looky here.

i think many of my friends will find this funny. i found it while meandering on IFC.com. they recently had a compilation of the top 50 Movie Trailers of all time. plus a rather in depth explanation as to why it's a favorite in the heart of viewers and prolific in the history of trailers. 

http://www.ifc.com/news/2009/06/50-greatest-trailers.php

Also, while exploring i discovered this new social experiment of an annonymous hugging wall. weird. even if it is some comfort for those who fear hugs from the known, this will just further perpetuate their social ineptness rather than encourage a friendly embrace. however, many participants are praising this latest form of "mood elevation". by remaining anonymous, the participants are unaware of the gender or race of whom they are hugging and therefore encourages hugging equality. interesting. maybe if they chose another colored curtain. 

i miss someones.

V8.

Photography by  Blake Fitch

Spicy hot straight from the can. 

yum.

today has thus far consisted of:

-despondent good morning bye

-car wreck

-cowboy coffee covered car interior

-brutal Spanish test, provided by wandering mind

-lots of laundry and bleach

-clean house

-iChat with Lo

-usual banter and laughs with Karalee

-bit of reading/journaling-gradual understanding of forgiveness

-fastidious anticipation of Dad and Caity 

things to come:

-good meal with good company

-tour de waco

-Benjamin Button 

have a list/agenda-less day, friends. 

7 minutes.

To write a post.

7 minutes. 

fifty.

So while I was sweltering during my mid-day run this afternoon, I thought up a few goals. Deadline: Age 50. yes, it's already looming there. 

1. 50 marathons.

2. published compilation of 50 of my poems.

3. visit 50 countries.

4. run a race in all 50 states. 

5. fit 50 marshmallows in my mouth. 

6. see 50 cent in concert. 

The first 5 are a joke.

have good rest of the day. you still have 50% of it left. 

Scribble.

As of recent, I've felt like writing in my journal much more than updating this blog. 

I've desired some necessary doodling. Swooping and swishing my thoughts instead of astutely articulating them. I'll briefly synop my life lately. 

The Wacoan is okay. I drive. I photograph. I usually procrastinate. I suffer criticism. I enjoy interogation. 

God is forgiving. I wish I had the capacity to understand that level of forgiveness, let alone administer it. 

I miss friends and their faces.

I really am delighting in organization and planning. It's new. 

But mainly it still consists of my doodles.

I'm scribbling everywhere. 

Including here. 

Bleh.

I scramble.

click to enlarge.

I am absolutely enamored by the latest photo shoot for W Magazine. Reminds me of Middle America. 

New Poem.

KANSAS CITY.  absolutely wonderful. day 1 consisted of art museums and downtown explorations. day 2 was spent at the lake, soaking in clouds, clouds and more clouds. it was nice to talk again.

Currently Listening: Bricks (Live) by Ben Harper

Currently Writing: A poem and in my journal

Currently Consuming: Iced Creme Brule Rodeo 

Currently Reading: Facebooks, my planner and intermittently Mere Christianity

Currently Watching: Common Grounds 

Currently Enjoying: boyfriend

Currently: Elated and a bit sleepy 

Velvet 

Book of faces

Catalogue of new spaces

Rhythmic hum of keyboard thumbs

perpetually punch: BUMBUMBUM

Tiny faces behind plastic lids

Sipping with hands like kids

Scratch the bite on my knee

Morning's warm rays, still I freeze

Grip of salt, styrofoam sinks

Infinite plaid, flannel soon blinks

I draw the bubbles as I eat the clouds

Above my floating head, torn velvet shroud

Placing the cup, on the blank space

Lightly bring the singed pages to my face

The lion is grumbling me into its lair

I remind myself to keep devouring air 

bon voyage. 

fisher maxwell.

Meet my boyfriend, Fisher. we look good together, i'm aware. 

