Last blog of 2009!

Okay, so I honestly have nothing to say but it's the last day of 2009 and I wanted one more blog post.

So I was talking about 2009 with my mom. We came to the following conclusion; 2009...what's the word....sucked for this family.

Oops...my fault? If you ask my family, the answer is quite possibly yes.

But I'm strangely optimistic about 2010. O my the world must be ending in 2012 if I'm being optimistic...hahahaha. No the world wont end people should shut up about that.

I'm talking to Juliana online and I just said "wow i'm facebook and i'm thinking about people i grew apart form this year but instead of being sad i'm just like "people suck"" and it's true. I'm pretty much done caring about people that didn't make an effort to keep our friendships alive when I made the effort. Because honestly, I'm 17, I'm going to grow apart with people in the next few years when I go to college it's a fact of life. Hopefully the people that matter to me think I matter to them.

What else is new? Yesterday someone shocked me. She said to me "are you okay?" I knew what she meant. But how did she know? Wait was it that obvious? Really? O...hello wake up call. I'm not sure how I feel about her knowing.

So this sounds like a really bad journal entry but it's what's on my mind.

Here's to a better 2010!

Sylvia's Life Story

I was actually proud of the work I did today. I thought I got into character, and whenever Nicole started peeking through, Sylvia's disorder told the bad girl to go away. Here is my character's life story;

Hi, my name's Sylvia Craw. Sylvia's 42. No 52, but don't tell anyone. Sylvia refers to herself as Sylvia, never as I or she or her. Sylvia's favorite color is purple and Sylvia loves Sylvia's purple feathered hat more than anything. Sylvia has three children with Sylvia's ex husband, Greg. The kids are Lulu, Gaga, and Peggy. 3 beautiful girls.

But the state is making Sylvia take a fucking parenting class. Now, now Sylvia, don't cuss. It's not proper.

That state says Sylvia's an alcoholic. Sylvia's file says she has some sort of disorder. It says Sylvia's used to be a prostitute who had some sort of tragic accident. But, of course, Sylvia would never stoop that low. Sylvia frowns upon those sorts of things.

Sylvia loves the republican party and all of its ideals.

Sylvia hated that awful parenting class today. There was only one person Sylvia liked in there, that pretty young girl in the red shirt. The 21 year old. Everyone else was classless.

Sylvia likes horse races and tea parties and art exhibits.

Sylvia did not like prison nor did she like that bright white mental hospital she lived in.

Poem

His warm lips are attracted to those of my sister
with her beautiful, fiery hair.
My sister, who happens to be lucky as
to live without much care.

Sister gives up all apprehension
and for once lets her mind become clear.
She deserves this happiness,
a break from the demons she holds dear.

I however stand off to the side,
pulling on the pleats of her thigh-high skirt.
Whispering in a wavering voice
The careful words that are all too curt.

"Do you really want this?"
"Is this causing too much pain?"
"For what if he wants you,
and you just want the gain?"

"The desires are no longer purely carnal
when someone's heart is invested so."
But is it only paranoia
attempting to trick her to go?

It says "leave this place,
this place where you feel beautiful."
Beautiful and safe,
and for once live in a dreamy lull.

My bemused sister lets a tear fall
as the boy kisses her neck.
All the while she hears me,
yet she will not end this ongoing wreck.

College Essayssssss

Both are STAC related.

___________

Recently, a teacher asked my class, “Is trust letting in or is trust letting go?” For me, this question conjured up the image of a Xanga Blog that I started last year for an art project entitled “Confront Her 2008.” On this blog, I asked friends, family, and strangers “What would you say to the person who hurt you the most in the world?” I asked for comments to remain anonymous to preserve responders’ identities, hoping that they would then feel free to be honest. Finally, I wrote out the answer to my own question.

And then there was an adrenaline rush, the type that floods through your body when you feel something major happening with your life. This seemed to be the beginning of a certain kind of closure, an internal one. I had stood up to the person who had hurt me the most in the world. She may never know, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is I said it. I said that I was angry and that I am strong.

But the adrenaline did not stop there. Soon I had over a hundred responses, and with each e-mail in my inbox announcing a new response came a new jolt of energy. My project became my journey from someone who was hurt to someone who was helping others. I was a secret keeper. And while many may see this as a burden, I’ve seen it as a blessing. Helping others re-fuels that force that I felt when I wrote out my response. In their comments, people told me that they were revealing things to me that they had never told anyone before, and that through my project, they too felt the vigorous rush of closure. In turn, I felt happiness that I had turned a negative experience into something cathartic for both myself and others.

One responder sent in an answer saying, “In the end, everyone gets what they deserve. To attack is to stoop, to ignore is to stand tall.” At first, I was frustrated that this response seemed to have little to do with my question. However, once I re-read it, I felt as if the sender had submitted this response as a special message to me. It was okay that he had ignored the premise of the project because his response told me that everything was going to be okay and that I was the better person. It was the most beautiful response I’ve received, and I know I will remember it for a long time.

Is trust letting in or is trust letting go? From my experience with the Confront Her Blog, I can unequivocally say that the answer is both. Through one venue, I have let go of both anger and fear. At the same time, those who have responded to me have let me into their world and trusted me to use their responses for good. Trust, like most things in this world, falls into a grey area. It is formed between two or more people and requires a bit of letting go of control. While this may be scary, as seen with the emotions felt when responding to the blog, the rush that accompanies trust is well worth it in the end.

