Oh, but it is a wonder for you to wake and grace the world with your beautiful smile. Thank heaven for that smile that brightens even my darkest hour. Your smile challenges the shadows before me and lays waste to the despair that is determined to pull me under. My darling, don’t let me down. Awake. My soul wages war on these demons in your absence. It is only whole once more when the dreams restore you to this life. I am yours, devoted and true. I will wait through countless nights and battle the phantoms of your mind. The day I leave is when time runs out without your return and the world comes down before me. Wake my love. Wake.
LIVE DELIBERATELY - FEB 15
“You are leading an authentic life when you LIVE DELIBERATELY NOW!”
- m.
DRUGS IN YOUR BODY - FEB 17
There's time for indulgence and there's a time to know your limits... Do you know your limit? When will you reach it? Anyhoo, here's an image I was playing with and creating last Christmas. It reminded me of The Inauthentic Life, formerly the Perspectives, which will be published later this year. Here's the first snippet I wrote from the book... along with links to a few of the other chapters. Enjoy!
Kisses, m.
 |
| Downtown drugs. December 2012. |
Drugs in my body.
It’s been three days and you haven’t been here.
It’s 11 at night. 11:13 burned in red screaming out from the black. Where did you go? Look around and you’re not here. There’s a stranger looking at me in the mirror. It’s time to head out. Maybe I’ll find you through distraction. Grab the bottle and take a couple for the road. Did you call a cab for me? Wait. You’re gone. Wayne isn’t going to mind the noise from the cab. Oh, he’s already waiting. Grab my coat. Let’s go.
Downtown.
It’s 8am. There are still a dozen places to go. People are everything right now. Standing on the wall. Touching my waist when I pass. Grabbing at my body. A woman just walked up and kissed me outside of the Zebra last night. Still can’t hear you. I’m pretty sure I locked up last night. Alex is with me now. He wants breakfast. I’m not hungry. I keep telling him I need to go back to the house. I’m out. If I dry up I’ll never find you. When are you coming back? I’m out of this head when you’re not around.
Alex says he knows a guy that can keep me HYDRATED and that I should forget about going home. It’s time to get breakfast. We’re standing next to the guy that sells flowers for nickels or trades them for oranges. Alex is eating an orange and telling me to hold his flowers. I’m almost completely dry. Something about this feels like you. Were you here before me? I’m catching up now. The man selling the flowers puts a cigarette in my mouth and lights it. Alex is laughing. Alex is kissing him. There’s music. We’re dancing on the street corner. It’s 9am.
Still downtown.
The cab put us out in the middle of midday traffic. It’s Alex’s fault. The cab driver didn’t agree that oral sex would pay the fare. Even I said that before we hailed it. We’re out on the avenue ten blocks from where it’s wet, but seventeen blocks away from the oranges now. Dryer. You’re close though. I’m leaving here. Alex says to wait and catches up. There’s a place we can go. I’m waiting. He says it’s around the corner.
The alley isn’t long enough. Seems like a hallway or closet. It’s a liar pretending to be something it’s not. But that doesn’t matter anymore. I’m wet. Messy. Back in pursuit. I almost lost it for a minute there. Alex came through. I’m not going to stop for the next day. Maybe you’re already there. Living in tomorrow. Dancing in the dream that hasn’t happened yet. I need another one. I can feel…
Alex is gone. He says to swing by Zebra or Defiance if I wanna hit the party later. It’s 2pm. Why do I bother with this watch? You like this watch. It would hurt if I lost it. I’m waiting on a park bench with this watch that you love thinking of breaking it out of spite.
Downtown Driving.
Gina is waving to me from across the street. She has an Escalade. Wayne sent Gina to drive me around. Did you call Wayne? You didn’t tell me you were stopping in. I missed you. This is a nice car and Gina is very nice. Except Gina doesn’t really know me. Not like Wayne and Alex. I’ve never met Gina but she knows you very well. Gina smiles a lot. Gina talks a lot. Tells me about where we are going.
The escalade takes a sharp left at the next intersection and continues. I ask her why she should take this sort of job from Wayne. She says that this is what her job for Wayne is. I ask her if driving strange men around is really a profession that one aspires for. Gina has a giggle. Some girls have a laugh. Gina giggles before explaining that her job requires her to assist Wayne. She says sometimes that means driving around strange men then half giggles. I ask if this comes with stock options and a title. Gina has a laugh now and hands me a business card.
The traffic stops for an accident. The escalade stops. I want a drink. Gina pops opens a compartment and hands me a bottle. I take a hit and drink of bottled Perrier. The car is amazing. Cold bottled water appears from the dash on command. I’m holding her business card like it’s a cigarette; Rolled up and sandwiched in between my fingers. Wayne calls her his personal liaison. I tell her I’m convinced this means she washes his clothes and books his appointments with hookers. Gina giggles. Gina likes it when I make fun of her job. I’m done making fun. I need another hit.
The Four Seasons
Gina takes me to the Four Seasons. She has an appointment with a client and I’m having drinks with Wayne at 5:30. It’s only 4:15pm. You aren’t at the Four Seasons. You don’t like hotel bars. I’m the opposite of dry. What trouble can I find?
The ladies locker room isn’t where I should be. So I’m leaving even though she asks me to stay. Who? Someone. She follows me. Smiles and says come back to my room. It’s 4:25. I’ve got time. I need another hit.
It’s 5:15. The maids’ pantry is stocked with a thousand tiny little chocolate mints. There’s a closet full of those tiny mini bar liquors that is now missing thirty eight tiny bottles of Stoli Vodka. Mint Chocolate and Vodka sounds like an amazing new flavor for ice cream. You would love that. Why don’t they put alcohol in ice cream? I’ll ask Wayne. He makes things happen. My bottles clink clank while I walk across the empty lobby.
