resurrecting

My scanner has been acting up a bit, thus the lack of scans, but I think we are back in business. The past few months have been filled with a lot of new beginnings and new friendships, really abrupt endings, some of the most terrible news of my life, and some amazing news. At the beginning of the new year almost everyone I knew expressed that this is "The Year", whatever that means to them. I feel it, too. A lot of people have walked out in the past year, but I am so grateful for the people who continue to stay and watch me navigate through everything that has been unfolding as I watch them do the same. However, I find the most inspiration from the absence of the ones that chose to leave. The wanting or the weirdness or the questions or the anger. It sounds like uber lame, but these are the moments when I feel the most adult. I can see personal growth in the ability to let people leave, call out and deal with whatever I'm feeling, but not let it wreck me completely. 

I do feel raw, though, after having to shave down the feelings and trust that I build around people over and over again. 

Anyway.  

Tania's mysterious booty print behind the usual late night coffee spot.

Andrew. We used to live in a one bedroom behind the El Rey with another boy, one cat, a dog, and a turtle. I miss walking into the living room with Pokemon on the tv and him waving cigarette smoke out our fourth story window.

The Lovely Bad things at The Smell.

I made a friend, Morgan, at the LA Zine Fest. We made a comic together about our biggest weirdest fears. They included Leonardo DiCaprio's death, running into exes, eating spiders in your sleep, clogging toilets in public. The usual.

Messing around at Kit Kraft.

Probably one of my top ten favorite pictures I've taken ever.

A lot of pictures that I took in February/March are really good.

They're just kind of hard for me to look at.

The tiniest new coffee spot. 

I took this on their opening day.

I took two so they could keep one.

I like giving these to nice strangers.

Happy Easter.

testing 1,2,3

A mini docu-movie is in the works for my trip next month and I have been playing around with some ideas for it. Here's a video documenting my day yesterday using 2 second clips. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the editing process and thinking of ways to tie things together. I am so lucky to have friends that support me in every random creative adventure that I undertake. This video gives you a peek at only a handful of them. I wish the quality was better. I think the best way to view it is on the actual youtube page or on a smartphone (sideways) cause its pretty tiny here. I hope you enjoy.

rainy mood miranda

Last night I started burning holes into my clothes and had to have the lighter taken out of my hands like a child.

Today I woke up in an armchair with my shoes still on.

As I drove back home at 6 am, I considered passing my house and driving until I ran out of gas.

I pulled into my driveway instead, fed the cats, and crawled into bed.

I looped my finger through the new hole in my favorite tights and sighed into sleep for six more hours.

I heaved myself off my mattress for a breakfast burrito with Tania and drove in the rain to restorative yoga with Keely later on.

She said it would be good for me.

As I let my body get heavy on the mat, the sound of the water splashing and the cars driving through it made me picture the room breaking off from the ground and floating away into the ocean.

An ark full of flexible women in expensive stretchy pants.

I lived in this imaginary scenario for a while and I could feel myself rocking.

And then I started thinking about how, as we get older, we don't allow ourselves to pretend.

It bummed me out until I promised myself I would never be that kind of adult.

In the middle of class the instructor read a quote from the Velveteen Rabbit.

"'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.” 

Keely was right.

faces come out in the rain

As individuals, there are sights and sounds and smells that trigger us. The sight of a man walking by in a leather jacket and blue L.A. hat once sent me into a two day melt down. I know the exact smell that reminds me of every single boy I've ever been with. And there is a specific time on the clock that I look at on accident almost every single day that sends a chill down my spine.

All of the above are old fixations that will probably never leave me.

But I found a new one. It is a word that, only beginning this year, that others have used to describe me.

"Strange."

However it is said, it sticks with me for days on end, echoing to the point where even the word itself is... strange.

