on repeat. I have been write, write, writing in my brain all day with little to nothin' to say.
Today is my dad's birthday and I hope it isn't a general disaster. They seem to come at the wrong times. The last time they came to eat I threw up after Blue Koi because I was a bit (that's an understatement) hungover and ordered the most obscure thing from the menu. It was not appetizing and tasted like cardboard. The woman who took our order kind of warned me but I thought, "Oh that's fine!" I came home and threw up cardboard water.
Somethin' is a'happenin' today. My prophetic dreams are on repeat. I have been write, write, writing in my brain all day with little to nothin' to say.
Today is my dad's birthday and I hope it isn't a general disaster. They seem to come at the wrong times. The last time they came to eat I threw up after Blue Koi because I was a bit (that's an understatement) hungover and ordered the most obscure thing from the menu. It was not appetizing and tasted like cardboard. The woman who took our order kind of warned me but I thought, "Oh that's fine!" I came home and threw up cardboard water.
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