Final

.At the beginning of this year I had an extremely difficult time losing someone I was never prepared to go without. Although I didn't technically know him, a good portion of my thoughts and writing tended to circulate around that particular event and similar things we must have experienced. Many of my pieces have an edge of art and memory to them. Usually when I have time to read, and I mean really read, I can adopt the writing style of the authors I'm involving myself with. So far this year, Patti Smith has made the biggest impact on what I write about. I'll admit my writing completely pales in comparison, but the subjects touch base in the same ways. My posts "Comfort at the Bottom of a Swimming Pool" and "It's a Small World but Complicated" are Smith influenced in some way or another. An in-class writing activity I really enjoyed was the paint chip poems and the old photograph activity. It reminded me of how much I enjoy character construction and how I must get back into it, whether I utilize it in drawing or my writing. My personal journal contains a lot of my feelings about the end of a day or week. If I have a fear of forgetting something small and sweet that happened, then it'll be put on the page.

A classmate's piece I can distinctly remember is Dakoda's "Boy With Twig" poem. For unknown reasons it filled me with plenty of images of a renaissance peasant boy becoming a renowned entertainer in his village. Magdelaine's "Eight Elvises" was like a song that got stuck in my head even though it isn't even a song...yet. Everyone and their dog knows what books I was obsessed with at the beginning of the year, but recently I finished a book called The Wander Society and it was filled with enough encouragement and adventure to last me the whole summer. A few days ago I began Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, a recommendation from Korah. Around midnight last night I opened up a scavenged copy of On The Road that I found for $4 at Relics on my last day of high school. The Wander Society provided me with a nice book list I'll blaze through this summer if all goes well.

I've never had a writing blog before, but I've had a picture-centric blog for years. I remember I made the blog on David Bowie's birthday, January 8th, and named it after that. Dad to the Bone is just something that was silly and pretty much describes the core of my sense of humor. I knew my class mates would be reading through my blog occasionally, and that wasn't too intimidating for me. Hopefully most of them know that writing is just another creative outlet for what I can't express in painting.

Journaling has always been a huge part of my life. Documenting things/thoughts/people/experiences/dreams in general is something that I have always done and will always do. I even keep a memory box along with a personal journal and have several other friends who do the same. Every time we go out and have a good time somewhere we always find a small memento and say, "this is for the memory box." My journals are full of thoughts, concerns, and feelings I have about people I know and sometimes about people who don't know me. It all depends. 

Straight from my personal journal, no editing: 7 days ago last night marked one week and its just unbelievable still. Waking up is a lot harder. But yesterday Niki took me to the Mudhouse for dinner. It was probably about 10 degrees and we walked from the Moxie to the dinner spot where we sat for a few hours drawing each other. We met this girl who didn't have a place to sit, a theater student at MSU. I simultaneously made and broke the ice all at once. I said something really awkward and I thought it was funny until I saw Niki's face. I can't remember what I'd said but it must've been funny. She sat for a while, left and then Tinnelly came by. Then we hit the Moxie. Niki took a really good picture of me and we waited for seating to start. There were lots of people there. I got the same seat in theater 2 that I saw Snowpiercer in, so that was kind of full circle. They played Heroes before the actual movie and I had a hard time being sad. There was only gratitude and a warm feeling all around. I sang along to all the songs quietly and laughed with everyone else. After the movie, we all sprinted in the cold to the car and yelled. Niki enjoyed the movie and we listened to some of his songs on the way home while laughing.

From a previous post: "He said things like "I was always kind of different from everyone I met," and "working at Burger King was my 5 a.m. punishment for dropping out of high school." and so on. The way Dominique described his reminiscent car trip was something I'll always be able to visualize perfectly in my mind. He said, “It’s like shards of in-congruent memories coming together.” When I think of that sentence I can see myself driving through town with a friend in about 15 years time. We'll pass certain places in town and they'll look completely different, but I'll still be able to make out the small fragments of what it used to be. Maybe when that happens there'll be someone young sitting in the back seat like me.
It's nice to be able to sit in the back seat and relive someone's stories like a phantom. There's no outstanding expectation to say anything meaningful or poignant. You just have to open your notebook and know how to make it look like you're not writing down everything they say."

For me, writing is a back-brace if  I can't find another way to say what I need to. Most of the time I stick to personal journaling and creating art, but a lot of my "critical thinking" when it comes to my art is solved on paper with writing first. When I was a lot younger, I always had a notebook with me. I was always writing fantasy stories and making characters out of everything I saw. Back then, I wanted to be a writer. I don't exactly remember what changed my mind, but naturally I eased into visual art and that's where I have stayed. In the future, I have plans for more characters in my art and I might even make a graphic novel of sorts and I can't do that without creative writing. I just have to find the right inspiration to set that cog into motion.