Even the definition of the word outright says whether this trait is inherently good or bad.

strange |strānj|adjective1 unusual or surprising in a way that is unsettling or hard to understand:children have some strange ideas | he's a very strange man | [ with clause ] : it is strange how things change.2 not previously visited, seen, or encountered; unfamiliar or alien: she found herself in bed in a strange place | a harsh accent that was strange to his ears.• [ predic. ] (strange to/at/in) archaic unaccustomed to or unfamiliar with: I am strange to the work.3 Physics having a nonzero value for strangeness.

This word has been thrown at me half-endearingly, out of frustration and then, this week, out of anger. To me, for some reason this word feels like an old-fashioned way of saying "fucking weird" and each time it has been used on me I have felt an intense emotional response that I can't even begin to explain. It makes me want to defend myself immediately. 

But then it makes me proud in a twisted way.

Cause really, when I think about it, that's the life I want. Anything worth living for should be unusual and challenging and new. It's only an insult when you realize that everyone is raised and wired to strive for convention. And with the residue of Valentine's Day wearing off, I realize I want one thing more than anything.

I want my next love to be a strange one.

Listen to the playlist here.

scraps n crap

Here are the things I stole, the things I was given, the things I found and took last week.

I've adopted this new attitude/life philosophy and it's "Okay, yeah sure."

As a result, last week was a really weird one.

& I loved every minute of it.

Even the part where I was attacked by a chonga on bath salts.

• Ugly Girl Gang Zine by Tuesday Bassen from the Los Angeles Art Book Fair.
• Cha Cha selfies .
• Miniature switchblade I bought in Venice on my 23rd birthday.
• PLEASE ENJOY YOUR STAY AT THE SMELL.
• "I don't know what I would do if any of my friends died. And it's gonna happen someday. If you died… I would be a shell of a person."
• Feels pin.
• Pins from LAABF.  "READ A BOOK YOU DUMB BASTARD!" & "DON'T TOUCH ME."

Special note 4 u:

free write

With trepidation, I should admit that what I am about to say about having a personal blog could be a side-effect of getting older. Lately, I've been reflecting a lot about what privacy means to me. It would be naive to assume that everyone who is reading this right now cares about the things I say. It would be naive to assume that potential employers, mates, etc. haven't browsed through this to make educated guesses about me as a person.

Side note: If this is the case, I am awesome and the best (insert thing you are considering me for as long as it is not super weird) you'll ever have so you can stop reading this thanks.

Anyway, It would be especially naive to assume that the people who like me the least are not the ones reading this the most. And I know I have already hurt a handful of people being as brutally honest about certain situations. One man's artistic integrity is another man's "Hey, did you really mean it when you wrote…"

And so it goes.

As the blog views round up into numbers that take me a few tries to say out loud (because I might have numeric dyslexia), I realize that even though it feels like it, I'm not just typing letters into air anymore. On one hand, it's amazing and liberating and fulfills that part of me that wants to be like an "alt" Carrie Bradshaw but with like a touch of Tina from Bob's Burgers. On the other, it's terrifying and a bit confusing why I have a reader from India whom I know specifically read the post where I took a bath and got grossed out by my own "butt-water".

(Hire me. Date me.)

By the way, if you're the reader from India- I want to be your friend and I'm sorry if this embarrassed you but it sounds really cool to say I have a reader in India, so keep reading. Seriously, धन्यवाद!

As much as I want to write about the people and the things that break my heart, I shouldn't.
As much as I want to write using cuss words about things that are pointless, I shouldn't.
As much as I shouldn't want to share the insane, brilliant, haunting, sexy, ugly, funny events of my life

I will continue to try.

Maybe with just a little more grace (and maybe like a cool-slash-intriguing, patchouli-scented mystery vibe (?) I dunno, I'll let you know how this goes (am I allowed to do this within a parenthesis?) Do you think this is how Sunn0))) got their name? I'm leaving this here so I remember to Google it later).

Because, for once, I have started something I don't feel like quitting (and it's really taking everything out of me right now to not quote Jack Twist from Brokeback Mountain and completely ruin this post so just ignore this part if you didn't hear the line in your head when you read the beginning of this sentence).

