Question Mark?

July? Its been since July since I've written on this blog? What a shame. Well, I hope some of you are still reading, whoever you are. There is something so comforting in knowing that other people are reading this. Because alot of times, the things that get lost in translation with me, float in the air and lightly land on this page, right here. But most people don't know that. Anyway.
Last night, I went to see the Fort Wayne Philharmonic play classical pieces to slides from the Hubble telescope. I felt explosions in my body. Fireworks. I'm sure if you looked closely, you would have seen it moving around under my skin, the way an unborn baby makes its presence known with a kick, or sliding its hand across the inside of it's mother's belly. Except in me wasn't a baby at all, but a symphony between my brain and my heart and everything else that connects them.
I looked around the embassy and felt a sense of pride for the building and the people within it. Mostly I saw old married couples, couples who were distinguished with their pressed pants and glasses of wine held so delicately between their fingers. I may have been the youngest person there. But I was just as ready as anyone else for the evening.
I studied the stage and how the orchestra was set up. Percussion in the back, brass to the back right of the stage, and the string section all across the front. I wondered if this had to do with how the sound vibrations hit the walls and so on. It felt so mathematical. And poetical. And beautiful. Everyone in the orchestra was dressed in tuxedoes and black dresses. I thought of how things change over the years but how classical music has kept its elegance amidst mini skirts and synthisizers.
When it started, I kept my eyes mainly on 2 things. The conductor. I feel almost that conductors are over looked by the audience. The conductor is an artist. The air is his canvas and each movement of his needle is a paintbrush dipped in this instrument, and then that instrument, and this note with that note, and this beat with that beat. All of which speak to the beating within our bodies.
My eyes went between this and the string section. The cellos, the violins. Oh the violins! I just CAN'T express my love for them. The way they sound like they are crying. Everything about them is just so beautiful. Look at a violin and its shape, its color. And its silky bow. And the sound it makes......speaks words that I don't know but I can feel. Fireworks!
I will go on believing that the echos from this orchestra levitated me and carried me home on high.

black and white color and motion

for the longest time I couldn't watch movies because of you. Tonight I watched 3.

vs.

I never know anymore. I never know how I feel and if I do I have a hard time figuring out why I feel a certain way. I am a hazard to myself and to others. For too short a time I was doing the right things. Growing from the old maria into the maria I wanted to become. The old maria must feel threatened by the new maria and so she suffocates her in the night and she is lost over and over again. Like a life saving scar. Until there are so many scars that the body becomes ugly and although the life is saved the scars are only reminders of how much work was needed to keep that person alive. And that person doesn't appreciate it so there are more scars. The only hope is that the creator can salvage what's left of someone who once had so much potential.

A toy gun, Likki Li, and a Starving Artist.

Its one of those moments, or days, or weeks where I miss everything.
Instead, blog, I'm going to tell you about my day. Last night I was sucked into the vacuum that is facebook which resulted in me being sucked of any happiness I had been experiencing here. Not all was lost though. I felt bad afterward, looked around my little barn shaped, wannabe parisian room and realized that being sad meant being unthankful to my parents. So I went downstairs hoping that my Dad was still awake. I woke him up anyway and asked him if we could wake up early and make 'deep fried eggs.' 'Deep fried eggs' actually meant 'I love you'. My dad. He irons bread, deep fries eggs, and cries at a commercial. So this morning I woke up at 6:30 and stood in the kitched while my dad made breakfast. A 5 year old girl, in a 23 year old's body. They were the best eggs of my life.
Work was frustrating.
I came home and made myself a Jack and Coke. Listened to a really great mixed cd and painted a sea horse. Because we never think about sea horses. They are beautiful and little and mate for life and dance in the mornings and make musical sounds when they make love because love is music and they fit inside a teacup. I painted it on the back of a canvas I had already painted on. Years ago artists would do this when they didn't have enough money to by another canvas, this is where the term starving artist came from. I let myself starve tonight so I could be a literal starving artist. Except that I'm not really an artist. Maybe when you're starving you become an artist and thats how you relieve your hunger.
And I discovered Tobias Wong and wished I had known of him earlier because who thinks of putting a diamond upside down in an engagement ring? Or lighting up a chair? Or making a sun jar? Or a puzzle made from a mirror? All you have to do is move the mirror and it becomes a new puzzle.

this icecream tastes like memories:

wouldn't that be a cool name for a book? Lots of little and big things to lay to rest in this void of drawn so close to. On sunny mornings I drive to work on country roads and then a road with yellow lines assigning me my side oand the other as your side. Most times I can look out into the fields and think to myself that this place is as beautiful as any. Rolling hills of green, red barns that make you think of the kind of people who are down to earth. I go to the meetings and meet my new family. The friends who immediately make me feel like I have always been there. I think of linsley and her glasses that rest in the middle of her nose and the pencil she always has behind her ear and how her major is german. We end up in a corner saying how glad we are that we have found eachother and then laugh like 2 little girls who became best friends one day at recess. She could speak german and I would still laugh at everything she says. To linsley: thank you. At times though, I miss my old life. Why we have to leave things and never return to times and feelings that we always think will last forever I am still trying to figure out. Or how hearing someones voice or smelling a certain smell from a certain time can bring you such a certain feeling like someone is scooping out a piece of your heart. But what a bowl of sweetness would be served by this heart and these memories. The people I love and miss will always be my favorite flavors. No matter the things around me or me myself change. This is 2 scoops of happy and 1 scoop of sad. Frank says shots; I say scoops.

Unforseen Occurrence

Equals heartbreak? Perspective. I thought I was having a bad day. And now...what am I? I am nothing. My papercuts should be cause for rejoice, my spilt coffee should become a prayer of thanks, my headache is a beautiful pain.
How do you comfort someone who has lost their father? Their best friend? Their husband? Their brother? A rock. Someone who knew everything about everything. I stood shaking in my boots. What if it had been me? How do you console someone who is being ripped apart? Her crying was an audio of a heart breaking. I can't bear it. I've known him all my life and never knew him. I can't handle seeing his family this way. I can't handle seeing someone I have only seen as strong, as the weakest person in the room. I didn't think I would cry. But all I could do was mirror the pain before me.
When 30 cars are parked outside a house, only one thing has happened.
You'll never read this but I am sorry Smith family. For what it is worth, I love you.

My Friend, Haley.

I don't know if she knows this, but I check her blog often. In ways, Haley became my friend by things she didn't know she was doing. Haley is my friend not only for what she has done for me, but more importantly, what she has done for her. Tonight I miss my friend Haley, and I am speaking to a void. If change is the sea, Haley is a ship battling the 40 ft waves of life. I am the buoys to safely navigate her home, wherever she stays or goes.
Until we meet again.