work work work

"where is postmodern irony now? and pretense? anguish? ensconced in solipsistic dreams of freedom. grown unwanted in the womb of your lover. exploding into this domestic world without placenta. alone. and cold. there is no victim. there is no crime. how many? grow weary?
here?
only you.
and you.
and you. "

caller id=temp agency. salary requirements? im not loooking for ..requirements? click.
"im going to be the president of everybody"

the pressure i havent thought all this trou yet though i realized after igot off the phone with her i could have picked any munber out of the air and decided that it would fulfill my requirements ive been living dollar to dollar for so long. any extra 20 dollars would be a treat a guiltess matinee, a chocolate cookie. people have requirements? I just want some.

a. isnt here tonight and its so strange. time marked by when its time to go to work and then the rentrez chez moi. when the light changes in certain ways that the window shades need to be lowered, lifted. when i get hungry (always 11:30) and then when a. comes home.

ive made business cards already and ate pasta.

last night we went to the knitting factory to see a.'s friend play. we didnt go to spanish class and im so relieved instead ate a plate of nachos bigger than my head

mortification mortification
who is :placed in different positions: in a fragment sentence in a cover letter in something i already hi send on.

i spell so badly and tonight i want dont want to go to spanish class. a. decided not to go an old friend is in town and thats understandable but i dont want to go to spanish class and i cant tell if its definatly what i feel like of if im being a copycat just because i want to have fun too. the teacher he is this strange man who lives up the street from us, hes totally old hollywood style and tells us what spanish to know/learn to be able to communicate with the maids and it is really hard to pretend that i have any sort of confidence that he is telling me the right kinda spanish to talk. because of comments like that but of course i want to try to be openminded and but it still bugs me

so im not going to spanish class and write it off as a waste of time?

design is so exciting

life vs. living
"when we talk about life we are talking about surviving--not thriving"
the life you are given the life you create to live live live art and living
abstractions of what a creative life is supposed to be like: muddle muddle its so frustrating when you want so badly to think that art can be the life and that theres no imitation: its the truth that the imitation becaome life and then whats left? realizing that you dont have to tell everybody every idea you have that you go to yoga class and drink tibetan tea and secretly enjoy stand up comedy this is the living of life, so long in the imitation of living and embarassed and cool. (see manifesto by bruce mau farther down the page)

p.s. the following is a mess, but bear with me. and me if you know what i mean

i am at right now the identification of the fantasies the tracking the keeping tabs on and positivly identifying whose the inpulses that i cant trust. it was people last year now its myself.

i lived a fantastic life for quite a while: an ideal life that was buoyed up by what i percieved myself to be doing and the crazy lives that i and my friends were living. i was totally unhappy though, i couldnt see past my what i see as a pretty amazing and forgiving job (at an ad agency where i pretty much was the role of the goofy receptionist so i could get away with pretty much anything and did not much of anything) medicating that dull work feeling with going out to clubs all the time, loking for more excitement creating a persona of a photographer to live though my life. the persona and not the fact. i wanted the art of lif to be in the going out the making of the history the history if you care to know lives in its artifacts and in the creator and thats the lesson i learned sans media when i wanted to move to france forever. How fantastic a life if i wanted desperately always to be in another place than where i was (but thats a whole other subject)

I went alone away and missed my friends and wandered around paris in a muddle of the fantasy and realized for the first time in my life (how stupid i know) no one really cares. what comes out of my mouth is the fact, my existance is not self-evident or my art or what ever it was i did.

mired.

theres snow on the hills in orange county its so strange it looks like denver all of a sudden but then ive never been to denver and thats just my idea of what it would feel like being there just the idea, im no authority

the best smoked tea. When we were in china, in lijiang, i had a breakfast with my sister at the 69 vegetarian house in the old town and it was painted all blue and is on the steepest narrowest cobblestone street that remeinded me of amsterdam but amsterdam in the qing dynasty and i ordered the tibetan breakfastt and the tea was just like this, except it arrived in a tall hollowed out bamboo cup about 21/2 feet tall and half of it was sweet milk. A pestle inside to crush the leaves and keep them at bay while you poured it out but that in itself was quite an art, as i spilled it so beautifully across the table. If i remember right my sister had 4 papaya yogurt shakes. just at that breakfast. she wasnt feeling tooo well

being in china as i wasnt able to at all
while travelling or barely even since
write

one of those stop start days:

i didnt drink coffee today as usual. Theres this mug that i really hate for some reason but love at the same time and also a sort of superstitious relationship to it that says "New MOM" and has a cartoon drawing of a woman on the phone and a baby with a diaper on its head on the table in front of her. i hate it i love it we have too many mugs like this. enter darwinism and i pour hot tea into it and who knew that tea was hotter than the coffee pot coffee it cracked and darjeeling seeped out on the counter. im a little relieved but wondering what it means but also relieved again i hate that mug.

theres really no real idea of what is really common here not in the sense that i remember learning from england via music when i was younger. or like audrey hepburn at the beginning of funny face common, bookish, common. Common People? that was such a popular song a few years ago but i doubt anyone was concious of the real class meaning of it, half the kids on vacations at the dance clubs from the equivvie of central saint maritine (im not immune, just false-astute)

doing laundry

from ruthie's double
"It's part of your character which is...an artistocratic one, which means, in this case, aloof, apart from the vulgar world of commerce. Acts of the imagination--these are your salvation."

And where is the imagination? Its the only commodity and now its the reality.

once the word artisto cratic is hung out on the line we are out on the defense: i dont know how to feel above or below the current situation all i watch ont he tv is talk shows and crochet. i feel very common. i seem very common

Pretend the salvation is the reality, use the imagination to make it concrete.

That this becomes the state one is mired in at some point due to over education or self delusion? Marginalisation as defined by myself this is the thing that keeps resonating in my head and i cant get it out: its a place ive created for myself and if you read further into it its a self induced illusion of control its the only possible way i have to control the place in the world, the only marginalised spot i can find dry on the rock as i try to make meaning for myelf make it all have some sort of resonance because either everyone else is hiding out too, creatting their own enclaves of sanity or else maybe this is real life, fallen from the fantasy.

the production of production

an almost anna winchester-esqe derision of the intial art desire: create create create breathe its the only thing that keeps me alive.