Category: Art

  • Writing Transition

    I’m stuck.

    I have a nearly completed short story, but there is a transition towards the end of the story which has come to a stalemate. What I want is for the transition to wrap itself up in a nice little bow and float from my head to fingers dancing across a keyboard.

    This hasn’t happened yet.

    So my poor characters sit in a vacuum of action. They’re stuck in a cab on mars not really sure what to do next or where they are going. Meanwhile, I wander around waiting for a lightening bolt to strike with the perfect transition to get them moving again.

    I’m not sure the bolt is coming. So my only alternative is to look to real life for a solution. As I do this, I realize transition is messy. As people we blunder from one situation to another, blurting out stupid things, and hoping the damage is controllable. There are no clean transitions in life, and if they are, we become naturally suspect. Our best action in moving forward into the unknown is simply to put one foot in front of the other and do our best to live a life which honors God and those around us.

    And I think this will be the only way to get myself unstuck, the only way to get Dash and Willow out of the cab. It will be to put one keystroke in front of the other, to blunder a string of word together and hope the damage is controllable. To write something which honors the characters and their story.

    Continuing the adventure,

    Jess

  • Dancing in the Mourning

    Is a life only obedient in joy worth anything?

    How much you love those who love you,

    How much more you love those who wrestle with you!

    I have spent days in the light

    When laughter was easy and your love sweet

    Now I have spent days in darkness

    In these days I have learned to dance, though my vision is blurred

    In these days I have learned to sing, though my heart beats out of time

    I have a new song,

    A song of faithfulness.

  • I wish I were a Bad Ass.

    I wish I were a Bad Ass
    I wouldn’t care what anyone thought
    I could drink until I puked
    and fight anyone who thought I ought not

    I wish I were a Bad Ass
    I would say whatever I wanted
    Like fuck and shit and dammit to hell
    And I would laugh as old grandmas looked daunted

    I wish I were a Bad Ass
    I could forget about my loneliness
    I would have the craziest friends
    And if they pissed me off I could leave them for their shallowness

    I wish I were a Bad Ass
    Though it may not seem the best deal
    I would be free of loving without return
    And I think its so much easier then being real.

  • Charity

    My life has been a lot about me lately. Thats a funny sentence to write on a Blog that is all about me. Especially since I haven’t Blogged in awhile. A contradictory little circle isn’t it?

    The point is that I needed to do something that would help others. Here are my two acts of charity.

    First, I painted a picture for a friend of mine from work. He is having a fundraiser casino night/silent auction in order to raise money for AIDS research. This is a topic that is pretty close to my heart. Here’s a pic of the painting and the explanation that I gave him. You can click on the picture for a better view.

    AIDS in my lifeI offer to you this painting as a visual representation of my own loss in this confusing and strange battle against the AIDS epidemic. My uncle was killed December 1st, 1994 by the disease. I was 10 years old at the time and I remember with distinction the confusion and hurt that shrouded his death as I tried to understand this strange disease that ate away slowly at his mind and body. This painting is my tribute to his memory and a reminder of the urgency of finding a cure least more suffer, both as victims and survivors, to the AIDS epidemic.

    My second act of charity was to benefit the cancer kids. I chopped off my hair and donated 12 inches to Locks of Love. Here are the pics:

  • Rockin’ Mothers Day…

    I have started a new trend when it comes to gifts for my parents; be it mothers day, birthday or christmas. My new goal is to make them cry with either the perfect card, picture, etc. It may sound cruel but I get joy from touching them so deeply. Dad is a little hard but mom is almost a sure fire. I know it will catch up with me some day when I have sentimentally wicked kids of my own because I cry at everything just like my mom. The point is I think that this year I have gold prize tear jerker gift for my dear ol’ mama. Complete with poetry and visiual affects I think its kicks brunch and a card out of the water any day. Click on the pic and let me know what you think.

    Mothers day

    The poem reads as follows:

    From a mother to a daughter
    While you are young and I am old
    I will take care of you
    Feed, bath, and love you
    My touch will tell you
    All the joy tomorrow brings

    Together
    Then will come the golden days
    A seamless summer haze
    We will laugh, dance, paint and cry
    Our words will tell
    Our joy inside

    From a daughter to a mother
    And when I am old and you are young
    I will take care of you
    Feed, bath, and love you
    My touch will tell
    The dreams that we had begun.

    So go and love on your mothers this weekend!

  • 11:45

    I should go to sleep…

    I have school tomorrow and all the work that goes with it….

    Yet I dream…

    These aren’t the weird during your sleep dreams–I have plenty of those(last night I got kicked out of Pipeline). These dreams are uncertain, and pound through your mind during your waking–and what should be sleeping–hours, full of hopes that could become reality. The dreams of what I could create dance through my head like mystical and elusive sugar plum fairies; but unlike Christmas which has an appointment in my calender the fruition of my dreams do not. I could work so hard and push myself to new limits to MAKE them come true-but what would be the point? Without Jesus none of it matters. I hold so many things dear to my heart and so often he has to remind me that they aren’t really mine. I want only to proceed with his guiding hand, but it is so easy to begin to guide. I pray that God will calm my spirit and teach me the lesson of trust. It is a lesson I have long forgotten.

    So many dreams, so many nights, that may never come true…

    This is what 11:45 is to me…

    The agony…