Photos of the Millennium

I have tallies for every photo in the collection relating to warfare and violence and they exceed 30. There will always be war so long as mankind continues to have differences, but I'm reaching a point where I just yearn for peace from all sides. Private wars are waged inside my head most days, and seeing so much exterior worldly turmoil makes it difficult to find peace. I've been learning to balance. I was beyond happy to see the pleasant, benevolence of humanity in most of the photos, but as soon as I realized the primary common thread of many I felt a sinking in my chest. I have to wonder if the current state of affairs has worsened since the site was last updated, or if it's always been this hectic. Every week it's another public shooting, there are fresh victims of hate crimes, terrorist attacks, and new additions to the list of deaths in the name of police brutality. There are even forms of organized hatred sprouting in legislatures across the country. It's this group of people against that group over seemingly fickle reasons and it's shrouded in a shadowy cloak of misunderstanding. Amidst all this frenzied turbulence, one must remain rooted in nothing but good intention and love for the living things we share the Earth with. I want to hate corrupt leaders and see them get what they ultimately deserve, but a small voice inside of me always asks where they went wrong. "What if they thought they had good intentions?" The stitching on the black and white morality become frayed and come apart. It is a blessing to be able to see both sides of a situation, but it is a curse sometimes to be unable to pick a side for yourself. There will always be a, "but wait...", "hang on a second..." or the famous, "what if..." to everything that continues to happen. It's the morality kaleidoscope.

MSU Student Visit Reaction

I met Helen and Tiffany, both very lovely lively people. Both of them liked the movie Zootopia and enjoyed the open sky and the weather in Springfield. Helen has a dog named Blackbean, and Tiffany has a boyfriend named D.J. They really seemed to pay attention to how hospitable Americans have been to them, and that really didn't surprise me. Many people are just curious when they meet people from places that are so far away, usually when they're mean it's on accident or they just don't realize it. I told the girls that my favorite color is green and that I feel like a cloud most of the time because I float around and change constantly. Neither of them have ever been to Hurt's before, which honestly surprised me. A lot of college kids show up at the downtown location. I also told them that I like drinking coffee all the time and that the t.v. show Hannibal has my attention right now. 

As Dakoda and I showed them around the school, they mostly looked around with big, curious eyes. I had to wonder if there had ever been an equivalent experience of pure wonder in my catalog of memories. They got to see the new commons area, the theater, the lunch line, Mrs. Dunn, Mrs. Nance, Mrs. Stephen's rooms, and both of the gyms. I was so fun to find the common ground we could communicate on. Their reaction to certain slang terms with a little tilt of the head got my attention the most. I've been so used to these words all my life, I never actually thought about how they might sound to someone who hasn't grown up in the same culture. I would have loved to show them Blackburn and Declue's room along with the work that they do in there. 

Love Letter on the Back of a Photograph 1938

"Everyone can hear you laughing and I'm not at the slightest embarrassed to be the one across the table from the center of attention. Surely they can see the sparkle in your eye from across the room. I hope that they know, single handedly, this girl has managed to tip the world on it's head the exact way you hear about in storybooks. you've managed to grab me by the elbow and tote me headlong into exciting situations I would stress to be in at any other given time. I'm so glad it's been you. It was always you at the beginning and it will continue to be you beyond human capacity. 
I want to shout it from rooftops and share it with people I pass in the street and whisper it to the cashier at the market.
I can think of a thousand situations each time we're together where I find the sides of my face aching because smiling is the only thing I can do. We seem to come from the same origin, like the colors of our souls coming together make impossibly great works of art. All in all, I think you are magical. The good parts of your day will always be the best parts of my own. If you tap your feet to a rhythm, I'll snap my fingers and when you cross your eyes, I'll stick my out my tongue. Our time together so far has been only a small drop in the ocean of the hope I have for our future, no matter the ending."

Movie Quotes

Up

Fantastic Mr. Fox

Only Lovers Left Alive

Pan's Labyrinth

Harold and Maude

Reel Life

There are two questions that make me freeze up on the spot.

What is your favorite song?

and

What is your favorite movie?

I've narrowed it down to under ten, excluding documentaries, and they are...

Only Lovers Left Alive

Short Term 12

The Pianist

Detachment

Harold and Maude

Frances Ha 

We Are the Best

Rocky Horror Picture Show

Goodnight Mommy

I usually try not to judge a movie by the trailer even thought they give everything away anyway, but I usually know if I'll like a movie or not. My family finds it nearly impossible to get me to sit through a James Bond or Jason Bourne movie. Those kinds of movies are okay, they just don't keep my eyes glued to the right screen. If I'm watching a movie on my own, and I usually am, it has some some substance that I'll end up using later. I have to see some kind of artistic value in it and that might sound pretentious, but it doesn't always come from the same source and I'm not always looking for the same thing. 

I like to watch movies in groups of people who know how to act while it's on and you can't always get that in the theater. If none of my friends are available for a massive watching party then I like the house to be completely empty and tidied up. My room is an absolute disaster, but when it comes to watching movies in the living room everything has to be to my standard otherwise I find it hard to ignore. I'm extremely picky when it comes to my own house.

My quiz results:

YOU ARE 33% EXTROVERTED.
You are moderate in activity and enthusiasm. You enjoy the company of others but you also value your privacy.

YOU ARE 83% AGREEABLE.
You are generally warm, trusting, and agreeable, but you can sometimes be stubborn and competitive.