I’m at the hotel bar. Wayne is here early. I’m beyond soaked. I show him my new dance that produces three little bottles from the bottom of my left pant leg. Wayne thinks it’s funny and asks me about Gina. I say client with inappropriate finger quotes. Wayne shakes his head and smacks me on the shoulder. I share about the party invite from Alex. Wayne looks at his watch, nods and tells me to order a drink. I forget about Stoli and Chocolate Mint Ice Cream… before I forget about you.
Frank’s Place.
Frank is a business associate of Wayne and Alex. Frank has an amazing waterfall in his living room. The bottom of the falls is covered by tiny bullets of red and whites, green and blues, yellow and purples. An arsenal of pure intoxication. Frank says help yourself. I’m already packed, but I’ll take a few more for the road please.
You’re not at Frank’s. I can’t help it but I’m not looking anymore. There’s no mirrors here to remind me of strangers. I’m the life of the party. Dancing in a waterfall of color and light amid a sea of girls in white cat-suits. Wayne says Frank loves to throw parties. I don’t know what time it is. The watch is broken. Water.
Gina came to Frank’s. Wayne says it’s 10:20pm. I say where did the time go? Wayne says that Technicolor waterfall held me hostage for three hours. Wayne tells me there were no girls and that Frank wasn’t having that kind of party. Gina smiles and tells me I was still the life of the party. I laugh.
Wayne tells Gina to head over to Spiral. She makes a left and a right quickly before flipping a bitch amid traffic. I need a hit. Wayne looks over his shoulder as I’m pulling at my coat pockets. There’s only three mints and a tiny bottle of Stoli. Wayne laughs and waves my bottle of skittles. I tell Wayne to fuck himself and give it back. Gina says I should wait until Spiral. Spiral is a party on a boat that never sinks. I want my candy. Gina says we should arrive in 5-4-3-2-1. Give me the bottle.
Spiral.
Alex is at Spiral. Somewhere aboard this boat. Wayne is gone to check our coats. Wayne is gone with my bottle. Mirrors everywhere. You are close again. You’re in the familiar shadows that disappear around corners. I can never find you. I feel sick. The club rocks with the uneasiness of the movement all around.
Alex finds me in the corner talking to you but you’re not there. Just a thousand strangers reflecting back. Alex says the boat is leaving. I laugh and tell him this boat isn’t for sailing. We leave anyway. Wayne is throwing up in the parking lot next to the car. Gina looks like she fell in the water. She is still smiling. Happy Gina. Pretty girl. Alex hands me back my bottle. Wayne realizes that he left my jacket in the check.
Zebra.
I’m in a corner booth sitting next to Andy Warhol. It isn’t really Andy though. Andy is dead. This guy says he’s Andy though. Real cool cat. He even looks like Andy but with red hair and dark skin. I know you would find the humor in that bit if you were here. When will you be surfacing? Gina is drinking a Midori and dancing on a chair while Wayne lifts up her dress. Alex has decided that imitation Andy is his soul mate. Why am I at this party? I’m waiting for you. Drying up.
There’s a mirror. That’s not a stranger. You’re here. You’re dancing now. Come closer and talk. It’s been four days. Maybe we should talk. No more distractions. Let’s go home. I’ll fix something. You can be in control. I’m ready to be dry. Stop dancing. Now.
The bottle. Don’t eat the candy. I’m tired.
Out in the street.
Walking. More candy. More Stoli. But at least you’re here. We agree and there’s no place like home. Alex and Andy are walking behind us. The world spins madly. You want to know about the watch cause it’s late and there’s no way to tell time. You keep interrogating me about our jacket cause you’re cold. I’m not cold. I honestly don’t care what time it is. Maybe I’ll take a hit of red and put you back in your cage. Why don’t I then? I’m tired. Why don’t you take control? Quit hiding in there if you don’t like what happens when you’re gone.
Standing in front of a store filled with paint cans of every color. I can see you in the reflection. Still mad about the jacket? Look what I did to our hair. Andy Imposter laughs like a donkey when I talk to you. Alex tells him that it’s ok and this is how we are. I don’t want to go home with you. Crawl back in or take over. Alex has a bump left. I’m taking it. Deal with it. Junkie? Go away or hold the fort while I disappear inward for a while.
Defiance.
Wayne says Defiance is where people come for sex and candy. Alex and Andy haven’t left the bathroom for an hour. Check one. There’s a mirror behind the bar. No stranger danger. Quiet. You’re still mad, but coming around. Even you have to admit you enjoyed that line. Let’s have some fun. There’s a nice smoking bar and there’s a man with candy in the back. Check two. Why do you care what time it is? Let’s get wet. Jump in the pool.
Alex says it’s 4am. Andy says it’s 5am. I don’t care. I say let’s find Wayne.
Apartment K.
Wayne is sleeping on the floor by the sofa-like chair thing that you bought last month. Alex is smoking in the bathroom while Gina takes a piss. I’m spent and resting on your favorite chair. Alex tells me that you spilled all the candy in the street this morning. I say to him that’s wonderful. Gina hasn’t giggled yet. According to the watch that Alex stole from Wayne it’s 10am. I ask Gina to take Alex home. Alex says he prefers to walk. There’s a stranger in the mirror. I don’t know where you went. Maybe you’re still in the streets? I’m ready to leave. Come out come out wherever you are. I can hear you. You know the score.
Five days and you haven’t really been here.
Other Chapters
LIVING IN A CASTLE... HEARST CASTLE - MARCH 11
Barbie happens to be a fabulously unoriginal gal but she doesnt mind in the slightest what people think. That attitude alone makes her a Queen in this world! What a better place for a Queen to live than a Castle?
Hearst Castle
Hearst Castle, now considered a landmark, is located in San Simeon, CA overlooking the beautiful golden west coast bluffs. It was constructed in 1919 by William Randolph Hearst. The home is open to the public for paid tours. More info can be found @ www.hearstcastle.org
Would you live in a Castle?