_______________________

In my arts class, STAC, we read a packet of poems written by Rainer Maria Rilke. I read most of the poems in an intrigued yet slightly bored manner. Thus, I was shocked to discover a poem entitled Child in Red about a girl “absorbed in restraining herself” who “[moves] according to the rhythm of her life to come.” This poem told of times changing while some aspects of life stay the same. Within minutes, three of my friends were chorusing “That poem is me!” Feeling similarly, I chimed in with the chorus as, suddenly, everything made sense. At the age of seventeen, many girls reach a crossroad. They want independence and freedom, while also wanting to be their parents’ little girls. While I consider myself an original in many ways, I am going through the same trials and tribulations of adolescence as my peers. However, it is because of my uniqueness that such a poem could touch me so deeply.

As I sat atop my cold metal stool, I had become this very girl who “dances a few steps /that she invents and forgets.” I tried to restrain myself as my heart danced, but instead I began to shake. This was the sign that I was doing something right. My teacher, Luke, asked us to speak about what we felt when reading the poems. I tried to speak but words didn’t come out. It was as if I didn’t want to ruin this moment of beauty by tainting it with my own unpoetic words. All I was able to articulate was, “I love this poem.” Luke asked me what I loved about it, and I was able to say “I love how much it connects to me.” But I couldn’t say more. I was scared to lose the feeling that this poem had given me. There was something so comforting in Rilke’s words that I couldn’t pull myself away.

Then Luke’s words cut through my thoughts: “You will recreate your favorite poem with your own words.” I thought I was going to cry. My inner monologue screamed, “I’m no Rilke. I can’t write anything nearly as good.” I pulled Luke over and shared my fears. “Don’t think, just do,” he told me with sincerity. I abandoned self-restraint and did what Rilke had told me. He wrote of doing things that were uncomfortable while knowing the need for change.

Somehow I was able to find the words that failed my voice and I wrote, “Now I walk over this shadow,/and stretch my land-legs in the sun.” Writing actually made the artistic experience stronger. Rilke’s poem was the gentle push that I needed to continue in all that I do and become the girl who “steps out/ of the small body enclosing her.” As I step into my own future I will look back at that girl I left behind and give her a knowing wave to let her know I will always remember who she is and who I was.

Jealousy

So I haven't blogged lately even though I've had a lot on my mind. Why is this? Because I'm scared. I fear being completely honest and I fear being judged. I am jealous of the people who can just say their secrets on their blogs.

But more importantly, tonight I opened the blog site to read the posts of fellow STACies and opened a tab to make a post of my own. I could barely do it. The whole time a little voice was screaming in the back of my head, chanting "people will laugh at this, it wont be good enough, read the comments Luke leaves on other peoples' blogs, etc, etc." This reflects feelings I've felt pretty much all of my life. Inadequacy and jealousy. My old friends.

I'm such a jealous person and I hate it. But for once, why can't I be the pretty, talented, smart one?

Just once.

Why do I continually open myself up in these posts? I feel like i'm humiliating myself and annoying everyone but I can't stop. I need to let some of this shit out.

The title of my blog

So tonight I did it again. My friend Kara and I have some of the same issues and tonight she facebook messaged me freaking out and asking me about some of my experiences. so what did I say? I said "trust the adults. they're not there to hurt you. they'll help you accept this. yeah it really helped me."

Meanwhile I'm regretting being honest with my therapist and not doing much better than before.

And I know i'm not the only one who does this. Why can't we take the advice we give? Why can't we feel deserving of our own love and affection?

I think this falls under two categories. Firstly, taking your own advice means that you're speaking with your "rational mind" but when we're in need of advice we're in our "emotional mind." And when you use your rational mind, you're being accountable for yourself. which then means that if something goes wrong, you're to blame. That's why being accountable is so hard.

Secondly, we as humans want others to reassure us. If we reassure ourselves, then that leaves a void where others could be. And that's problematic, because that leaves us alone.

So does that mean that I just sit here and listen to my friends tell me what I logically, rationally already know?

Maybe If I Blog My head Will Clear A Little

What is enough?

The dictionary defines it as "an adequate quantity or number; sufficiency"

That makes it sound like a positive thing.

But what if it's not. Why can't "enough" ever be enough?

Shouldn't the ugliness I bring upon myself be enough?

Shouldn't being pushed away from getting help be ENOUGH?

But no, it's not. Because enough is defined as a good thing, maybe? And neither of those are good things...?

Maybe I need positive motivation to get better. But what can I find, and where?

Why do I keep putting this off?

O college apps, we meet again.

So the current application pain I'm enduring is the application for the Macaulay Honors program at CUNY Queens. This is a major reach school and I doubt I'll get in, but there's always a chance I suppose. The problem is, I don't know if I want to get in. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the program, it's free. Meaning if by some chance I get in, my parents are more or less going to force me to "give it a try."

But I know nothing about the school. More importantly, I know nothing about their arts programs! And now that I finally decided I want to study some sort of theatre in college, I don't want that choice taken away from me by the lure of free college. I know that's kind of immature of me being the state of the current economy, but I still feel this way. I have friends who go there that I can ask about it, but I get scared to finish my application.

What if?

11/23 Workshop

Today we presented out monologues as if we were going on an audition as in "Hello my name is Nicole and I'll be performing a monologue from X by Y. I'll be portraying character Z." This was really nerve wracking. One of my notes was that my voice was a bit shaky and I shouldn't have been so nervous because it wasn't a real audition so...I don't know. I think I really want to impress Joy.

I just wrote "I just really want..." before remembering something both Luke and Joy have said; in acting and in life, nothing is ever "just" it is always something important.

We also talked about the idea of "everything happens for a reason" or in this case "every part happens or doesn't happen for a reason." This is something I'm still trying to wrap my head around. I mean talking about it with Megan and Becky on the way home, it made perfect sense. All 3 of us had an example of this. But then the big rock hit me. And it's hard to talk about without sounding needy. But anyone who knows me can figure out what I'm talking about. And it still hurts. Pathetic right? So trying to believe that is really really hard.

Words

Words. Wordswordswordswordswords.

