AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

11 August 2006 4pm

I think you've infected me with something. Before I knew you, I never wanted chocolate. I hated it. it would give me headaches just to smell it, and I personally found it ridiculous and annoying when other people said that it was their favorite thing or that they were "addicted" to it.

And I remember observing how you were consumed by chocolate. You didn't eat a lot of it - you just needed it sometimes. You always had some with you, and whenever anyone else had it, you wanted it, too.

It was only around that time that I started eating chocolate. It wasn't the only thing; I had kept strict standards for myself about what would not pass my lips; and many of those standards began to erode at that time. Onions, butter, ice cream, chicken and beef, alcohol. Some were things I had rejected consciously, others, like chocolate, were substances that had previously been unpalatable.

10 August 2006 12:45 pm

There really is so much to do and so little time

--------------------------------------------------

What is it that I'm really saying? What is all this that I'm talking about? Where are these words coming from?

They're coming from reading the writings of those who have read the writings of the writers who wrote the writings that I should have read, but didn't.

Style, style, style. What else is there but style? And what is style if not an incomplete attempt to copy too many things all at once?

If originality is failed imitation, then Artistry must be controlled folly.

9 August 2006 12:30pm

Basically, I want to be a superhero; strange and special, weird and wonderful, different and dangerous.

I want custom everything; every tool that reaches my hands or garment that touches my skin. All of them embedded with my own unique symbols, designed to reflect my particular identity.

8 August 2006

Magick is an alternate mode of ego development. Instead of getting your self image from other people through conversation and interaction, you get it from the universe by addressing it as though it were something to be conversed with.

7 August 2006

I'm just really uncomfortable talking to people - I rarely feel like I communicate effectively with anyone about anything; even the most basic concept gets lost in the transmission.

And writing is even worse. Every time I read something, it sounds different to me. I write things down and I have no idea how they will be received on the other end of things.

Writing a simple email is a total chore for me because even a single paragraph can take an hour of revision before I can commit. I write a sentence and erase it. Write and erase, write and erase. Finally, it gets sent, often days or weeks after I had originally intended to send it, and soon I find myself obsessing over whether I was too honest, whether my attempts at humor are lame, whether the sentences could even be parsed in a way that makes any kind of sense. And then I reread it over and over again, and it looks like the ramblings of a crazy person.

I've lost some momentum in the past few days . . . I really can't afford to slow down . . .

Fuel the fire by doing the things that made you excited when you first decided that you would do them. Especially things that make no sense to you.

It's like ivy, moss, and mold. They prey on the stationary. They are agents of entropy.

There's a long list before you. Don't forget your commitments, but don't let them stifle you, either. It's more important to act on the strong, new ideas while they are strong and new.

"People who are interesting are people that are interested."

I've been holding back many entries because I think they're stupid, and I wanted to make them not sound so stupid before posting them. But that's a pretty stupid thing to do, because the whole point of this thing is to be honest and uncalculating, to let a Gestalt emerge from the fragments of ideas I put out. So here come the fragments - let's throw 'em against the wall and see what sticks!

Good grief, Joe, I realized this morning that when you died last June you took me with you for these past 15 months. Motherpeace made it crystal clear this morning with the Death card and I'm blessed to have watched my own process. So now it's time to pick up the bones to see what the future brings. Wonder if I can find that medicine bag that had the snakeskin in it.

In limbo , but in this particular instance ,the wait is moving faster than I would like.

I never said it was a vacation....

It's all the heavy lifting and grunt work of the mind, not having to be onstage , but fingers working to the bone behind the scenes.

I prefer the vacation at this time.

There are no vacations.

Even my "time off " is work.

No wasted scraps left on the plate.

I don't know how "the Stars " do it.

They work on a zillion projects, get photographed, talk about what reading material is on the bedside table, get married and divorced and fall in love again ,and are seen shopping at the most exclusive boutiques while on vacation....

I've been writing, mostly journaling for two weeks now, something I all but gave up between the job, dance classes and driving. Almost too many ideas whirling through this crazy head of mine.... And I actually made a piece of jewelry last night - no, a whole set - pendant and earrings. I wore them to work today and got one order - but she asked for a piece a long time ago and I never got around to it, so it'll be a freebie. I intend to make it an exquisite freebie at that.

I noticed that the convenience store down the street has very little in their display case and asked about consignment.