Barbie would.
Kisses, m.
ART & STYLE: HANGING AROUND - MARCH 18
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| photo credit: c/o tylershields.com |
It's amazing what a person can accomplish in a day just by hanging around. It's even more interesting what a person might accomplish by doing a little bit of something everyday. I think when you wonder too much you miss the point of it all. What's the point? Magic. The magic in the trick is not knowing how it's done. It's in knowing that you're watching something wonderful happen. And there's magic in everyday. The image is borrowed from SUSPENSE, an upcoming exhibit by photographer Tyler Shields at the Guy Hepner gallery in LA. The story is an excerpt from a book I finished writing some time last year. I suppose it will be eventually published. I don't really make any decisions about the unpublished material that I haven't edited or shared. By all means follow up on the artist... I guarantee you will be impressed by the work or perhaps you won't. I'm personally rarely disappointed. One thing I will advise: Check your personal feelings at the door. You'll definitely have a reaction. It's not everyone's cup of tea... but I did warn you about such things when you visited my blog.
enjoy!
kisses, m.
A day in the life of Addison Kelly
(1-31-2011)
It’s 3:30 in the afternoon and I’m hanging thirteen stories above the ground looking up at the sky. Somewhere below there’s a man making sure I don’t fall off the roof the wrong way. Addison tells me one more minute before disappearing over the top edge of the roof with a harness strapped around his waist. It’s the last place I thought I’d be twenty four hours ago but it’s the first place that I can think to start. About to tumble head over heels, thanks to a man.
Well, don’t get ahead of yourself. No it’s not like that. I wouldn’t call it a love affair, because it’s not. Or for that matter love at first sight, cause it isn’t like that either. But a lifelong friendship is what it has become. I’ve known Add for nearly six years and it seems like a lifetime. I’m often told that Add’s a strange looking fellow. Not at all what you expect, but I just don’t see it. He’s as good looking as they come and just as strange in his own way. Aren’t we all though?
Friend.
Madison Henry - (friend)
How did I come to such a friendship? Addison Kelly is a remarkable storyteller and me as a writer; I can’t pass up a good tale. Always with Add -“give me more.” And I could spend hours if not an entire day listening and participating in Add’s latest invention, meeting a new stranger or taking in a story. Often much to my husband’s dismay.
James Henry - (Collaborator/Friend.)
Madison likes to believe that I’m a needy creature. That it disappoints me when she spends the day in the middle of or listening to Add’s nonsense. Hell I can’t blame her for that. He’s always a got a story to tell. And it’s always a helluva day with Add. But I suppose it is a little interesting when your wife has a childhood friend that’s a grown-up.
The day starts by merely planning. And we’ve started planning out the night at 4pm. Add says it’s happening somewhere on the side of building before telling me that we have to stop in on a friend of his. After that friend it involves a handful of spray paint and a few more tools. But that won’t happen until later. Dinner is spent with Addison telling me about the necessities we need at the hardware store and trying to convince me we need to visit the Iron Anchor for a little while.
Friend (cont.)
Strain aka John Strand – (Artist/Friend)
Addison Kelly. Sounds weird to say his name like that. To me he’s always going to be Add. Add’s a cool guy and I’m not just saying that cause you’re asking. I met him while I was hanging off a bridge putting the finishing touches on a piece. Armed with two cans of my best Krylon, he leaned over and asked if I wanted a hand. I said ok and before long he was using my harnesses to work on his stuff. We were just kids back then, he wasn’t anything like this artist that’s got work in a museum or on some rich fucker’s wall. Ah, but he’s not like that. He’s still Add and we don’t talk about the work like it’s a commodity.
Michael Cranston (art dealer)
Addison isn’t merely a commodity. Yeah, I like to see him as a friend. A colleague. We don’t often see each other but for dinner discussions about work. And it’s on occasion that he brings me a bottle of wine to celebrate the completion of a new project. Every bottle is accompanied by a delightful yarn. And see that’s the one thing I like to tell people about Addison; it’s his knack for a good story.
Beckett Sinclair (friend/dog walker/sculptor)
Friends. We go way back. There’s this one time he bailed me outta jail on account of me getting arrested for breaking into his house. See, he didn’t mind. Some people say don’t mix friends with money. Add don’t think like that. He figured it was his fault being that he asked me to come over and get a set of acrylics from his studio and forgot to leave a key under the mat. Nah, Add ain’t like nothing else.
Two and half hours in a hardware store produces enough materials for a small military settlement. Paint, tools and wires are nestled safely within two shopping carts. The man at the counter smiles and nods as we make one more pass through before checking out.
The Iron Anchor introduces us to the lovely Svetlanka, a bartender who isn’t at all afraid to tell you what she’s thinking, quite heavy handed on the alcohol and wears her female facial hair with a sense of pride and duty. It takes Addison two hours, a couple of interesting stories and a handful drinks to get the lovely Svetlanka to listen to his idea about her posing for a wall piece. A piece that will take place if she cooperates. Three more drinks and she may promise Add an unborn child whether it’s his or not.
Friend. (Cont.)
Madison Henry.
The first time I met Addison Kelly we were both in line at the DMV. Addy was registering an old DODGE truck and me I was paying dues on my 94 Honda Civic. Our first conversation was about cars. Mostly odd since I know very little about cars. And Addy well he wasn’t so much talking about cars as he was telling me a story about a car. A story much like your grandfather might tell you. Sounds pretty odd coming from a young man, but that’s just Add.
To describe Addison Kelly is much like referring to all old man. How we are friends at all I’ll never know. To this day my husband wonders how we are friends. Sometimes I just tell him to go along with it instead of wondering. Its how I’ve come to understand things.
James Henry.