Words hurt. a lot.

think before you speak. please

I don't get it. Why are people so dumb.

I guess this is why writing's so powerful.

Why do I take everything so personally?

Why can't I accept "that's not what he meant"?

It shouldn't be this hard.

This is ridiculous.

I am ridiculous.

People are ridiculous.

This doesn't make sense.

But where else can I vent?

The Dining Room and The Future

So as some of you know, I was prop manager/co-stage manager for Herricks' production of The Dining Room. Wow, what an experience. As some of you know i'm a bit of a control freak (not in the power-hungry way but in the I like being in control way) so this was interesting. But overall, I think I did a pretty good job. Props went out on time and the actors got their cues and backstage was relatively organized. And of course, the actors did a great job.

I think the most important thing I learned throughout this process is that if in the future i'm not involved in theatre in one way or another, I won't be happy. I prefer onstage, but being backstage is rather satisfying. Thus, i'm looking into programs in colleges that have "dramatic studies," a much broader approach to theatre, until I decide what exactly I want to do with my life. Hey, I made a decision. The apocalypse must be coming! But in all seriousness, I am proud of myself for coming to a conclusion.

Friday

Ok so the downsides of falling behind on blog posts is my memories of Friday are a little distorted. I won't fall behind again! This was the first time we were to be off-book for our monologues and I was proud of myself for memorizing it. At first when practicing the piece I felt so much stronger with the book in front of me. However, as I become more comfortable with the monologue, it became more and more apparent a) how limiting holding a book can be, and b) that the book was a crutch because I was scared of how the piece would be received by the rest of the workshop. But going up there without the book is liberating. As usual, I was told to work on my breathing, and was given an exercise to work on my breath, and after doing the exercise, I feel the difference, and see how breath helps make the piece.

Tuesday

I LOVE THIS WORKSHOP! Does it have to be over this Tuesday? Really? That just can't be! I still have another monologue to work on. AHH! Not to mention I believe all of us, regardless of whether or not we're auditioning for colleges, love the workshop, and equally importantly, we love Joy! Okay now i'm just going on a happy tangent that sounds like a 5 year old wrote it...

We worked on the subtext of our pieces today. We sat in a chair facing whomever our character was speaking to (in my case, the character's sister) and say the monologue, then say what's behind the monologue, the subtext. The subtext was often our own combination of the writers' words, but I think that's okay, because it showed that we understood the piece.

It was at this point Joy gave me a terrific compliment and told me that she was going to push me harder than before because she saw what I had inside of me. This literally made my week, I can't put it into words. It really reinforced that I am special at something and not just like everyone else.

The two things I still need to work on are breathing and slowing down. SHOCKING right? (/sarcasm). But i'm willing to work on them [:

In a Rut

So this is going to be one of my more open and honest blogs. Here goes.

Dear STAC,

How do you get out of feeling worthless. Loaded question right? But I mean where art is concerned. I seem to go back and forth between excitement and little to no will to create thinking "I have no talent, what's the point" and I hate it. I hate feeling sorry for myself, but no matter how many times I kick myself in the ass, the feeling comes back the next day. And I'm fucking sick of it. So any advice STAC? I'm sorry for being whiny and needy, please forgive me. I just need some help. I just want to feel talented again.

Apologetically yours,

Nicole

Acting

So I love Joy's workshop. I've been feeling pretty down about my level of talent lately, but doing monologues again just felt right at home. It felt like an old shoe or something that just fit perfectly. Even when I was reading a monologue I was unsure about I was able to sense that the uncertainty came from the monologue not from my insecurities. I miss acting so much.

I started wondering, why am I not planning on majoring in theatre in college if this is what makes me feel good? I can't think of a good reason. At first it was that I didn't want to pigeon-hole myself into a career that everyone tells me I'll never make money in, and since I was little my parents have encouraged my writing over my acting (I don't know which I'm better at anymore honestly I tend to think neither) and they want me to study writing in college and I love both but I just don't know. I have no idea what I want to do and it's freaking me out...

This makes little-to-no sense

So I just read Jesse's blogs and I really admired his determination to turn this quarter around. I really need to get MY OWN ass in gear (I'm already behind on english) and I'm applying to colleges and it would look bad for my GP to drop drastically senior year. Yes I have a touch of senioritis, but that's no excuse as it is not a real disease. I think it's interesting that I have senoiritis because as of August I didn't even know if I would be starting senior year on time. I've constantly had therapists and doctors and my parents tell me that it's amazing the grades i've pulled off considering what has been going on behind closed (or i should say, now slightly open) doors. I should want to keep that in mind and it should encourage me to work hard, but I'm having trouble caring.

All I want to do is create. I've been reading monologues for Joy's workshop instead of doing homework, and I feel like I'm making the right decision.

Joy's workshop really inspired me. It has been far too long since I've acted and it all just came rushing back when I worked on my pieces. I'm looking forward to the next few sessions.

Musings (LONG)

Sometimes I feel like my entire life is a punchline for other people. Okay, you're thinking "emo much" but i'm just being honest and don't have anywhere else to vent.

for four years i've been putting myself in USY to please my parents. I tried to be friends with the popular girls to avenge the unpopular little nicole. but they didn't like me. I wouldn't accept it. I kept trying. And they laughed at me both in front and behind my back. It seemed like I was made to be their punching bag. And lately this is bothering me a lot. Mainly it's because the few friends I finally made in USY graduated, but there's something else. It's knowing that at the last day of the last event, everyone will cry, and a part of me will just be happy I no longer need to play this charade.

So here's a piece I wrote on the subject for Ms. Nelson's class last year.

