Photo Abyss

Okay, so these are a few seemingly random photos that I've snapped over the past couple of years. I am in no way a photographer by any means, but I like to play with cameras and editing like a whole slew of photography lovers and admirers do. I find these particularly interesting for various reasons. Let me know if you do, too. 

All photos copyright 2011

Poetry Under the Stairs II

Tortillas with Butter

Mornings in my Nána’s kitchen were filled
with rhythm and emotion, where everything’s
punctuated with laughter and the smell of
chorizo con papas.
“Tu tienes hambre, wedita?”
Everything in my life could have been solved
by a tortilla with butter. Like when Jeremy
told me my gap was so big it looked like
my front teeth had an argument and separated.
Sometimes bits of tortilla would get stuck
in it and I’d tickle it out with my tongue
before flooding it with sugary coffee from my
zoo mug she kept just for me.
My mother’s brothers and sisters would chatter away,
joined by spinning, clicking spoons and
the steady rhythm of my nana’s rolling pin.
They’d stop and ask me if I understood them
and I’d shy away, not wanting the spotlight.
I’d stare into the jungle that held my caramel
colored coffee and listen to the enchanting
chatterings that would echo through me
for years. My nána, a warm heavenly figure,
was the buzzing center of it all. I felt special
seated at this foreign, grown-up island;
a welcome intruder and pupil. The butter
melted on my tongue as I received the blessing
of the softest, freshest flour.
“Hay mas, hijita. Comer todo lo que quieras.”
Everything in my life could have been solved
by a tortilla with butter. Like when my cousin
told me I was “being a white girl” and
pulled my chongo. Maybe it was because
I have my father’s name, or his teeth, or skin.
The white sheep and brown sheep of a herd
that stretches across all boundaries, grazing
on sweet tubes of culture made of tawny burns
interspersed in creamy whiteness, round and perfect.
I took each unique one deep into the body
of a growing mestiza. 

Sondra Lankford

Harbinger Student Literary Journal http://english.ttu.edu/SigTD/Harbinger/
Spring 2010 Issue
TTU 

Puscifer Power

      

    Like many others with rad taste in music, I find myself in some kind of vortex of artistic awe
when it comes to Puscifer. In case you've been under a proverbial rock somewhere listening to Nickelback, Creed, or some other "band" that regurgitates the same generic, shitty sounds and 15 year old boy lyrics - let me fill you in. Puscifer is a rotating cavalry of musicians that centers around Maynard James Keenan. If you haven't heard of Tool or A Perfect Circle....we definitely need to talk. Let me know and I shall cover these in detail within later posts.  

  I've been a fan of Keenan's for many moons and have never been able to catch a Tool or APC show, so I'm ultra psyched to see Puscifer in December. From what I've digested through the albums, videos, interviews, internet info, etc, I'm expecting a cornucopia of art and performance mediums. Not only is Maynard not giving in to record companies, over-merchandising, and the all evil "mainstream"; but I feel like he's really ushering in a new style of collective artistic performance. Think vignettes,

comedy, cabaret, videos, costumes, thought
provoking ideas/suggestions....oh yeah, and some balls to the wall, kickass music from the desert wine country of Arizona.
The new album "Conditions of my Parole" is an experimental blend of Maynard's unmistakably unique voice (that is just as hauntingly beautiful as it was in 1990), and crashing, addictive percussion and guitar melodies.

        There's something nostalgic and simultaneously new about songs like "Telling Ghosts" and "Green Valley", and honestly, the whole fuckin' album. It's emotional, it's chaotic, it's gorgeous, it's creepy, it's fearful, and it's brave. There's grit and sweat in the songs, and they're infused with an intoxicating, audible elixir not unlike the effects of excellent wine.
Tracks like "Tiny Monsters" harbor trance-like industrial rhythms with hypnotic vocals lifting you up through the vortex I mentioned earlier.