Addison was in the middle of telling a story when Madison introduced us. The middle of a story. It’s funny but that’s the best way to describe the friendship. You’re in the middle of something that’s about to take place. And although you don’t know it at the time but you are in the middle of a story.
Celine Patrick – (friend/artist)
Addison introduced himself to me in the middle of the biography section at the public library. Apologized for bothering me but instantly said he had to tell me how beautiful I was. I wanted to be icked out by the whole thing, but somehow he was charming and I simply said thank you. The whole time I kept thinking who does things like that anymore?
Strain.
Add is a good friend. Not that it’s hard to get along with Add. Actually there are a few people. But it’s not that they get along badly. Wait that’s not it. They just don’t know how to take him or bother to get to know him. Most people are surprised to realize how much they have in common with Add when they start talking to him.
The night gets started somewhere in the middle of a convenience store its 12:38 am. Addison says we need Corndogs and Reeses Pieces. Svetlanka the non-model bartender from the Iron Anchor is standing outside the store with a handful of posies smoking a cigar. We’ve become fast friends after spending the last two and a half hours at the Iron Anchor getting familiar while discussing how she will be posing for Add’s next piece. I’m feeling like this is more like a bad joke than an art project when he tells me these things will complete our painting. Add has a tad twisted sense of humor so I’m waiting for the punch line to kick in. It doesn’t. Somewhere around 12:45am with his serious face he reassures me, “No Joke!”
Artist.
James Henry. (collaborator/friend)
By true calling Add’s a pretty damn good painter. You might find something he’s done hanging in a law office or on a wall at the Modern Art Museum. My work? I’m strictly a paint man. And don’t get me wrong I like to get down and dirty. But that’s not like what Add’s doing. He’s a bit of genius with what he’s got going. It’s not often but occasionally he lets me down to work on something with him. And cause he’s Add, occasionally he’ll throw in a few things for flavor. Mixed media is what the art dealer likes to call it. I call it a big ass mess. Albeit a bit fun. BIG. Anyhow, that’s just something the missus and I joke about though.
Michael Cranston (Art Dealer/Colleague)
Addison Kelly. Now the thing you have to understand about Addison is that he doesn’t work like you or me. Doesn’t pay the bills the same way. And sure as hell doesn’t pay the tax man the same way. Yet he is the most upstanding individual I’ve ever met. Most people wonder what he does. At this moment he might tell you “a little of this a little of that” and that’s not entirely untrue. Snake Charmer? Lion tamer? Musician? Builder? Repairman? If you can think of a name for it, then he’s done it. The world to Addison Kelly is that of possibility. Anything is up for grabs. And for the last three years or so he’s made his living creating something from things that most people toss out. With a little paint or other odd’s and end’s thrown in there’s a masterpiece every time.
Madison Henry.
Addison and Work. Work with Addison is never work. It’s that age old saying, if you’re doing what you love then you never find yourself working a day in your life. Which brings me back to how I ended up where I’m at now. Spending an entire day in the life and shadow of Addison Kelly. This wasn’t my idea. But Addy’s got a “grand ol plan” and he tells me the world has to know about it. When that mind starts to work there’s nothing that can stop it. Also he knows I’m outta work, needing a challenge. What are friends for?
My biggest fear as I hang dangling thirteen stories above the ground? A day becomes a week and that becomes a year. Add says no. And I know that he’s right.
Four and a half hours and thirteen popsicle sticks later, the sun is coming up Svetlanka has called over her girlfriend. The four of us, we’re standing in the middle of the parking lot at a closed Dairy Queen with a newly painted wall mural that looks a bit like the outline of Svetlanka with her hands above her head somewhere in the middle. There’s a pile of cigarillos next to the scene of the crime next to several cans of Krylon with freshly painted popsicle sticks hanging out of them with candy paper wrappers. Add tells me there was no way the corndogs sticks would have worked as I swallow another cold bit of cherry ice. Svetlanka covers her girlfriend with a dozen kisses and I watch Add snap a couple of Polaroid’s before telling me they’re playing his song on the copy machine at my house. I tell him James is asleep and we shouldn’t. He tells me, “No he’s not” while stopping to look at his watch.
Artist (cont.)
Svetlanka (Barmaid/Model)
We’ve met at the bar many times. He tells me I’m beautiful. I know this. In my home country I am very beautiful. No I never posed for artist. It is honor for such gentlemen. Is this ok? My speaking is bad. I can talk about anything. You want cigar?
James Henry. (collaborator/friend)
Last time we’d visited he was working with a 79 Datsun and an 87 model that looks like she’d rather be entertaining a fashion ensemble than being worked into some mechanical artwork. The entire time she spent waiting for the plaster to dry with a cigarette crooked in the corner of her mouth. Addy kept telling us about the interested buyer while flipping the pages in Italian Vogue for the bored model. When he says, “there’s a man in New York waiting to see this painted body work,” for the most part this means he’s already sold the unfinished piece. We decided to leave as the last pieces of plaster harden around the thin woman’s legs and Add brings out a sledgehammer.
Anastasia Peterson (Model)
Oh no, I don’t mind it so much. Dirty. You definitely get a little dirty. The last time I came down to work with Addison he was re-envisioning this color scheme on a landscape mural while working in a tube of lights that required a harness and buckle. He was using the curve of my torso as a… I don’t know how to explain. He was using me as a paintbrush. It was all so very interesting. Funny. And amazing. You’re probably wondering where the funny comes in the equation. It’s all very serious until you’re strapped in a harness swinging buck naked covered in paint. Before your mind wanders, it’s not very sexy. And Addison, well he’s a gentleman. Let me just say, they don’t make ‘em like Addison anymore that’s for sure. His ex-wife… it’s a damn shame she left him. A shame for her that is. Some girls don’t know what they have.