NICOLE’S Voice

A part of me always knew that I wasn’t meant to be friends with the ‘cool girls’. I hadn’t been in their circle during elementary school, hadn’t been in their circle during middle school, and as of this time, I didn’t even have friends in high school. Which was probably why I was determined that in USY, I’d be different. I’d be in the popular clique, I’d be pretty, and I’d meet boys, make friends, and live happily ever after. But those kinds of things never happen in the real world. Just in crappy teen comedies. But with the aforementioned optimism in mind, I went to my first regional USY event, Mid-Winter Kallah. I’m not quite sure what I was expecting, but looking back, I know I was expecting a lot.

This isn’t a story I am proud of. It isn’t one where the main character comes out shining and unscathed. Instead, it is the tale of a girl who realizes that not everyone is nice, including herself.

I found myself forced into a hotel room with Holly, Mickey, and some girl I had never met before named Orly. Holly was very sweet and we quickly became friends, but the more time I spent with her, the more I realized that Holly was ‘unpopular’. She had plenty of friends, but they weren’t the girls I wanted to be friends with. I told myself over and over that I wasn’t being shallow, but that Holly was just far too boy crazy for my taste. Of course that wasn’t the real reason I acted the way I did.

I left the room feeling confident. The simple black dress I was wearing looked good on me. It was something that someone like Shira, one of the popular girls would wear. I expected I would at least have a leg up on the competition. These girls didn’t usually talk to complete strangers, but that was okay because I had Jamie. I’d known Jamie since we were five years old. We’d been good friends for years. The last time I’d seen her before this, the two of us had started crying, realizing that for the first time since kindergarten, we wouldn’t be seeing each other every day in school and camp. So naturally, I assumed she would introduce me to everyone. When I walked into the dining room, I spotted her right away. She was sitting with her friends who I had met at Freshman Bowling Night. There was Zoe, Carolyn, Rachel, and Diane. They had all been nice to me, so I expected things to go well.

“Hey” I said, hugging Jamie tightly. “Can I sit here?”

“Sure” she replied, as expected.

Dinner had just started, and people were filing to the tables. I sat there silently for a few minutes as the rest of them caught up. Within two minutes the table was filled. I noticed Holly across the room with her friends. She waved for me to join them. I ignored her.

I continued to listen to the conversation, an awkward, unnoticed ‘wannabe’, before something caught my attention. Sitting in the middle of the table was a large white bowl filled with what I think was supposed to be chili, but what looked more like human excrements, along with a large wooden serving spoon. I had known that USY food was infamously bad, but this was looked truly heinous. Zoe seemed to have noticed my horrified expression.

“Nicole!” she said excitedly.

I perked up immediately. Here was my chance. I was going to have friends!

“You have to lick that spoon clean if you want to sit with us.” She said.

I gaped at her.

“You’re kidding.” I replied. There was no way I was going to eat that garbage.

“No, I’m totally serious. We all did it. Right?” she asked her suddenly bemused friends.

Numerous nods of agreement, along with poorly disguised snickers followed.

“Tell you what Nicole, I’ll take a lick with you” offered Diane.

“No, Diane, you already did this” said Zoe.

I could feel my face growing hot. Warm tears of confusion were welling up in my eyes.

“I’ll take a lick, but I won’t eat all of it” I offered meekly.

Looking back, I can’t believe I gave up even that much of my dignity.

“No, you have to eat all of it” Zoe replied harshly.

I was completely torn. I had absolutely no one on my side. And then I remembered that one of my oldest friends was sitting at the table with me. I glanced up at her with pleading eyes.

“Jamie,” I whispered.

Jamie laughed nervously and said “Come on guys, she doesn’t have to do this.”

But Zoe was insistent. So before I could embarrass myself by crying in front of all of them, I mustered up as much strength as I could, said “then I don’t want to sit here,” got up, and walked away.

Of course, as soon as I was out of their sight I burst into tears. I had wanted to sit there more than anything. I wanted to be the girl who always had someone telling her to come be with them. Who always had someone grabbing at her hand. Who always felt loved, because she truly was always loved. But I wasn’t. I never would be. Those girls were not my friends. They never would be.

I suppose sometimes things to work themselves out in the end. Sometime punishment is delivered when deserved. And I suppose I should have just learned to enjoy the company of people who enjoyed my company.

That was easier said than done. I spent the rest of the weekend trying to pretend that the chili incident hadn’t happened. I tried to be friends with them. I hugged them all goodbye and told them I’d miss them. I posted on all of their Facebook walls how great a weekend I’d had with them. Outside of our room, I neglected my roommates. I was a monster. This self-inflicted isolation lasted until the middle of sophomore year. It was only then that I realized enough was enough. There were plenty of people who did want to be my friend. And now, that is where I stand. I have friends. They may not be the most popular, but they are real friends.

I still feel awful for being so shallow. And now that I’m friends with Holly again, I wonder if she secretly holds my idiocy against me. If so, I can’t say I don’t deserve it.

My first Mid-Winter Kallah was brought to three realizations. Firstly, you can’t always pick your friends. Friendship is something that just happens. Secondly, real friends are the people that care about you. Those girls who made you feel small aren’t worth anything. And thirdly, I am capable of being a mean girl. And for that I am very sorry.

Jamie’s Voice

I knew something like this would happen. I’d known Nicole long enough to know that she didn’t always fit in, and I’d known Zoe, Carolyn, Diane, Rachel, and everyone else long enough to know that they didn’t always take to new people easily. In order for them to learn to love someone new, that person needed to be forced upon them by a friend. It had to be an inside job. Which meant that I was Nicole’s ticket in. Or the repellent that kept her away.

It’s not that I no longer wanted to be friends with Nicole. It’s just that I didn’t think she would fit in well with my friends. She didn’t fit in when we were in middle school, and I was not about to risk my reputation in USY so she could have her fifteen minutes of fame. They would eat her alive, regardless of whether or not she survived the first night. So I decided to play the innocent bystander. I refused to make or break Nicole.