Okay, but seriously.

Grace.

Let's do this.

true story

I reached the peak of my intellect at age 5.

year of the gypsy

I was trying really hard to refrain from posting any terrible "2015 New Year, New Me" crap, but I got a surge of page views on the 1st, so I guess that's kind of what's expected out of a ~sentimental blogger~ with a "feels" link.

I took the above picture almost exactly a year ago. It's weird looking at this picture knowing everything I didn't know 365 days ago, but even if I could have told myself what this year would entail, I don't think I would've believed it. By far, this year has changed me the most and even though parts of it were nothing short of brutal, I am happy with the end result. I learned a buttload about myself.

• I learned that it's okay to say yes or no and not need an explanation. I got out of a lot of stupid situations this way. I also found a lot of satisfaction this way.
• I now question why I want the things I want- from food to men to material shit.
• I refuse to compare myself to other females- physically, personally, and professionally. It's hard and takes conscious effort, but it's freedom.
• I know what I want and what kind of people I want around me.

With that said, I still don't think I have it all figured out. 2014 was an arduous year for me. I made a lot of decisions that I still question. There are a lot of people and events that caught me off guard. Which is why I wasn't going to acknowledge the end of this year. There's still a lot I feel like I need to finish or sort out. I'm just kind of ready to let the new year slide in to take it's place. 

But I'm happy that I wrote this out. There's still so much I haven't seen or felt or done- good and bad. And I am excited to keep going and to share it all.

Which is why I just booked a ticket to London. Almost exactly a year from my trip to Paris.

So, I guess I am a bit sentimental. 

Cheers to another crazy amazing year.

scraps

Inspired by Adam Kurtz's "week in scraps" posts and my affinity for my crap scanner, here are the things I borrowed, the things I stole, the things I was given, and the things I found and took this week.

For once, I don't feel compelled to explain anything.

I wrote a thing.

Aries

You take me for a stick and some brush.
A campfire kind of love.
The kind you take so much care to build.
And stand by.
But not too close.
You'll watch the flames of me flicker and dance.
And I can hold your attention for a while.
I am useful when contained.
And I feel good from the right distance.

But I'm the wildfire kind of love.
The kind that starts when you don't pay enough attention.
The kind that makes you pack up and leave.
Makes you decide what's worth keeping and what you'll leave behind.
The reason they put out their cigarettes in the car.
The reason they warn you when the risk is high.
I burn blind and without reason.

You are the biggest drought in California.
Yet I am the ember you continue to blow on.

-km

No me toque.

In math, two negatives can either make a bigger deficit or can create a positive number.

If a girl who doesn't give a damn pretends to be a girl who doesn't give a damn, what does that make?

Moonriver

This weekend, I took a last minute road trip up to San Francisco with Aaron to watch his best friend get married. It was a weekend full of laughs, naps, public bathrooms, vegan food, pretty views, shitty views, and love.

The Lomba(rd) Motel. WELCOME.

Baker Beach.

No one told us this was a nude beach.

So many ding-dongs.

 

Donuts in the sky with diamonds.

My hand looks super fat. It doesn't help that I'm holding a donut.

Chris and Anne. They like Morrissey, animals, and each other.

They walked into the reception to Burzum.

Sold.

Steven, Alex, Russell, and some random I met that time I did a 20 count kegstand when I was 19.

Pretty things.

Aaron and Chris. Anne and Laura.

Love is cool.

Anne and Chris, thanks for letting me witness yours.

I'm starting to believe in it again.

You said it would be painless.

Remember when you left but we counted down the days until I met you at the door?

And then, when it happened, it was exactly the way we said it'd be.

Yeah, no. Me neither.

