6.5.13

I have this idea based off of the Severe Mercy that I want to read through every journal I have, every blog post, starting when I was like seven or whatever, the way Vaunakan read through the Journal, listened to every song, looked at every photo, in order to face the death of his love. He relived every moment so that each piece of her could die, so he could bind the wound and eventually heal. I hope for something of that same kind to happen to me. I hope to face each hurt, each injustice, to be human in the process, feel emotions, face the pain, in order to heal and ultimately to forgive. I want Dane, and anyone who wants to, to read the journals. Maybe it will be sort of my memior, like Dostoevsky. That's what Anais Nin did, her journals were open to be read by Henry, her old man friend, and Fred, Henry's roommate, her admirer. That sort of transparency of self between people who matter is beautiful, daring, trustful, vulnerable. I want to be a person who can be that way.

6.4.13

Dane and I are planning on getting a typewriter and both writing on it. I want to write a story, of words, or people, experiences, maybe just a diary like Anais Nin. He wants to write too. Ever since reading a Severe Mercy, I am captivated by the idea of a couple writing a journal together. The two lovers in that book do it from the time they fall in love, so every thought, every experience, every memorable conversation is documented and never forgotten. I think this is such a beautiful idea. What if all couples did that, and read everything they'd written so far ever 5 or 10 years or so? They'd always look back upon their first being enamored over each other, their first conflicts, their growing together, etc. They could never get stuck in the present, if they had enough commitment to read and write a journal together, they could never forget the person they fell in love with. So having a typewriter and sharing it, writing separately, on different thoughts even would be so interesting. We could have two trains of thoughts, two different stories, combined. Its kind of a picture of relationships or marriage in a way.

5.24.13

 I've been recently thinking a lot about how my food restrictions are liberating. At first when I found out I had celiac disease a long with other food intolerance's  I thought, I can never eat again. I had anger, frustration, etc. Looking back from now though, I am so amazed by the transformation that has taken place. I no longer feel sick when I eat, most of the time. Being full is not painful, it is comfortable and nice. I have not had a struggle with how much I eat on a regular basis in a long time. My clothes feel comfortable, and I also think it helps that I hardly ever see myself in a full length mirror cuz ours is behind the door, so I don't just look at myself in passing like I always did in the dorms and at home. Being restricted in my eating has resulted in my freedom not only to eat, but ironically, to eat more. Also, because the food I do eat is so healthy (good fats, unrefined sugars, low sodium) it's the kind of food that doesn't cause weight gain or bloating, so even though I've been eating more, I still fit in my clothes, so I'd like to think that means I haven't gained weight. I still don't plan on going on the scale anytime soon though, just in case not.

5/6/13

I can't remember what I read the way it doesn't matter which meal you ate on whatever particular day last year or last week or last night when you were famished. It was food and there was at least something settling in that gaping hole. I can't really remember what I read other than the phrase, "In him we dwell." but my stormy heart/mind were somewhat anchored by it. My thoughts are like looking out this train window at the passing ground, but at least I'm on a chair now, on the inside of that train, whereas before I alternated between hanging onto the window by my fingertips or balancing atop it tumbling and trembling like a skeletal leaf.

exquisite is an exquisite word. The plan of God is exquisite and magnificent. The contrast of despair and hope can be described as a most exquisite juxtaposition. I love the book of Ecclessiastes because it expresses precisely this. In 4:2-3 are written some of the most despairing words in all of Scripture, comparable only with passages such as Job 3, and Jeremiah 20:13-18. Yet in contrast, there are passages of hope and purposeful rejoicing, such as 2:24, 3:12, 3:22, 5:18-20, 8:15, 9:7-9, 11:7-12:1. It is so amazingly comforting to see that despair is in Scripture. This is so humanizing to realize that the most terrible things we experience and feel in the depths of the soul are not only okay to feel, but even are found in Scripture. When I read the despair in Scripture I know freedom, because here I find adequate expression of what is so often easier to hide, ignore, push down, squish further and further with hope that it might disappear and for once not lead to the inevitable explosion of all the fuming pressures that can finally no longer be contained. 
I wish I could find some sort of way to adequately express this wonder and amazement that seizes my soul when I am taken aback by this contrast. It happens again and again, and I am always just speechless, and am overwhelmed by the inadequacy of words. Can I make art about this gorgeous contrast? It is the most sublime feeling to be confronted with this juxtaposition. My soul is searching for some adequate expression. But perhaps that is part of knowing God; to glimpse the depths of how beyond our understanding his plan and will is, and to plummet yourself in that depth in abandon. 

1.29.13

What am I supposed to do with my brain? There are some things that I want to forget forever. 

What I really needed in that moment was to scribble graphite across a page, do yoga, then to hear the Chromatics, and continue to document my thoughts in those markings, directionless, yet somehow ordered in their chaos, across the page.

4.3.13

I don't really know. I want to be something. I have this longing inside me. Its the longing that makes me dance when I hear music. That made me stay up all night high off of two double strength rock stars and five exedrin a night to write a paper and go above and beyond in the research along the way my sophmore year in college. That makes the lyrics, "it's better to burn out than to fade away" resonate with me. That made me go to the crazy ass house with the blue lights. That made me try weed ten times or so before I finally came to terms with the fact that I didn't actually like it. That made me go to the bardot to rage to booze and music and people. That made me smoke a pack of camel crush's with my headphones in my ears on a heartbroken summer night listening to Lyyke Li, "Little Bit" auto-erotique remix. The kind of thing that makes me stay up late when I have to wake up early for no reason other than I want to. That makes me listen to techno music, and that used to cause me to listen to screamo. That makes me want to dress up and wear heels and lipstick and make my hair look so damn amazing. That makes me buy new clothes. That is somewhat satisfied by the tingling sensation of subversiveness. Of booze flowing through your blood vessels, pounding beneath your tainted eyelids. For the moment when something is so gorgeous it aches. When something is so sublime that you run away in terror. This longing rage that floats about in my gut grasping at everything that might make me feel alive.