The morning continues at my house around 7 o’clock. And James isn’t sleeping. He’s been up all night in the studio working out something. It feels more like 3 in the afternoon, but it doesn’t matter as the Xerox machine is counting down from 1000. We’re still sitting having a coffee and talking about the plan for the day. I can’t see what he has in mind as the hot water comes to a boil. It involves paint and a tall building. Two things that I’m not at all sure I want to participate in. James pops his head in to find out when I will “really” be home. I tell James later and then tell Addison that there’s no room for negotiating on time. He says then we better get moving soon.
Copies. Nearly 11 am. Dozens of inverted images are strewn across the street in front of my house. A hand, a face, an elbow. It’s odd to see the brightly colored body parts scattered on the lawn. Addy’s pulled together a make-shift contraption to color the copies. The wind is kicking in and making the production line a bit of a problem. I’m watching and waiting for the neighbors to intercede over the chaos of color. And somehow it never happens.
The damn shame.
Madison Henry.
Addison’s wife. That’s a sad story. And it’s something that happened long before I met him. But I can tell you a little. She’s… she was pretty fucked up how she left. It wasn’t what I’d call reasonable. There wasn’t a time when she was ever satisfied with what he would do for her. Took him through the ringer with all of her cheating. Blamed him for refusing to commit over and over again. When he finally did she accused him of every type of indiscretion. Add’s not that kinda guy. He never would’ve cheated on that girl. Would have given her the moon and somehow it wasn’t enough. It’s a shame that she left, even after he put that ring on her finger.
Beckett Sinclair.
I wouldn’t call it a bad relationship. Being married to someone is a strange thing. It’s not that you want to upset the other person. You want to be the thing that stays true to you and true to the relationship. Upset just happens sometimes. In their case, there was a bit of bitterness on both sides. And in the end she left him.
James Henry.
The way Maddie tells it, there’s nothing like the way she left him. It makes you wonder how someone can drag another person through the mud before heading out. Maybe they grew apart. Maybe there wasn’t anything there to begin with.
Somewhere it’s noon and somewhere it’s actually 1 pm but the important thing is that the corner of Amsterdam and 9th are now covered in freshly painted copies of random body parts. There is a faded picture of Madonna with a strategically placed magenta foot in her mouth. And three oversized symbols mocked up out of the remaining pieces. A crescent moon is looking back at me when Add tells me about the crane at 1:30.
At 1:38 there’s a man that keeps handing me the keys to a crane while Add talks to a homeless man. The crane is large enough to lift and move a car. Add says we’re not moving cars between talking about street art with the homeless man. I wonder if he knows what he’s doing. He must get the same impression as me and keeps making phones calls instead of stopping. Between being kept on hold and waiting Add tells me about the building and paint again. I shrug and nod. There’s no real sense in avoiding it. I know that there will be no change in plans when the homeless man says he thinks there might be a Van Gogh of street art.
The crane is next to a building that is next to a large empty lot. The space directly next to the building contains a large canvas and drop cloth. The canvas rests across a pad large enough to catch a falling person. Add tells me this is what I’m doing. I tell him, “Really?” before shaking my head yes. Saying no won’t do anybody a bit of good.
The damn shame (cont.)
Strain.
Damn shame. Add never talks about it unless asked and even then he’s pretty tight-lipped. You can’t really talk about something that never gets talked about. I remember how they met and even though we all knew each other pretty well it wasn’t a good idea back then. To say there were problems before it ever started would be an understatement.
Anastasia Peterson.
I take it you’ve never been in a love situation if you can't relate. I mean, you don’t just say forever and mean something else. That’s not the truth. You have to understand that with a man like Add there’s no room for deceit. And that’s all she was. Demanding the truth from a man and lying. Giving it to some other guy. Who does that?
Celine Patrick (friend)
I think with Addison it comes down to the last thing he ever wanted. It’s what happened with her. She wanted something different than what he wanted. She gave him no choice. It’s all very sad. There’s nothing worse than losing your heart.
Not a bit of good is exactly what I’m thinking as Add yells over the side of the building, “Ready?” and starts to pour the paint onto me. I think of the color red although he’s pouring black and purple. Somewhere below me the man that is supposed to make sure I land right is giving the signal cause I can see the look in Addy’s eye change. Its then I look up and back down before telling him, “Only if you are,” With my agreement he snaps the harness securely into place and takes a dive over the edge. A dive that will pull me down with him.
It’s 3:55. Nearly 24 hours later, sheets of color blanket the sky before both my head and heels find themselves back on the ground. And after I finish wondering if we’ll do it again, Add tells me “Ready?”
WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE HOUSE - MARCH 20
For Barbie there’s nothing quite like a dream home away from home especially one that’s set far off in the jungle. Well, the jungles of Bali that is.
The Jungle House
Set in the native and man-made ponds & rice paddies among the frangipani & coconut trees of Bali this dream house is constructed entirely of tropical woods including repurposed ironwood electricity poles. Breathtaking & beautifully complementing nature with its sustainable green design.
Would you live in the jungle?
Barbie might.
Kisses, m.
MBD: THE TEAHOUSE - APRIL 7
My Barbie Dream House is a Teahouse? Japanese tradition dictates great care and custom to the art of the Tea Ceremony. In the business of busy most modern individuals find themselves pressed for escape for something simplistic yet formal.
Teahouse Tetsu
The fine Japanese tradition of serving tea transcends cultures and defies gravity in the Teahouse Tetsu designed by Terunobu Fujimori. The minimalist house appears to float high above the cherry blossoms and maintain a mystique that separates it from the day to day ordinary. It's an ideal sanctuary to escape to and celebrate the custom of a Japanese tea ceremony. Perfection can be seen in the wood detail of the floor as well as the built in tree beams. Both efficient & sustainable the Teahouse Tetsu is a marvelously unique design that wonders.