So, packed full of Jane Austen novels, Plath poetry, pretzel sticks, journals and eyes for the open road, I am making my way with Andie to Kansas City, MO. 10 hour drive. 10. 

i've always loved long road trips. 5 hours never seemed long enough as my family made our annual trip to chicago every year from Edwardsville. but now, it seems like the 2 hour drive home takes longer than the previous 5. my perception of time has completely altered since childhood. before, time always flew. always. even in class. sitting with caroline, bantering and avoiding eye contact with the teacher and allowing the hum of the overhead clock to rapidly spin, never heeding to its warnings. 

now, i feel like i'm just never content with the amount of time before me. 

its either too long or too short.

too gone or too much more. 

something about control.

i love fisher.

ffffound.com

explorations are proving fruitful. it's a beautiful reflection. 

you're a beautiful reflection.

Pancakes.

One failed internet connection, two dead phones and one impatient contractor later, I'm suddenly pinned for failing to attend either of the assigned Wacoan shoots, yesterday. Sigh. Now that I've finally returned the seething emails, I can return back to sanity as I sit cooped up in a corner, sipping on coffee and longingly glancing at my copy of Mere Christianity.

Anthony is sitting with me. Fussing over his newly acquired iPhone while religiously listening to Kansas and Led Zeppelin, while intermittently transitioning over to latest sports broadcast station through his SONY Sports Mega Bass cassette player. His head bobs steadily along with the rhythmic melodies that blare through his oversized headphones. His worn in BU shirt reminds me of home, his worn down John Deere hat smells like my father 15 years ago and his outward glances bring a wave of nostalgia. Although he's sat here numerous times, I find him still enamored by his surroundings; soaking in each crevice, each moving mouth, as if tomorrow he won't be sitting across from me, observing the same things. Reminds me of freshman year.

Hesitant steps plague my memory as I trotted through unchartered territory. Now, I just accept everything. I've been here before. I've treaded this waters. I've explored these lands. I'm no longer surprised, no longer entertained, and no longer engaged. I just mindlessly toil with my current state of affairs, cowered behind my white, gleaming laptop, sending tiny brain waves to newcomers that they don't belong. 

It's so sad how socially unruly I've become. Daily failing to recognize, acknowledge and encourage the mundane. Desensitized. Careless. I think I'm going to download Sweet Home Alabama, grab my headphones and hum along to my surroundings. Force myself to be aware. Forcing myself to do something that at one time I had to force myself not to do. 

Hey, cool vase. 

I like that. 

Cold coffee.

GreatMorningAfternoonDay.

Today has been lovely. The majority of it has been spent on this very porch swing, creating tiny films for my friends. Also, reading out loud. I love reading out loud and I feel like every bit of writing was meant to be read aloud at some point. Especially Hemmingway, Plath and Steinbeck. There's something about their syntax and prose that flows. Makes me feel like I'm singing. The beats and peaks of each word hum along to the plot of the stories and the description of the characters. Reminds me of a fusion of folk and twang with the smoothness of Carla Bruni. 

So, for a few years Sylvia Plath has always been my dark favorite. She's provided guidance in the greater portion of my poetry and continues to shape a lot of my writings. As I loosely skimmed her biography, I realized how auto-biographical The Bell Jar is. The tale of depression and suicidal, laced between the tambourine of her prose mirrors and traces the events of her life. It's miraculous and mind-blowing the justification that takes place in my mind as I read the narrative of a young woman, searching for her career, her husband, her life and her soul. It's a search that beckons, plagues and graces us all. She suffered under the death of her father at a young age, the loss of hope working for Mademoiselle, and the divorce of her husband. All of these secret and unavoidable steps of her life are plodded through in each of her poems. Enamors me. 

Yay for quasi-intense blog posts. Just something that has been on my mind all day. I like reading out loud. This is my way of reading my thoughts out loud. 

There's some warmth in cold coffee.

Wilde.

Good morning, friends.

Wacoan is picking up. I spent 6 hours yesterday driving aimlessly around Waco/Lorena delivery pounds and pounds of the latest issue. One more time today. So i get to attend my first Waco socialite function. I'm there to take pictures of the people, not the actual event, which amazes me. i'm solely being paid to keep track of who's socializing with who. it could be the resonating tune of the shins but i'm looking on the brighter side.. I get to visit a venue i've never been before.. Slippery Minnow Bar and Grill. Yep, Slippery. Minnow. awesome.

I'm in an image posting mood. Mooding image posting. Posting moody images. Imaging moody posts. 