YOU ARE 58% CONSCIENTIOUS.
You are dependable and moderately well-organised. You generally have clear goals and are able to set goals aside.

YOU ARE 8% EMOTIONALLY STABLE.
You are sensitive, emotional and prone to experience feelings that are upsetting.

YOU ARE 100% OPEN TO NEW EXPERIENCES.
You are open to new experiences. You have broad interests and are very imaginative.

This doesn't relate back to movies by much and the questions were very difficult for me to find one answer for, but that's the fun in it I guess. I also think that saying I'm even 8% emotionally stable is a bit of an overstatement.

Not to be vain, but I'd really enjoy seeing my life as a movie. Someone told me once that I remind them of Ellen Page, so I think that could be really interesting. Vital events to include somewhere in the film would have to be my time at St. Jude's, the trips to the major U.S. cities, the day I found out David passed away, and when I sold my first painting. There's plenty of fun stuff in between and I'm confident there's even more to come, but I hope the movie has a happy ending even though I secretly hate it when movies have those.

"It's a small world, but complicated..."

Sometimes when I meet someone for the first time, I know it's been aligned to be that way. I don't know what it is, but the encounter will feel perfectly congruent with my own life in that moment. Most of the time, I don't bother recording those experiences because I wouldn't want to restrict the feelings to just words on paper.
On an early Sunday morning I woke up from a night of tossing and turning. I forgot to eat the day before, which isn't unusual for the evenings that I work. I remember my legs being shaky and Space Cadet was a fitting title for the way I carried on conversation, worse than usual. I would start a sentence and completely forget that I was even talking halfway through, like my brain was in orbit away from my physical body. Before I even got out of bed I could hear people making plans for the day.

"Dominique is in town from Quebec, he want's to hang out and get lunch."

 by this time, it was about 10 a.m. I had fallen asleep around 3 and woken up at 8. I used the 2 hours difference desperately hiding from the sun. I'm not someone who can function well on 5 hours of rest. I can do exceptionally well with anything less than 3, and anything past 7, but the four hour gap between those render me absolutely useless when it comes to acting like a normal person. It's truly a sight to behold when I try and carry on with tasks as a sleep deprived shell of a person. I'm usually way to tired to be existential.
We got to the restaurant and my eagerness to eat a wholesome meal was overpowering the irritation I felt from skipping coffee. The waitress took my mom's order and then mine. I could have folded myself up and fallen asleep right at the chipped dining table if Dominique hadn't walked in.  Just by looking at the way he carried himself, I could tell he was someone my family would have had connections to; with his neat silver streaked hair combed back, ratty black hoodie and skate shoes. We exchanged hello's and a decent handshake. He gave the waitress his order and then it was up to us to find our way in conversation. I stayed quiet, only saying thank you when he complimented my favorite shirt and haircut (both he said he had in the past.) During the silent gaps in conversation, he would tug his neatly groomed salt and pepper beard and look at the art on the walls. The food arrived and as we ate I could see his utensils shaking slightly after we made a small toast with plastic cups. I thought it was really endearing that he was scared to talk to us, of all people. I was the one putting my glasses on and then removing them again for no reason at all, a telltale sign of nervousness. As the meal continued, I let my guard down. I began to find little parts of myself in the way Dominique spoke about Springfield. He went on and on about the places he wants to remember and it was through the same filter I've always hoped to be able to see my home through after I've left. We finished our food, left a generous tip, and went on our way. My mom offered to take him around to old haunts even after he insisted he'd already seen the only important place: the downtown curb where he used to sit and daydream about leaving Springfield. There was no sign of reluctance in his steely eyes when he finally folded and hopped into our car. By the way our trip was going and how his childlike enthusiasm grew, I could tell that he had more important places to see. There’s something about looking at things and places people treasure as memories, especially when they want you to experience the trip of nostalgia with them. There was one house that we searched high and low for, and in the end we found it along with all of its cryptic sentimental value. Dominique was really shaken up at seeing it in it's present state and Mom asked if everything was alright. He just kept repeating, "It's okay, it's okay...just an old friend's place is all. It's just so crazy..." He said this over and over to himself. Even though I craned for further explanation, I never pried at the meaning.
The car trip continued around town. From Pershing to Parkview to Phelp's Grove and smaller back road nooks. He said things like "I was always kind of different from everyone I met," and "working at Burger King was my 5 a.m. punishment for dropping out of high school." and so on. The way Dominique described his reminiscent car trip was something I'll always be able to visualize perfectly in my mind. He said, “It’s like shards of in-congruent memories coming together.” When I think of that sentence I can see myself driving through town with a friend in about 15 years time. We'll pass certain places in town and they'll look completely different, but I'll still be able to make out the small fragments of what it used to be. Maybe when that happens there'll be someone young sitting in the back seat like me.

It's nice to be able to sit in the back seat and relive someone's stories like a phantom. There's no outstanding expectation to say anything meaningful or poignant. You just have to open your notebook and know how to make it look like you're not writing down everything they say.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_JfN9Wm7fg