        Self-expression is the ultimate high. Everybody wants to be unique, and yet almost everyone's the same due to pop culture, fads, and such. We are obviously much more complicated human beings than Facebook and Pinterest can showcase, and we all know that the majority of the time when people meet us, they meet our representatives -our general, public exterior that we perceive as what society deems "normal". We eventually reveal our true faces to a portion of people, but even then, there will always be a gap between what interchanges between the two of you, and what swims inside your head at 2AM, or 4PM, or every minute of every day.

So, well done, Puscifer. I can't wait for the experience in December!
Yay for artistic expression!

Owl Observations

You know how every family has that one piece of decoration that's always been there, in the backgrounds of years and years of photos, the one that gets handed down 'til it eventually reaches the youngest child? For me and my pack, it's been owls. In particular, a large 70's style painting of a mother and her owlet that hangs in my living room today. I'm not entirely sure what it is about it, but I love it in such a way that I suspect I draw power from it....maybe.

Anyway, what I'm really getting at is the complicated fact that I absolutely adore owls, and I've noticed lately that I am definitely not alone. Personally, I'm partial to retro, vintage, 70's owls. I rock owl necklaces, rings....hell, just the other day I discovered owl impressions on my favorite "leather" flip flops.....coincidence? I think not.

 This old school beauty is only $8 on Etsy.com



  These sew-on patches are adorable and SO deliciously throwback. They'd be fuckin' cute on blue jeans or a bag. Snatch a set of 2 at Etsy.com for $3.50






Maybe it's because they're a symbol of wisdom and freedom, or their all knowing globes for eyes, or nocturnal nature that draws us towards them. Or maybe it's just society regurgitating certain threads called "fads" running through our cyclical web of culture. Everything moves in a circular motion, right? Karma, the life cycle, nature, our circulatory system, and apparently, fashion trends and whatnot. We always go back to revisit times that have already passed. It's like we feel that there's more there than we previously learned, so we need to go back, retrace our steps and remember.

Frugal Fall Fashion Finds

Hiya, Dollface!
Although I wouldn't dare refer to myself as "trendy", I do adore fashion like any not-so-regular woman.
The year is dwindling down to its last months, and lovely, crisp Fall is gliding in on our heels (or in her's) with beautiful, earthy orange tones, and bold blues and reds.

 

Forever 21 has been supplying fashionable and affordable gear for us thrifty chicks for many, many moons, so it's no surprise that they're offering us these Halloween-orange, denim skinny jeans.  $27.80 - Buy them at Forever21 Also, if paired with a burnt-yellow sweater, you have a better chance at remaining camouflaged by leaves while you're cat napping in the yard instead of actually raking. Also, instead of whatever else you really don't want to do that day. Go on, go outside...it's groovy out there.
This multi-tonal sweater has a nice distressed look. Get it for $29.80 at Forever21



First of all, I don't care who you are. Everybody likes Target. Period.  This time, I found this super cute and ultra chic Xhilaration dress for $24.99. I'm really loving the blue and brown blend, not to mention the throwback zipper and boho vibe. Snag it at Target



Now this next item is currently out of stock (sad face), but keep an eye out because it's totally worth it for $24.99!

Ever wanna be bold and try new color combos? Try it out this fall. :) Pair with either of these two colors and styles to create a playful, sophisticated look for less dough.

$19.99 at Target

 $26.99 at Target

Visiting the Tarot Garden

Being somewhat of a novice tarot reader, I've stumbled upon a slew of self-proclaimed "levelheaded" and "realistic" people who fear that their participation means the revocation of their soul and/or that I may actually know the devil, (I like to envision us painting evil bird houses together or gabbing about boys over Fig Newtons and Kool-Aid).

It's strange to me how taboo things like a deck of cards can be. I mean, what is really the difference between tarot cards and ritually posting your daily horoscope to your Facebook page?

It's fun, it's harmless, and for the right people, it's- dare I say it -

                                                         enlightening. 

For some reason, people's perceptions seem to be firmly grounded in an absurd illustration of a demon of sorts who hovers over the cards, willing them to prophetize chaos and damnation for all involved.

The reason I'm painting this picture is because I have trouble understanding why "different" always equates to "wrong" in society. I could go on and on with examples of this, but you're smarter than that - you know what I mean. Why can't we explore things without the constant piercing eyes of judgement?