The Royal Tenenbaums.. Ohh Wes Anderson.

Richie: I wrote a suicide note. 
Chas: You did? 
Richie: Yeah, right after I regained conciousness. 
Chas: Well what does it say? Is it dark? 
Richie: Of course it's dark, it's a suicide note. 
Chas: Can I read it? 
Richie: No. 
Chas: Well could you at least summarize it for us? 

New Kitchen. New Living. Rooms.
I entitle this town: Waco. Untitled town is appropriate. 
I love this image. I used it for a project in 2D Design. Something about childhood.

good stuff.

it's beautiful outside. the aroma of fresh brewed coffee is rapidly sifting its way through 

my new home. i love this place. i love the wooden floors, the tiny 

crevices, the character, cracks and green walls. i always imagined my 

first home like this. as i pour more soy into my iced coffee, i discover joy in the pink

countertops, 

the creaking of my floor beneath my feet and the smell of life.

currently reading: mere christianity by CS Lewis.

currently listening: the shins

currently consuming: folgers and frozen grapes.

currently viewing: morning suns

9:14.

Artist Focus:

Yellena James

Ink Drawings

www.yellena.com

I wrote this tinsy poem while attending a moon date...

the tiny way the sky splits the moon in half 

reminds me of the crinkle in your eye when you laugh

beads of stardust and bright beams emanate light

i imagine galactic stars' battles and epic night fights

candid cackles trace the fine, purposeful creases

bare glow where light's emitting ray no longer reaches

maybe this poem sounds childish, trite and unreal

but its the way the the half-moon of your eye makes me feel

all smiles.

ice ice baby.

my ice chomping habit has only exponentially increased with this hot and humid Texas summer. 

[My Rosy Red Summer]

Crisp cool water streams from green gardened hoses

Iridescent smiles appear amidst the pink placid roses

I pick and I pluck and I reach for the life

Removing the roots with a spare pocket knife

Pulling and brushing, I place them in water

Aligned in a vase, I perpetually father

Curiously lifted to dry, rusted petals

sour aroma emitted from malleable metals

4:46 am.

my good nights have slowly transformed into good mornings. 

these past couple of days have provided me with lots of smiles. 

i really like peanut butter. and trips to Barnes and Noble. scouring the Green Day featured magazine covers and the Christian Inspirational section with Holden always proves itself comical.

Well, today i bought The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. in fact, i wanted to share a bit of what i've been reading. i find it fascinating and a necessary read for any Christian. 

first, i'll read the back:

{C.S. Lewis gives us the correspondence of the worldly-wise old devil to his nephew Wormwod, a novice demon in charge of securing the damnation of an ordinary young man.}

my favorite bit thus far: 

[In civilized life domestic hatred usually expresses itself by saying things which would appear quite harmless on paper (the words are not offensive) but in such a voice, or at such a moment, that they are not far short of a blow in the face. To keep this game up you and Glubose must see to it that each of these two fools have a sort of double standard. Your patient must demand that all his own utterances are to be taken at their face value and judged simply on the actual words, while at the same time judging all his mother's utterances with the fullest and most over-sensitive interpretation of the tone and the context of the suspected intention. She must be encouraged to do the same to him. Hence from every quarrel they can both go away convinced, or very nearly convinced, that they are quite innocent. You know the kind of thing: "I simply ask her what time dinner will be and she flies into a temper." Once this habit is well established you have the delightful situation of a human saying things with the express purpose of offending and yet having a grievance when offense is taken.]

take the time to read it. it will provide clarity. and make your night. and by that i mean.. morning. 

goodnight/morning, friends.

Respond.

Things I am enjoying:

1. Tazo tea

2. a vacant apartment

3. accepting God's love

4. a lack of structure summer

5. beards

Things I am missing:

1. the "o" on my keyboard

2. a place to sleep

3. monotony 

4. Lo

5. TCBY

I really like life right now.

hay-bails.

Yesterday was wonderful. Devin and I went on a photoshoot all over Waco. It was basically a small search for the beauty of Waco. We discovered stunning purple walls and crevices with big blue doors hidden behind white washed walls. And of course, the photoshoot was wildly successful and entertaining. 