Would you use a floating tea house?
Kisses, m.
GREATNESS - APRIL 14
“According to Kierkegaard you are leading an authentic life when you Make Everything Last Through Intently Noticing Greatness in each moment.”
-m.
PRE-BUYER'S REMORSE -APRIL 17
**UPDATE** The musician aka a photographer never did respond to my last inquiry although promising to do so back in April 2013. (I apologize for the call out but I believe an artist I know thought this was about him and it was not!) I will say to the musician as I say to everyone in my life: Your word is all that makes you success in this life. Breaking promises (lying) to one person means you break them (lie) to everyone in your life. Honestly it was one of three disappointing experiences with artists in 2013. Some artists really should check their ego and learn to control their staff from saying rude things to customers behind their backs. Positive experiences should be a priority in any art related field. Your customer is what helps you as an artist. Never forget where you started lest you end up back there. To the musician: THANK YOU for showing me what you are really like, it won't be forgotten unless you'd like to apologize? I will own a piece of your work someday but I may have to buy it in a way in which you don't profit which makes me very very sad because I'd preferred you profited 100% from it; which was why I contacted you directly in the first place. It's a damn shame you didn't understand. Of course I'm sure you meant no harm although harm was done. You probably don't care if you hurt anyone's feelings so... no worries for you, right? Suggestion you don't have to take... maybe try to follow up with your clientele in the future.**
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| Rock n Roll Kills - photo credit c/o tylershields.com |
Something has been irking me for a bit. A little over 18 hours to be exact although I did manage to sleep soundly last night which was brilliant I might add! Now normally I don’t voice my irritation with people’s behavior on my blog but since I love music, art and fashion and many other people do as well, I think this is something that I won’t be holding back from writing about.
Well youngsters, oldsters, hipsters, friendsters and my mom [if you’re reading this “HI!”] on this occasion I’m going to share a little story and change the players quite a substantial bit as not to offend. Even though: FYI! I am a bit offended. It’s kind of a funny offended, in an inappropriate way that I’m sharing because I’ve had enough of the BS people do and aren’t held accountable for.
Let me start by saying: I wanted to acquire something. A unique piece (of fashion, music and/or art) and as most of you know: I love me some unusual in this great big universe and I’m not quiet about it! Often desperately, quite ruthlessly I pursue acquiring such objects with the passion and vigor of ten or more maniacal & financially stable men. Since I’m not a hoarder or obscenely rich, please understand that I don’t have a cluster-fuck of overpriced BS in my home. I have “choice” pieces that include music, art and fashion in my home, in addition to the Vodka, Lemon wedges and Zero Red Bull I keep in my fridge.
Last week I made the decision to acquire a piece of music from a lovely musician because I am attending an upcoming concert of his and thought it would work out to my advantage to be able to pick it up then. Granted it’s a musician who has always been very accessible and for the most part lovely to his fans. Even when he’s lifting ideas from being inspired by his fans to write new songs he’s having a bit of fun with them because they don’tcare. All and all, he’s not a bad guy. For the purpose of storytelling we will call him, The Musician.
Upon the urging of a select Radio Station I contacted The Musician. You see, a few months ago, I discovered this lovely Radio Station after they showcased The Musician’s last album. I sent an inquiry to acquire a piece of music from The Musician's catalog that was exclusive to the Radio Station a few months ago. Which is a very exciting thing for me. (I’ve been excited to finally be able to do this.) I was then urged to send the inquiry to get a price for what I wanted from The Musician directly. And that it shouldn’t be a problem at all. No worries at all. BTW: I love this Radio Station! Needless to say but I will say it: They are fabulous!
Now, understand something, I don’t have a special relationship with The Musician. We are not friends, colleagues, acquaintances, etc and have never met. His representation, himself included, doesn’t always reply to inquiries, tweets, Facebook messages, etc. They are a busy lot, and it’s not a surprise in the grand scheme of things. Which yes occasionally I admittedly take liberties of playfulness with the lack of reply or response just for fun. Who wouldn’t? Really? You should sometime. It's fun. All in all, it’s harmless fun. If you’re not having any fun you may as well be dead. So…
Going into this I knew from a previous experience that the process would not be without its own unique difficulties: I ordered a t-shirt last year from The Musician’s staff, after much persistence I was able to acquire exactly the style and fit I wanted. It was an XMAS present to myself! I still have the shirt and it means a lot to me. It survived a few mishaps, one of which claimed the life of another shirt it was wrapped around but not my shirt. Blah Blah Blah… Lucky T-shirt! But getting back to things, obtaining the shirt was not without its own set of difficulties and I still hope it was not too much trouble to ask of The Musician’s staff. For the most part they were very wonderful for humoring my request and I didn’t expect to get my way at all. Although grateful for my t-shirt I knew that the process of pursuing a piece of music would be different and possibly be difficult. Yet I was told by the Radio Station, to please inquire as he sells them all the time.
Mind you it has been a few months since I asked the Radio Station but I was assured it wasn’t going to be a thing back then. So I inquired. Not once but twice. I was ignored the first time. No surprise.
[*Sidenote: Yes I do get ignored a lot by The Musician’s company. At this point, you’re thinking why bother with these rude people? Getting ignored doesn’t bother me as it’s a reflection of their bad manners if they aren’t really busy. So I assume it’s a busy place to work and they are inundated with projects, requests and other matters without proper office management. NOW… if they needed proper help they could always hire moi or borrow my office services for a stint. I’m highly efficient at details, multitasking, very business minded, POLITE to customers, not opposed to irregular hours, DISCREET and come with amazing references, but I’ve digressed.]