Dreamy

I'm not sure how to gauge how I feel about the gold-teeth hitting 16K views today. I did the math and for the 54 posts I've done so far, that averages to 290 readers per post. The fact that the number is more more than like… 5... fucking baffles me. I mean, let's be real, I pretty much post pictures, emotional tangents, and music videos. I remember talking about gold-teeth with someone and trying to explain what kind of "blog" this was and the person was like, "So it's, like, a whatever blog, right?" And at first, I was insulted because it made me feel like this page had no real focus or purpose, but then I thought about it more and now I'm totally cool with this being a "whatever blog". Sometimes it's okay to make things and share things and not need a reason why. I don't want to ever feel like this can't be whatever I want. 

I will never be consider myself a "blogger", but very time I hit a cool number like this, it makes me want to keep going and keep writing and keep sharing the weird stuff that I think about and do. I feel like it's only going to get better. Well, at least I hope so because I went back to some of my first posts and holy hell that's embarrassing.

Anyway. I've never said it yet on here, but thank you. Thank you for giving a shit.

This spot is where I do 95% of my posts and it's where I am right this very second and if I could fit all 200-something of you in here and cuddle you out of gratitude, I would.

I'll even be the big spoon.

belated

When I was younger, I really thought that when it was your birthday, you were really supposed to feel it. I don't know what the feeling was supposed to be, exactly, but every birthday I was disappointed to wake up feeling the same as the day before. This expectation carried on until my late teens and was probably one of the last semblances of naiveté that I carried until I hit about nineteen and grew up wayyyy too fucking fast.

However, early this month, I woke up one morning and felt it. In place of the tinge of loneliness that usually sets in, I woke up and felt calm and whole and real. This is the part where Britney's "I'm Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman" starts playing in the background. Whatever, I don't know how to explain it, but I guess I really don't have to. It just felt... good. I can't say that I feel this way all the time now, but it's nice to know that I can.

Anyway. Here are some scans from the past two weeks.

The most perfect picture of Tania and a new friend, Ike.

I realized after- that this was the first time in a long time that I went out and I didn't have to text anyone when I got home. It was kinda sad/kinda rad.

I forgot this person's name but he told me some crazy shit and I have the most dead eyes and I'm not wearing a bra.

 Tami saw this picture and said, "You look young and dumb, but like, in a good way."

A cute pink house. You can see my car if you look close. I swerved into its driveway and ran out into the middle of the street to take the picture. I've been doing this a lot. I should probably stop.

Oh and Dean's feet and my feet.

Pomona being goth as fuck.

Sam invited me to this show and it was amazing.

Tami is one of my best friends. She tells me the truth and cares about animals.

youth

the first time I told you it was today and on the phone and on accident.

I was four stories high and there were several exit signs between us.

I couldn't hold a job, let alone anyone else's attention.

but my skin was softer and and so were all the other parts of me.

Leaves and Leaving

September threw me for a loop. Oh, it's time to cool off.

Listen to the playlist here.

Indian Summer

Here are some of my favorite scans from the past three weeks:

The Integratron, the Giant Rock, and how fricking perfect is Tania?

A very pink hotel in Hollywood I really liked a month or two back, but forgot about until I remembered how happy I was that day. 

Pictures during the show weren't allowed, but Karen O. was everything I thought she would be. 

She sang The Moon Song from Her and forgot the lyrics until someone shouted the next line from the crowd and had to start all over and it was the most endearing and human thing ever.

And when she sang her Michael Jackson Tribute she even put on a sparkly glove and and giggled about it, omg.

Ugh and her dress and her sparkly nail polish and her hair.

I laughed, I cried. Not but really, I did. Like, multiple times.

Higgins hangs.

Thank you for always checking up on me and letting me be moody and telling me how cool I am.

Sometimes, I almost believe you.

I waste all my time just thinking of you.

Good band. Good cover.

I'm happy this exists.

Crush Songs

I'm beyond excited to see this on Thursday at Hollywood Forever. I remember being 13 or 14 listening to the entirety of Fever to Tell, before I really knew how sex or love worked- before I had even kissed anyone, and thinking, "Holy shit, I can't wait to feel this way."

Ten years later, she puts out an album about all the feelings that maybe I wish I never felt.