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