Back to it: The second time I inquired I dropped the Radio Station’s name. It worked. Success! Exciting! And The Musician replied, quoting me pricing for his typical full length albums but none specifically. Alright I’ll say it: when I started my inquiry I wasn’t wary that I would be talking to the talent and was a bit passionate in my initial discussion. I figured I would be talking with an underling of some sort and let’s say in my most fabulous way I was very expressive about what I wanted. I feel horrid for being so passionate about my designs for the music as my commentary may have been hurtful to The Musician, but overall I meant what I said and apologized repeatedly. Yes, there was a bit of an exchange over cost and style but needless to say it wasn’t heated and I’ll condense it.
***Please keep in mind these are collectibles kids, NOT CHEAP or available in record stores! (Don’t you love this analogy?! I’m having a blast with it!)
I explained that my collection could only truly fit an EP at this time. *I haven’t moved into the dream house yet. I don’t have room for another album and it would be unhappiness to have one, especially this Musician’s work, just shoved in any ol corner when I spent so much EFFORT to get it. Additionally I explained it would be disappointing if it wasn’t what I wanted. But I thought why not an EP? It would tide me over until I have room for that full length album, perhaps someday a double album or box set! I really only wanted an exclusive EP I had seen online at the Radio Station from his last album for about ½k American. But The Musician didn’t want to talk about that. I would REALLY be CONTENT with the cheaper piece from the last album because the EP looked to be exactly what I wanted at this time because of my size constraint. But The Musician wanted no part of that discussion…
Typically, The Musician said that he only sells albums and this is their cost yet he asked what I had in mind. I figured in case perhaps he had something. Which, this exchange made him more likable as a person. Very few people will work with you and be up front about things, especially when you are dealing with a creative type. They are afraid you won’t want to buy. In that respect I truly appreciated his candidness.
When I replied I told him I had assumed that his business was used to selling EPs in addition to albums as I'd seen at the Radio Station's website. Needless to say The Musician offered me something else instead: A song-set from an upcoming musical work that had not been announced.
I figured: not quite an EP but I’ll bite. Even if it is on the more expensive side… at least I can decide if it’s worth the price or wait to buy a larger piece when it will be appropriate in my home. You never know unless you ask, so I did. I asked him to please tell me more while I apologized again for my previous bluntness.
(*Sidenote: I am still waiting for more information. Although I am highly offended by that thing I will get to, it would still be a lovely addition to my home if it all works out. Fingers crossed!)
After that last exchange, I was quite pleased. I thought this is going to be great. Any animosity The Musician had had with my persistence and any past irritation I had had with being ignored or inspiring as a fan, seemed to be something that could be put aside or essentially squashed. At least it appeared to be an amicable exchange since The Musician was kindly willing to discuss with me something that would be the best fit for my needs. And the purchase puts the best for both parties involved, both buyer/seller get exactly what they want. I could see no reason otherwise than to proceed.
Now here’s where things go a bit sour. I received a very upsetting message yesterday, sent in an unusual way, which happens to be the most cowardly thing I have ever seen in my life, aside from those bombs at the Boston Marathon. You have to love the Internet! If you have a problem with someone, then tell them directly. Don’t hide in a corner and yell shit at people (that’s a metaphor for the passive aggressive coward). Besides you aren’t fooling anyone. This happens a lot more nowadays since the Internet has made it so accessible for trolls and passive aggressive cowards to say shit without having to leave comments on a message board. Usually it's merely empty threats but you have to take them seriously sometimes. Now I’m not certain exactly who the coward was that sent it. I’m certain it wasn’t from my side of things. I’ve told no one until now about my inquiry or design to purchase said music from The Musician. The Radio Station didn’t know when I would be sending my inquiry. With that said I am uncertain of why it has originated and but quite clear of what it implies.
There’s nothing else do to but directly address the gist of the derogatory statement. I’m going to say this and say this nicely although bluntly: I’m not trying to purchase something to fuck anyone. I don’t take kindly to things being said that are not true when they disparage not only myself but someone I’m trying to maintain a bit of professionalism with during a transaction or business exchange. Even if I was, wasn't or might be a dedicated fan and would or might have a fan-girl moment if I met The Musician or not, (WOW I hope not), I’m not a groupie. Typically groupies don’t pay for things they just show up, try to fuck people and tell other people “I fucked that musician” for pure bragging rights. I am a buyer and this should not be happening.
I don’t expect preferential treatment for buying The Musician’s work, but I expect to be treated with respect and a bit of discretion. And in my experience if you spend money in someone’s shop they treat you right and take accountability for the things that people do on their behalf, including bad behavior. For example when I spent ½k on a stereo upgrade for my car they kissed my ass at the shop: I was offered lunch, a movie, and a lovely man servant to chauffeur me to my errands in addition to much more. And they didn’t have to kiss my ass or do any of those things to keep my business.
SO with that said… if I spend a considerable amount of money on a purchase, even if it’sjust ½k or even 1k, I expect to be treated with respect and discretion. I expect the same respect from the grocery store employees and without fail they deliver it. Tell me why should a higher end establishment be allowed to behave differently? In fact, they should be on better manners than any other due to the specific backgrounds of their clientele. Maybe someone should talk to their employees, friends or anyone else close to them about better customer service to deter such things from happening? Or perhaps what not to say or do that might scare off prospective buyers in the future? Honestly, I don’t know. I’m confused by this.
After that last part you think: why not buy something else, somewhere else? Poor customer service isn’t really what’s irking me and although I’m sure someone was speaking with only the intention of defending/protecting The Musician, it isn’t truly his responsibility to police the Internet. After calming down a bit yesterday and today, I realized the problem wasn’t The Musician; the problem here is that people make assumptions. It’s not their business but they make it theirs and overstep. You don’t really know that someone wants something without asking them. Guess what? That’s all in your head when you do. Try putting yourself in their shoes. Pretty insulting, right? Check your head. Get a clue. Be Decent.
