Tuesday, March 28, 2006

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One day when I was 12, I sat in the woods and cried.

I looked out at the city and tears kept raining down my face.

Sad for just the idea of being sad.

I wish I knew now what I knew then. I wouldn't have been in such a hurry to grow up.

And I would have stayed in those woods.

Photo - N
Words - S
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The legal district used to be Chinatown. But all the lawyers forced them out.

Except for one place.

And that place must be the toughest Chinese place in town.

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They’re surly. Just look at how they put the black lettered poster out every morning, daring the lawyers to do something about it.

The lawyers are weak. They love the poo-poo platter and crab rangoon too much to do anything about the brazen Chinese chefs.

And to their chagrin, as they try in vain to learn how to use chopsticks, the cooks all laugh at them and their pitiful Western legalese ways.

Photo - S
Words - S (but really, N told me the story and I just made it a fake history of a real city)
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It’s been winter a long time. And sometimes, I wonder if spring even remembers our name. Don’t forget to call, April showers. Come back soon, May flowers. My feet are permafrosted to the ground.

Photo - N
Words - S
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I never want to meet my heroes.

When I was a kid, like every kid growing up here, Willie Stargell was my hero.

We used to wait after the games to see him.

I was in awe, there he was, “Pops,” coming out of the team room and walking toward the bus. Trembling, pen and paper in hand waiting for his signature.

He shoved me to the curb in the rush of people.

I was sad for a long time.

But now I’m wise.

And that’s why I never want to meet my heroes.

Photo – S
Words – S
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I have no idea who wrote this and a vague idea of what it means.

I took the photo, but I didn't make the art. I just thought this was a great place to put it. The scary part is, it was in the middle of the street in downtown, off Forbes. It's a really busy street and I almost got hit twice taking this picture of the street.

You see new things in the city when you walk through it at 6 AM.

N, do you know what this means?

Photo - S
Words - S

Friday, March 24, 2006

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The car represents freedom. Sure, the wheels have fallen off, but as long as I look outside and see it, I know that the two of us can get out of here any time we want. A few days work and it’ll run. We’ll roll down the windows and plot our course for Mexico. Or Michigan. Somewhere. Anywhere. Not here. Far away from desks and migraines and stupid fucking inflatable fish.

Photo – N
Words – S
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I feel really cold now. I used to never feel cold. Or at least I didn’t worry about it. But today, I held the paper from the printer and it was so warm to my touch, it felt like it was keeping me toasty and safe as I stand in a frigid world.

I’m sure the paper wasn’t trying to tell me anything.

Photo - N
Words - S

Monday, March 13, 2006

Get motivated

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Photo - N
Words - S
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My past self watches over me now like Batman watches over Gotham. Meaning, I base a lot of my decisions on how the 16 year old me would view the 33 year old me. And right now, he’s been yelling at me quite a bit. Today, he’s grabbing me by the back of the head and slamming it repeatedly into my desk, screaming about how dare I give in to people. Every day, I sit here, with sixteen year old long haired black t-shirt and jeans wearing me laughing, cajoling, chiding.

Once, I met a class of kids about what I do, and they said, how do you keep from selling out? My answer was that, well, selling out gets different as you get older. You buy a house. You get married. You have to smile through shitty teeth to people you hate, from time to all the time, just to keep your nose above the sewer water.

16 year me has no idea what I’m talking about. Then I remember, hey, 16 year old me couldn’t even get a date t save his life. So whatever, kid.

Photo – N
Words – S
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The end of a party always makes me sad. The planning is over and all that remains is to still clear up. Sure, you’ll have plenty of potato chips and food as leftovers for days to come, but you won’t have the people that you invited. And worse, the people who you invited and for some reason, couldn’t make it. I have one friend, whom I consider one of my best friends, but every time you make plans with him, it’s kind of like you have to go through these elaborate hoops to have him attend your party. And then, he comes very late and leaves very early. It kind of makes me wonder why I even go to the trouble of inviting him. The entirety of his visit consists of him eating, talking on his cell, and text messaging. I find someone who text messages while I’m trying to talk to them to be ruder than someone who doesn’t show up or tell you they won’t show up to your party. Because at least then, there’s no physical evidence that they were there. It’s like, I showed up, but I have better people to talk to than you and I’m going to do it in nonlinear sentences and code while you put out all this spread and hoped people would have a good time. In truth, that sums up my friend: he’s always looking for a better party, a hotter girl, the next best thing. Maybe I settle. No, I don’t. I think, in truth, what I do is realize that there’s more to life than getting the next version of something. That certain things improve with age and use. Sadly, he’s too busy staring at the LED screen on his phone to notice.