Perhaps tarot is therapeutic and aids in the journey to self realization or the top of whatever psychological triangle you want to talk about....a connection/session with and within yourself...
Maybe it's a connection with the universe, as in understanding it and exploring it....
Maybe it's just a damn fortune telling game that at the very least brings a jolt of excitement and enjoyment.


I'm fortunate to have had people around me that enjoy it in the same way that I do, and they were very adamant about receiving readings. I am thankful for people who open their minds and hearts to new, exciting things that continue sprouting up all around us. I think it's important that people understand that the unknown is not always dark and menacing. Some of the most breathtaking information, images, and thoughts are the ones we haven't yet experienced.

Poetry Under the Stairs

I'm one of those artsy, idealistic people who resisted the very weak urge to major in business or computer science (you know, gave corporate America the finger), and decided to get my degree in something that I feel truly passionate about and believe is a vital part of our individualism and culture that functions as a crucial mirror for society.

All that translates into "I'll be poor forever."  So here's a poem I had published by the kick-ass people at Haggard and Halloo Publications. Surreal poetry rocks.

Heated Color
Haggard & Halloo Publications: Jan 23, 2011
http://www.haggardandhalloo.com/

Ignore the scrape of scales on the sidewalk.

Help.
It’s all gonna bleed out neat and nice,
and the linens will smell soft again;
he can hit the road – truck full of loads they put
on his fraternity tease and their records stamped
with stabbed freedom, torn from a country
horizon in absofuckinlutely Nowhere, Tx.

I rode on a bus once
and pretended I was in a music video. Me and Gods.
What a sweet girl. What a smart girl.
Prick my finger and see if you burn. That bus left me dragging.
Children saw my beautiful body flinging bright
red glory undiscovered. It covered their faces
in Jackson Pollack portrait flashes.

Ugly crunch of white.
Yellow grass unloved, uncared for, but not from
the beginning. No, in the opening page of this
the smoke tasted different coming from one mouth
to another. The first time she heard the hurling roar
of the ocean her body froze in awe and
overwhelming shades that smelled undeserving.

Masichism minus fun.
Chase their shadow to a better block, a brighter
street that beckons in the cool paint of night – the canvas.
Cross yourself and ask the king for advice and the
priest for absolution. Damn, things light up
with crazy at an alarming rate. Everyone caging us,
stroking the antidote hope, soap that dirties me and you.

I’m telling you man – it’s cooking.

               

Vinyl Fiend

Once upon a time, in a possibly more artistically aware age, people filed into music stores to physically purchase whole albums. Albums in which musicians spent legions of blood, sweat, and Marlboros formulating and arranging into this black disc that once you touch the needle to, morphs into some transcendental sphere of euphoric senses taking you by the hand and telling you a story. 

As a member of Generation Y, I understand and appreciate the advantages of the digital age and am totally guilty of buying a few song downloads from an artist rather than their whole album; however, these were from more recent musicians and groups who came around well after vinyl was primarily used by record companies. I don't think they have the same creative process as musicians did in vinyl's heyday. It was more of a serious art form back then, wheras today it's all about having the hottest single. 

Anyway - I fucking love vinyl....the fuzz between songs. I'm a thrift-store rat. You have to pass through a lot of Anne Murray and Christmas music, but it's worth a good 50 cent find. I found my Jeff Beck Group album that way. I also bought a Hank Williams Jr.......why not?

 My point is that when I get home and put my "new" record on (that's another thing, I'm a vinyl purist. I am in no way interested in the new vinyl pressing of Nelly's "Country Grammar"...give me a fucking break), I can sit on the floor and listen to the entire album: from "Whole Lotta Love" all the way to side two's "Bring it on Home", and be completely immersed in another world that surpasses dimension. I can crawl inside it for an hour, forget the latest bullshit, and be transported to a well of creativity that I can bask in or drink from; or I can flip through my Ipod and experience a vast variety of emotions and images that fail to create any real meaning or pattern.  However, there is something delicious about chaos, so I get it. The download days are here for good.... (maybe), but I can't help it. I'm a progressive vintage girl.