School is over. I will officially be a junior in about 8.3 days. Weird. No one has noticed that I'm actually a 14 year old girl harboring her tendencies in a 20 year old woman's body. Hmmm. 

Friends bring me laughter. Primarily due to leprechaun hypotheticals. 

I paid for my entire meal at George's in quarters last night after incessantly scavenging around my house, pulling up cushions and bed-lamps, searching for the tiny coins that littered my home. Little tiny inconspicuous coins. 

Well, I will leave you with a few pictures of the photoshoot with Devin because her laugh should make you smile. 

Today.

Today was refreshing. There's something cleansing and rejuvenating about a good run in the rain. 

I think one of my favorite things about running is how conscientious I am about the breaths I take. Things that become lost in their rhythmic nature require scrutiny and attention. 

“Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat it, and when you sleep, really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive, with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell, and when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.”

William Saroyan

Classic.

Where The Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

scintillating. perennial. classic.

i am continually enamored by poetry. all poetry. maybe i'll gain the gumption to post one of my poems on here someday. maybe. maybe not.

either way, let's go on a walk.

Home.

I want these stairs/slide in my next house.

It's funny how we label our home as the place where we most often reside. In the case of today, I live at the Panny. sick. 

But I'd like to say that my home is more of where I discover and create my most consequential memories. Moments of clever banter mixed with the distinct aroma of charcoal as our minds hum to serene Kate Nash melodies in Lauren's chipotle house. Or that summer in the mountainous region of Tehachapi, California. I remember climbing over and under small boulders that seemed like cliffs and climbing into tree holes that were fabricated caves. My world was an infinite abyss. And therefore, so were my memories. I only spent three weeks there but I still smell the gravel under my shoes, as I fell in love with running, treading the paths that marked the memories of new beginnings. 

A little duplex in Edwardsville, Illinois. A little dorm room in Waco. A two-story in suburbia. I still miss that place, that home. And that's exactly what it is and who I am. I am a girl with many homes, many hearts and many memories.

I can't help but mull this over in my mind as I recently signed the lease to my first home, a little cottage off of tenth. A little home. With the insurmountable potential.

But for now, as I sit in the chapter tallying the final orders of Theta Olympic T-Shirts, I can't help but smile and embrace the fact that I will leave this home some day, walking away with my own memories, making this another place I call home. 

With that said...

Dear Math Teacher, Please bring Lauren home to me. 

Sincerely, Elle

i like it here. here in this place.

so·lil·o·quy [ sə lílləkwee ] (pluralso·lil·o·quies)

noun

Definition:

1. talking when alone: the act of speaking while alone, especially when used as a theatrical device that allows a character's thoughts and ideas to be conveyed to the audience

2. section in play: a section of a play or other drama in which a soliloquy is spoken 16th century theater is marked by the emergence of soliloquies. soliloquies became the pulpit for the tragic hero to reveal his subconscious, allowing the audience a glimpse into the illogical mind of the character. however, during these soliloquies, the character himself remained completely self-unaware and conflicted by his own cognitive tendencies. so although the audience may gain a greater understanding of the character-his very essence, the character continues to  aimlessly voyage onward towards self-discovery. welcome to my soliloquy. good day.

Forever and a day. Just one.

so i haven't posted anything on this little here blog in about 14 years. and by that i mean 6 months. obvi. 

so much has changed. running my first marathon.  finding photography. finding lucinda. finding new things. appreciating old ones.

i hope these next 6 months are as effervescent.

2 corinthians 7:1 at 11:56 am. let us.. let us.. let us breathe and remember why it no longer feels familiar.

the other day, i was with my grandma. two human beings from two different worlds allowing the air and smiles perforate social norms and securities. topic of conversation: preserving childhood innocence.

there's something about jumping up and down when you are excited. i'm going to start doing that more often. and raising my voice when i'm elated over a friend's success. i feel like as the momentum of life surges us forward, we only raise our voice in anger or to receive attention from another ear in the room. bit by bit, our sincerity has transformed into superficiality.

lauren asked me what i loved most about jesus today. and i believe it to be his sincerity. 

i'm jumping up and down.