When I first got to Kallah, I was ridiculously excited. I hadn’t seen some of these people since Encampment, and they were some of my closest friends.

“Zoe!” I called excitedly.

“Jamie!” she called back.

We ran and hugged and before I knew it, it was as if we’d never been apart. I was swarmed into an entire group of friends, all of which came with a hug or an “I missed you so much!” I was ecstatic.

I had promised Rebecca and Shaina, two of my other friends, I’d introduce them to everyone. Yes, I was giving them the introduction Nicole desired, but would not receive but that’s just because I have to see Rebecca in school everyday. Or at least that’s what I told myself. And wherever Rebecca went, Shaina went. It had nothing to do with Nicole. Nothing at all.

We all sat down to dinner, and Nicole came over to sit. She hugged me hello and I hugged her back. It really was good to see her.

“Can I sit here?” she asked. She sounded…timid, which was something I’d never heard from her before.

“Sure” I replied. I quickly introduced her to everyone before turning back to Claudia, to resume our conversation. I was more than acutely aware of the fact that Nicole just sat there, far from her usual talkative self. In fact, she was completely silent. And that’s when Zoe broke the ice.

“Nicole, you can only eat with us if you eat that entire spoonful of food” she commanded.

I quickly looked to see what she was talking about. Zoe was pointing to a bowl filled with some sort of brown food, with a giant wooden serving spoon. Nicole paled upon hearing the words from Zoe’s mouth.

“You’re kidding” she said.

“We all did” Zoe replied sternly. “Now you have to do it too”.

Nicole began to fumble her words. I didn’t know what she said until I heard my name. I knew she wanted me to fix this. Not only did I not know how, but I just couldn’t bring myself to help her. I could not have Zoe be mad at me for ruining her little prank.

“Aw guys, she doesn’t have to do this” I said.

There; I was fair and nonchalant. Zoe thought differently.

“We all did it, now she as to too”.

I wished she would stop saying that. Only a fool would believe we had all been forced into this ritual.

Nicole rose and said, “Then I guess I don’t want to sit here”. For an instant, her four foot eleven inches seemed to become six feet. Yet I know that she left the table in shame.

“Zoe, why would you do that?” I asked. Zoe laughed.

“Chill, it was just a joke. I didn’t think she’d take it so seriously.” she said.

“I know, but I feel bad for her” I responded.

I felt a strange sort of embarrassment to be such good friends with Zoe. She was an amazing person…to me at least. But this wasn’t the first time I’d seen her put someone down.

“Whatever, it’s over now” she said.

And she was right.

I’m not proud of what I did. But I don’t think I would change it if I could do it over again. Nicole wouldn’t have fit in, no matter how much I helped her. And she seems happy with her friends now. She still comes to USY events, so she must have forgotten. Right?

Edited version of what I learned in STAC

Okay so I really did mean what I said about the honesty and open-ness, but I'm still learning. So here's a slightly chopped up version of the paper I handed in today:

I am not the same person I was last year in many, many ways. Let’s face it, last year my brain wasn’t functioning very well, and I didn't do as much work as I'd have liked to do. I never finished anything and I didn’t care. Though I tried to hide it, I was depressed. Many people say that depression is good for artwork, but, as I’ve discussed with Molly in the past, that is far from the case. When you’re depressed, you’re too tired to do anything. All I thought about last year was what I'm going through, and while it is still very prevalent in both my life and my art this year, it exists in a different way. I think a lot of expression I learned in STAC truly has helped me begin to heal.
This quarter has really taught me a lot about the necessity of art in an artist’s life. In fact, this is what I discussed on my recent interview with Muhlenberg College. Early on in the year, we discussed Rilke’s thoughts about art in Letters to a Young Poet and during that time, I hadn’t fully subscribed to that idea. After all, if this was
the case, how could you explain commissions other than accusing anyone who plans to make a living a sell-out? However, as time went on, more occurrences of art really hitting me seemed to come along, and I began
to felt he necessity more. A few weeks ago Molly posted a blog about a traumatic experience a few days after I had discussed my trauma with her. Reading her blog, I was so shocked by her honesty, and at the same time so jealous (something Rilke also discussed in his letters) that she could express herself that way. And thus I wrote my poem (the blog entry on October 7th. Afterwards I was shaking and crying and I remember having to write something else for STAC but not wanting to.
Similarly, I wrote a short piece inspired both by our discussion on helping homeless people and some of my actions last year. Thus came the short poem/story. I am learning to love this rush. It makes me feel like I have created something worthwhile. I think that is what I’ve learned most this quarter, that I can create. Even in STAC art, I liked my piece because it felt like something I created; it had a message from somewhere within me.
I also felt a dizzy rush when I read “Child in Red” by Rilke (a quote from which-”She seems to move according to the rhythm of her life to come” I used for my senior quote.) Never before had a poem expressed something I was feeling so much. At that particular point, I had been pretty optimistic, and I thought of that poem as growing and knowing that growth was okay. I was literally shaking.

I’m also learning to trust. I’ve posted things on my blog that in the past I would never have dreamed to let people see. I wrote about my problems (though vaguely), my trauma, and what is actually going on in my life. And while afterwards I often thought “O no, the newbies are going to think I’m insane/everyone will think I’m obsessed with sympathy” (that is one of my greatest fears) I have not let that stop me from posting. I have trusted STAC to be a community of artists who will appreciate me. Hopefully one day my art will be appreciated outside of a small artist community, but at the moment, this is what I’m ready for and this is what I’m doing.
The acting exercises have changed the way I see people. When you first said “picture someone you’re afraid of” I actually thought of a few people in STAC who have a lot of talent and whom I am jealous of. But as I do the exercises more and more, I find myself less and less afraid of them. I mean, why should I be? There are so many worse people in the world. And I realized I couldn’t be afraid of them when my projections weren’t working.

