dreams:
2004-03-19 - 4:10 p.m.
everyone has a collection, no one knows where to find them, no one knows where they hide out during the day. dreams. self-reflection on a day that's not yet neccessarily over. saying to yourself the things you wish you could have said at just the right time, to just the right person. reality aside. a list of those things which you hope to do, a list that will grow and shrink proportionally to the amount of time that goes by, between when your alarm clock goes off, and when you crawl out from behind closed lids. cleansing your conscience. justifying all the reasons to someone that never asked why. fulfilling your wishes, regardless of the realities.
i have rules for those things. which i consider sins. i will not kiss a person i think to be bulimic. it's not the thought of the vomit as it passes through the lips, not the idea that it could still be there, nor is it the trademark yellow-burned teeth. it's a sin to kiss such lips, because something so sensitive and meaningful as a person's lips should not be used to encourage another person's faults. i will not touch the skin of a cutter. i will cry for you, talk with you, listen to you, but don't ask me to hug you. not because cutting is a disease, but because it is self-inflicted for a reason, and that reason needs to stop screaming to be hugged. i will not talk to screamers, the people that open their eyes and mouths at the same time when they talk, who pretend to be interested. i try not to think to hard about what the crazy people say. because i am one, and if i listen to my own thoughts, these sins will eat my soul.
"delinquent boxers", "as rosy as shenanigans", and other bits of love one is common to finding on keychains.
art versus creativity. many people believe that art is creative, and that creativity is art, or that creativity is an art. interchangeable. i tend to disagree, though i will admit to having entertained this method of thought on other occasions. for the now, art is a cultural definition, though it may be created by individuals. art is a skill, that once learned, changes. and that skill is a predefined process; predefine by the 'popularity' of the art. people do not buy art that is distasteful unless their (cultural) definition of art = 'distasteful things'. creativity, on the other hemisphere, is the selective alteration and not-so-selective mutation of ideas which leads to a new creation. consider for a moment that while Van Gogh was alive, his paintings were not considered Art. a few years go by, and a couple people have taken to examining the paintings because they find them creative (have challenged the Art-of-the-day). different, new. they point out these differences to their peers and pupils, who take 'creative' to be a synonym with 'artistic' and eventually just think of it as 'Art' of the highest form. Van Gogh's style, once deemed Art, becomes taught in the schools. Teachers grade the students based on whether what they have done in the class has been a reproduction of Art as we know it (for which they pass), or not (for which they fail). Art is a rigid formalism for lines and colours through which to express certain idea*. creativity is the means by which to successfully bypass those formalisms. But the majority of things that challenges that formalism is not particularly creative.
there's something to be said of the attractiveness highly pixilated hair.
there was a period in my life in which i was afraid of the dark. It had something to do with the original version of the 'Gremlins' movie, and several years later, parts of 'Child's Play'. I had nightmares of Chucky's eyes for several days after the movie, but never worried about the weapons or blood or voice of the character. I had nightmares of running through a labyrinth with a moglin on my back, could see from a bird'seye view that all the exists were being cut off by gremlins, and that i'd never make it out (like in PacMan when you get into the corner and you can see the ghosts coming, but can't do anything about it). In my mother's old house, there was a set of stairs which was only lit by a switch at the top of the stairs, so I had to walk up to my room in order to light the stairs for my sisters to get to bed. Every time I would walk up the stairs without a problem, but hesitate when it came to turning on the light, imagining a pack of gremlins having a late-night party with some raw cow flesh. usually, i gave them time to clear out of the room, told them that the party was over, warned them to leave before i had to burn them with the light. because i saw no sense in being mean and not giving them a chance.
i am most me when not producing. when i am not busy becoming something better.
I've been kinda out of it lately, kinda depressed, kinda Dead. Things ain't been getting done by themselves, surprising. Archibald, stop with your fine paint stokes, see the red light blinking, hear the water on the third floor. Better that we survive to make art tomorrow than drown and leave the works unfinished. for the future iterations of Jason to dig up. Decided to make a list then, of things that cheer me. while bailing water.
-making faces at myself in the mirror.
-physical exercise.
-oddly enough, homework seems to cheer me.
-watching TV on silent mode with the radio playing silly tunes.
-saying hello to things/people, whatever they may be.
-driving "independently" and listening to music.
your second relationship is always described in terms of your first, whereas your first relationship always defies description. when i went to her room today, i was relived. because i knew she could do better than me. because now i feel i can concentrate on the tasks at hand. because my first relationship was with my own reflection, and it was very ambiguous.
* the plural form of idea, normally spelled ideas. i like the way it sounds better as "a bunch of idea", especially in this case, where the ideas may be amorphic or only partly formed, and thus have not included the typical +s.