Photo – N
Words – S
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Every time I eat a pirogue, it makes me proud. And wistful. It reminds me that I’m tied to some part of my heritage. My grandfather used to make big batches of pirogues that blew anything frozen that you can buy today. It amazes me at times that someone so big and strong was so adept in the kitchen and grocery shopping. He didn’t try to teach me anything, but in the way he lived his life I learned a lot about the way that I should eat mine. I have also noticed that my pirogue consumption, over time, has lessened. Maybe that’s good for my heart. Because in my youth, I could easily eat two dozen. I try and make six my limit, now.

Photo – N
Words - S

Guest writer - Bree

Sadly, work has made a mockery of my writing in the last week or so. I promise to try and write some things today.

We do have a guest, though. I really like what she wrote. - S

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words: Puddles. When I was younger, I loved puddles: the incredible sound of my yellow goulashes landing right in the middle of the tiny, temporary lake; the round spots of mud that ended up splattered on the backs of my pants or dresses for which my mother always scolded me; the just-hatched tadpoles we'd find, and catch, in the most stagnant pools on paths in the woods. Puddles were, in short, my childhood.

Now I walk around puddles; my black pumps would not protect me from the agony of 8 hours of soggy pantyhose, feet, and shoes. I stand here waiting for the bus. I see the city's reflection in the gutters below. Cars sloosh by, and I jump back at every pass for fear of being splashed. The mud would ruin my pressed suit. There are no tadpoles here. Just cigarette butts, gravel from the asphalt, and memories.

Photo - N
Words - B

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

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I've been trying to find my voice, the moment is now. Say the things that need to be said. Shed this image of what you think I am, of what I have been, to become what I will be. I will be free. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I stand frozen as time passes me by once again.

Photo - N
Words - N

Friday, March 03, 2006

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There is a song called "What I Am." I generally like the song. The Edie Brickell version being the one I've heard. These are some of the lyrics:

"I'm not aware of too many things
I know what I know, if you know what I mean
Philosophy is the talk on a cereal box
Religion is the smile on a dog
I'm not aware of too many things
I know what I know, if you know what I mean, d-doo yeah"

It's the smile on a dog line that gets me. What does that mean? Is it slanderous to religion? Or quite the opposite?

My dog smiles and it's the thing that's gotten me through this week. I printed the photo and put it on my cube. Whenever I've gotten mad and frustrated, I look at the photo and have smiled. I feel at peace, I laugh, I realize that everything is ok because soon I will be at home. Maybe religion is like a smile on a dog. It makes people feel warm and fuzzy. Comfortable, not alone in this big crazy mixed up world.

Picture - N
Words - N

Thursday, March 02, 2006

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This shack sits on the back of my land and I never want to take it down. I love it. It reminds me that even in my attempts to be respectable, I will always remain low class. I wish at times that a man who smokes a corncob pipe lives there and he has a still that he shares rotgut whiskey with me as we sit around the fire, careful not to burn down his shack. I tried to walk into my shack once, but I became afraid, because I would rather live with my fantasy of what is in there than the reality that the only thing that lives there are bugs and dirt.

Photo – S
Words – S

My serenity garden has been used as an ashtray. Or, if you meet Buddha in the road, please don't kill him anymore.

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I'm missing one of the tools, so instantly, my serenity garden has stressed me out.

N says that I should use the rocks to symbolize people.

I make a path and that path is covered with rocks in my way.

The serenity garden, sadly, is half full of sand.

Photo - S
Words - S
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I think that you become more aware of your body once you share it with someone. More invested in how you breathe. You definitely notice your skin. Unless your skin is dry, you never notice it. When you’re against someone, you pay attention. To the sweat, to the way that it wraps around your muscles and knuckles and knees. When you’re walking down the street afterwards, you gain an almost intimate; pardon the pun, knowledge of the condition of each part of your anatomy. Every fingernail scratch, every pulled hair, every tender bruise is now a story that you were the central character of. Feeling your heart in your chest, trying to catch your breath, eyeing your eyes in the mirror.