I was about to write “I’m sorry for not writing about art just about myself” but you said to write about how STAC has affected me, so that is what I did. And this is art. This writing is art because it is being creative and honest and therapeutic. So I won’t let myself apologize. I will try not to fear that this will result in a failing grade. I will try and let go.

I hate labels

Now that I wrote this i'm not quite sure what to do with it...

codename: the glamourous one

characteristics: control, beauty, shyness.

she's the one people are jealous of. the one people hate but also admire. the one people think isn't so bad. at least she's popular

codename: the stupid one

characteristics: impulsivity, mild beauty, wild.

she's the one people like a lot but look down upon for her "lifestyle choices." people think she's wrong and don't get why she can't just be 'normal.'

codename: the fake one

characteristics: massive confusion

either no one sees or her she is mistaken for the glamourous or stupid one. those who know her don't take her seriously.

codename: the ugly one

characteristics: depression, impulsivity.

normally a very sweet person who needs just as much love at the glamourous one, but people think she brings her life on to herself.

The state of modern theatre kind of sucks

So today I saw the closing performance of "Brighton Beach Memoirs." That's right, closing. It opened a week ago. And guess what? It was GOOD. Really good. Yet it is closing.

A common criticism of Neil Simon plays is that the jokes are fed to you and doesn't require any actual acting (or on the audience's part, thinking). This play is an exception as it is a dramedy. It has funny moments, but overall, it is a serious piece.

The actors all seemed to give the show their all, especially because they knew it would be the last time they would perform it. The boy who played Eugene really stood out. He managed to be really funny while capturing the overall essence of the piece, the depression era, pre WWII.

I particularly enjoyed the woman who played Blanche. She provided both comic relief and drove the plot forwards. She was very physically into character, which is something I really admire. She committed to a character and stuck to it. I also really liked the girl who played Laurie. The character was annoying, but the actress pulled it off.

It's such a shame that crap like Shrek plays a year or so and a good play like Brighton Beach Memoirs plays a week (not including previews.) It's a sad truth that today, in order for a straight play to succeed, it needs a big name (ala Hugh Jackman and Daniel Craig.)

Film

SSSSSSSSSSSOOOOOOOOOOOO

hi world im a little shaken up by random writing right now so this will be a little off. Overall, I really enjoyed the experience of Be Kind Rewind. I liked how much acting it surprisingly took. It was silly but you had to make quick character choices, and all the characters mattered. Thus, all of their choices mattered.

My group worked really well together, and I was very upset that I missed a day of the workshop. I really felt that i missed out on a lot because of that one day. But my group came up with some great stuff while I was gone.

Shooting it in order made it feel a lot more real watching it. It was like "o yeah i was there" even though I was in character as apposed to the choppiness and canned feelings that sometimes come with shooting and then editing.

I surprisingly really like working newbies and oldies separated. I'm not quite sure what it added to it but it added an extra layer of learning that can't be named. It also put everyone int he group on the same level. The lack of editing also leveled the playing field. No one was relied upon as the primary editor and thus overly in charge.

Once upon a time

VARIATION 1:

Once upon a time

there was a girl.

and every day

this girl gave her lunch

to a homeless man

on the corner.

until one day

the girl

starved to death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Variation 2 (haiku style)

Once upon a time

there was a girl. and daily

this girl gave her lunch

to a homeless man

on the corner. until once

the girl was not there

the girl physically

the girl disappeared.

the girl starved to death.

~~~~~~~~

So why did i post this? It just popped in my head and i want to create something from it but i don't want to forget it so i blogged it. it's not quite a poem, not quite a story, not even good. but...i wanted to post it. so yeah. hope it's acceptable.

I just took a risk. i'm shaky again. i don't know why. it happens when i write something that i think will be worthwhile, or is worthwhile.

Magazine Ideas

You'd think i'd be able to come up with a better title now wouldn't you. anyways, onwards!

Ideas:

1. Keeping with the culture theme, I'd like to write about Postsecret. While it doesn't get you out of the house, it is art and does make you think a lot and you'd be surprised as to how many people don't know about it.

2. Making your own holiday presents: knitting and sewing.: I know i'm like an 100 year old lady but seriously knitting is awesome and scarves are easy and make great gifts and I can make an easy pattern to follow. Also, I can make instructions to how to make bags out of old t-shirts, something I also make.

Hope at least one of these is decent.

A question for artists

What do you do when your mind moves too fast for the rest of you and you just wish a tape recorder could be shoved into your head to capture all this art?

No one reads these, so here's my day

"Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me"

-sia

Wondering what you will think if you don't know

After my last blog, the most personal one yet, i started thinking "o wow maybe i should delete that so people don't start making assumptions about me." but although it's painful, I won't let myself delete it.

I always found peoples' perception interesting because it's often so off.

So frankly, i'm anxious as hell about posting that blog and thus almost baring my soul but i'm going to do it. because putting myself out there is a part of my art.

i guess this is a kind of disclaimer, which is bad (though i won't apologize. see, i'm learning) and i'm not making any sense but i just had some most things to say.

Inspired by Molly's recent blog

This doesn't really make up a poem, just a few poetic thoughts i suppose.

A bent, crooked lock.

A bent, old, crooked, rickety lock.

The type of lock that can be opened.

opened

opened.

The small hands.

the big hands.

Female hands are not always beautiful.

Femininity does not guarantee us gentleness

Bulbs like the type you see on fire flies.

Flashing into your starry young eyes.

Those eyes of conformity.

and of youth.

The cold porcelain on your frozen thighs.

Matching only to your frozen breath

as your anxiety laughs and says

"...yes?"

Gabriele Munter

Gabriele Munter was a German Expressionist painter. She lived from 1877 until 19762.

Munter was both Kandinsky's girlfriend and student (at the Phalanx School). They traveled together where she picked up some of his style but mostly moved toward Expressionist influences. She also began painting glass. She joined an art group founded by Kandinsky and Franz Marc called Der Blaue Reiter, where she found herself interested in Kandinsky's abstract art, yet more drawn towards figurative art in her own work. Some humor is often found in her work. She moved to Switzerland when WWI broke out, and with the move came her separation from Kandinsky.

I found this work interesting because in it I see layers of her relationship with Kandinsky, with the bright colors, while at the same time seeing the more expressionist side of her with the more realistic lines and details.

At the Community Center

Well the whole day was just a bundle of nerves.

Thoughts during repeating: O shit i've done this before i shouldn't suck at this why do i suck why is my partner so much better than be AHHH

Thoughts during repeating with Luke: O shit why did I volunteer to work with luke i'm going to embarrass myself I don't want to be told I suck AHHH

Thoughts after repeating with Luke: Firstly, I was thankful to have a teacher that cares about us and wants to make us comfortable while critiquing us (not sucking up, I swear) and I'm not going to be an expert from doing this two years ago! Obviously it takes time. Hmm...maybe I should breath again.

Letting go is always hard for me. It takes a lot of work to not think (i'm aware of how that statement seems). Which is why in repeating I need to resist the urge to make things interesting. It would have been better off to say "anxiety" if that's what I was thinking (which I was.) And this was also my biggest challenge in the blindfolding exercise. As I said when we were talking afterwards, if I really wanted to, I could have kept track of where I was and figured it out. But I forced myself to let go and enjoy the excursus. For me, trust was more about "letting go" than "letting in" (by the way, Luke, I really like that saying, did you say that or were you quoting someone?) because I had to let go of the control, something that is not easy for me. Trusting in general is hard for me. When we were outside the community center I could hear the cars whizzing by and was sure for a moment I was being led into oncoming traffic (that's not a reflection on Jesse, but a comment on my own neuroses.)

I feel like i've lost my opportunity (this is more of a note to myself)

Tonight I started the plumbing on two projects from last year, and went back to a writing project from last year.

I couldn't even bring myself to open the file.

I'm in a better place now and it's scary for me to have to think like i was thinking last year. But I know I have to finish. But I feel like i've lost the opportunity to work on that play because i'm in a healthier place.

And i'm scared i'm forgetting the details. so so scared. I think I lost the paper I gave kenny last year where I was brutally honest and I'm slowly slipping and yet not at all.

I can use the letter

if i ever finish it

This was going to be an apology blog but I'm not supposed to be doing that.

Today in class I was extremely anxious and I couldn't sit still and I was worried that I was distracting people and being interruptive and annoying and my first thought was "how can I apologize to the whole class for this? I know, I'll blog." If I had a negative affect on anyone, then I am extremely sorry.

However, I'm not supposed to be apologizing for things like this.

Which brings me back to something I wrote in my first blog post, about wanting to create art out of this whole "I'm sorry" thing. At the moment, I'm not 100% sure of how I want to do this, but I have been giving it a lot of thought.

I want to make some sort of performance piece related to something happening every time I apologize. Over the summer I was told jokingly "put a dollar in the middle" every time I apologized in group. I kind of want to base something off of that, like with money falling from the sky and stuff. How to pull this off is beyond me, but I'm going to take it one step at a time.

I plan to start writing down when I apologize unnecessarily or think I should.

Child In Red

As I expressed in class, I had a very strong personal reaction to "Child In Red" by Rilke. I had like this burst of energy from relating so much, The poem was inspiring. It made me want to get better, made me want to go to my friends who are struggling and say "Hey! Read this, it'll help!" I may just do that actually.

Firstly, as I said in class I wanted to run to both Luke and my therapist and talk about what it made me feel. I felt like I was on a high. It was an artistic experience that I'd never had before. I was emotionally exhausted, I wanted to go home and sleep, and I wanted to read more poems (which I tried but I couldn't focus on them. There was still so much more to feel)

And yet the last stanza kind of upset me. It made me think of sickness instead of health. So I tried to reming myself that the red dress is health. But it wouldn't stick. Something deeper is going on with me in that last stanza. I'm anxious and excited to find out.

Now on to writing our own. I didn't want to, because I didn't want o ruin it with what I see as my crap and cliches. But I guess i knew I had to. I went back to ripping myself apart unfortunately , felt as if it was no where near good enough of course. But as Luke pointed out, once I shut up, I got something fairly good. Something very far from done, but something good.

Then I noticed that the two stanzas I have started with "I've..." and then "Now I" and the next one I started writing started with "Now." So I waslooking for an I've to fit, but so far nothing fits.

But I'll have to just keep going.

I've held this familiar pose until muscles rusted.

Now I treat the child with an old can.

I've rode along an immobile staircase,

Kissing my restrictive hand.

Now I walk over this shadow,

and stretch my landlegs in the sun.

That's all I have in any sort of order for now, but here are some other random lines that I like at the moment:

Now I count the birds and the feathers,

Though slowly,

Steps like a crawl.

I need to write this out.

I wonder if you knew we were both on this cruiseline to hell? opposite paths that never crossed obviously, but now that they have, i'm so curious. what if we had both been getting help at once? i'm so confused i can't believe it. i respect you more and at the same time and angry. i just realized that. i'm angry. it was my thing. that's sick. sick sick sick sick sick. but still. I just picture myself standing in group screaming FUCK MY LIFE as you walked through the door. i'm laughing at crying all at once. nothing makes sense. my world has been reduced to long island with kuwait and a splash of philly. i feel sick. im not sure why.

sorry for the vague-ness and cliche's but this needed to be posted. i'll probably keep adding to it.

^PostSecret postcard

Natasha

This summer I spent some time in group therapy, and thus i've at many inspiring, amazing people. I started writing some poetry based on some of the people i've met. This one is no where near done, but i'm looking for some constructive criticism.

Natasha:

how is it that something nursed in blood

could grow to shine so?

the ungrown and immarture,

with a destiny of beauty,

sucks at a poisonous breast. less like a lotus

more like a cactus.

spiny needles prick lips

as spiny words prick brains,

an organ so lovely.

and soon this baby grows.

this baby will impart love.

but a rash has been left with this body.

BARI B Q

It is best to go into a BARI B Q much like you'd go into a cold reading- planning on making things your own while following a basic script. Consider this recipe your script, and feel free to add your own touches. There is plenty of room for creativity!

List of Foods for a BARI B Q

Serves 6-8

2 pounds Bari Chopped meat.

16 oz Orange Juice

3 slices American Cheese

2 Potatoes.

3/4 cup Mayonnaise

1 Cup Ketchup

1 tbsp olive oil

6-8 Soccer Balls

Night before the BARI B Q:

Place 2 pounds Bari chopped meat in tub. Using new shoes, dance on meat until tender.

Once meat is tender, roll into balls and pat firmly into patties.

Stir together Mayonnaise and ketchup until it is neatly blended. Then Pour in orange juice and mix with mayo-ketchup blend.

Soak patties in mixture overnight.

You have now made Orange Bari Burgers

Day of the BARI B Q:

Thinly slice potatoes and pan fry in olive oil.

Let potatoes cool.

Using a double boiler, melt cheese over open fire, stirring continuously.

Once fully melted, pour onto potatoes.

You have now made Cheese Fries.

Grill Orange Burgers on Bar-B-Q.

Chop soccer balls in half.

Use halved soccer balls as buns.

For most satisfying meal, serve Fresh-MANt iced tea at your BARI B Q.

Blogging instead of punching walls.

I'm furious at the moment but that's irrelevant to my post, just explains the title. I'm here on my laptop blogging instead of...punching walls.

I really enjoyed the painting. I just let go and was determined to fill the whole paper and was really into making the colors bleed together. It made there be neither shapes nor lines, just colors, and I found the white to be a great tool as I coated with it in random places. I was actually pleased with what I made.

"You're not here because you're clever, you're here because you're smart" -Luke

Although this quote came about in less than fortunate circumstances, it really got me thinking. I often feel like i'm not clever enough but I do feel like I have a lot to offer when it comes to pitching ideas or smarts. I contributed a lot of ideas today and though I doubted myself in the beginning, my confidence rose as the process went on. In those moments I remember that I am different, creative, and an artist, and those moments are just great.

I also got an idea for some sort of project relating to the concept of "i'm sorry." I find my best art comes out of issues or mistakes. And although I already have a lot on my plate, I want to see where this idea takes me. So I'll keep ideas in my journal and what not.

STAC Photo Parade

Leah’s skin looks really nice here. Also, it’s a very ‘Leah’ picture. It looks as if she’s winking for some reason.

This picture of Kalli is very straight on, it’s directly on her face, and she looks very pretty in it.

I really like the way my hair looks in this picture. You can see the piecey-ness and the color looks multi-faceted.

I think ashley’s eyes look the most focused on what’s going on in this picture, without looking like she’s getting ready for an inevitably crappy school photo.

This picture stood out to me because it is the least ‘Becky’ of all the pictures. In all the other ones she was smiling or laughing, this one is just a good portrayal of her face in neutral mode.

Kadambari (I’m sorry if I spelt your name wrong) looks like she’s thinking really hard in this picture, which made it an interesting picture. I want to know what she was trying to answer.

Lizy looks so happy in this picture, and she has a beautiful smile.

Leah’s eyes look big and shiny here, which makes it a cool picture.

This picture manages to capture Cassie’s ridiculous side while at the same time showing that she is pretty. I can almost hear Cassie saying something, though I can’t figure out what.

This picture was the most focused on Alex, with the least background noise.

The lines by Jill's nose when she laughs really stand out, and the picture really captures her natural beauty when she’s not even trying.

Doug looks very innocent here, like the little Doug I met back when he was in 8th grade.

Matt looks like he’s full of emotions in this picture, like he’s going to cry. If I hadn’t been there, and thus didn’t know what had been going on, I would wonder what someone said that he felt the need to hold back tears.

Jack has a great, interesting profile. Also, you can see the way his adam’s apple sticks out on his neck.

Jesse’s hands look like they’re the size of his head! The proportions look of creating a very funny shot.

Megan looks evil here, like she’s plotting something.

Maraid (I’m sorry for spelling your name wrong) Looks very deep in thought here, like she’s about to answer a hugely important question.

This really captures a feeling of “I don’t know” to the point where I can hear Juliana defending herself for something she was accused of but didn’t do.

Bobby looks very childlike in this picture which is an interesting contrast from both the other photos and reality.

This is the clearest picture of Jess. It is very natural looking

This picture of Elisa has such a nice, natural smile. She looks like she’s laughing, which is nice.

This picture captures the shy side of Nina that those of us who are close to her haven’t seen since we first met. She looks very happy.

This picture of Zach is great because it’s so funny. It’s as if he’s too tall to fit into the picture.

This is the clearest picture of Nick’s face, with the least distraction in the background.

I think this picture of Keren looks interesting because at first glance, you can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying.

The way this picture is structured makes you really look right at Hilary.

Molly looks very self satisfied and proud, like she is saying “Yeah, this is my awesome healing necklace.”

Although I’m not sure what Michelle was feeling in this picture, (confusion maybe? I know she was asked about pregnancy) she is clearly feeling it very strongly.

Ilana gives off a very shy, happy vibe in this picture, which is the feeling I get from her in real life.

This is a very “DEEEEN” picture, you can hear her random accents through the photo.