For the most part, I want the best in most situations. I reach out and go after the best when buying. There are only limitations if you choose to have them. Music, Art, Fashion and etc. are all accessible things and anyone can get what they want. I go after what I want because of this fact. I make no excuses for not obtaining it.Again, did I mention ruthlessly pursue?
Keep in mind, just because I go after what I want and I’m not afraid to ask for it does not make me a slut or a tramp. It makes me an educated woman with exceptional taste and the capacity to make excellent choices in my material acquisitions. However, it does make you uninformed, Mr. or Mrs. Passive Aggressive Coward. Although I don’t drop $$$ all the time doesn’t mean I can’t. I choose not to. I’m a savvy buyer with the capacity to rationalize what purchases are wise and which are not. I accept that this exchange may not prove to be successful at this time,but I do know that I will eventually get a piece of The Musician’s work.
I’ve purchased Clothes and Furniture directly from the designers, Art from the Artists and Music from the Musicians before and I don’t tend to drop names unless it’s promotion for the talent. It’s tacky otherwise. Now I’ve never considered spending or spent this amount of money to acquire anything and I’m not entirely at ease about it at this point. But then again I’ve also never been insulted by any musicians,artists, designers, or their friends, family, employees or crazed psychotic fans when purchasing something. You would think things would be different on this scale. It’s scary that it’s far worse!
Come to think of it my favorite creative buying experiences were actually not spending a ton of money: a $50 limited edition Alex Pardee print from Zerofriends, a $100 Lucky Bunny print from Joseph Watson Gallery and a $10 CD from the band Burning Tree Project selling their own merch at a show. All were respectful, very grateful for the purchase/support and I didn’t have to drop 1k+ to get it.
Understand, I’m not truly talking about a purchase on the level of a box set of CD's, a $100 limited lithography or Knockoff Manolo's by Steve Madden. This is a purchase equivalent to buying a car. It’s a long term commitment and investment that I happened to take seriously until this interesting turn. It’s quite funny to me now.
My advice to The Musician: Honey, when you have people spewing filth to and about your buyers… You have a problem. If it’s not you or those employed by your company making the remarks, then you should find out who is disparaging your good name and deal with this cowardly individual(s) swiftly and deliberately. After all it makes for bad business and reflects poorly on you.
To anyone who wants to buy music, art or fashion etc. from their favorite creator then GO AFTER IT. Pursue it. It is their night/day/day/night job and they are usually very flattered you think so highly of their craft. Don’t be star-struck or shy.It is their gig and very much part of the territory that comes with it. If they are truly exceptional individuals they will try to accommodate your request.Even if your request happens to go through a few people to get to them, they will almost always try to make it work when & if they can. I’m only sharing this story in the hopes that anyone making a purchase will learn that no one gets to mistreat you when you are buying anything and you don’t have to be quiet about it. Truthfully, they need your support and you do not need theirs. Love yourself the most.
Kisses,
m.
INAUTHENTIC PEOPLE NEVER GO AWAY - APRIL 27
Hi honey! You're from Brunswick OH and you brought a friend form Omaha NE today! I love that you have that lil ol identity/personality problem (so do your friends)! It's comical to me but unfortunately no one else can understand you when you don't finish your sentences!
Now what was that?
According to Kierkegaard you are leading an inauthentic life if you...
A) are not going to write complete sentences
B) live like a coward hiding your true locale [oh I have that info honey. Should I share?]
C) are going to think a lil word or two will stop anyone from living their life.
Please speak up!!! Until you do I'm going to just keep living loving and breathing the same as always! See ya round honey!
Kisses, m.
POSSIBLE - MAY 9
AT ANY COST - MAY 31
Only the guilty silence themselves & stop living when facing a challenge. Be authentic to yourself at any cost regardless of what is said to you or about you. If you have nothing to hide in life... Then don't hide a thing. Love yourself the most! Keep living, loving and breathing!
Kisses, m.
THE MOON HOUSE & ANTONINO CARDILLO IS A FAN - JUNE 14
There's nothing quite like a full moon. And Barbie happens to love dancing by the pale moonlight. It's no surprise she should find herself captivated by the light and shape of a house inspired by La Luna.
The Moon House
Antonino Cardillo designed the Moon House inspired by the shape and color of the heavenly lunar goddess that orbits Earth. It is made of concrete and shaped into a semi-spherical moon in two parts on a rectangular plot. It's imitation is meant to evoke the feeling that perhaps a celestial body has landed on Earth. And it can be inhabited. Interiors of this Melbourne-suburb home offer light and space.
Would you live in The Moon House?
Barbie would.
Kisses, m.
Updated: June 15, 2013
Images: Courtesy of
Antonino Cardillo
*A Special Thank You to Antonino Cardillo for the updated images.
DREAM ROOMSPIRATION! - JULY 7
Barbie knows fashion, dreamhouses and interior function as well. She knows that every fabulously imaginative gal and guy not only dreams of a dream house to live in. They dream of a house filled with rooms that they can enjoy aesthetically and physically.
Sometimes things in life can be more fun than playing games. Even video games can come to life!
The Super Mario Bros Room
An art installation/living space by artist Antoinette J. Citizen created to resemble a scene from the classic video game: Super Mario Bros. minus Mario & his enemies. But I might imagine a few strategically placed pillow-shaped koopas & cutout Bowser or Mario characters might be fun in this scene.
Does this dream room inspire you? Would you live in a Video Game Room?
Barbie would!
Enjoy!
Kisses, m.
HAPPY ENDINGS - JULY 19
1:11 - JULY 28
It's one-eleven on Sunday. There's a good chance I'm writing or not writing today. It's also a possibility that I don't exist and the writing I've done is completely insignificant. There's also a chance that you've interestingly enough lost interest with wasting my time and yours but it's unlikely.
I've been up for only three hours. It's the first time in two months I've slept in, really slept in. I opened my eyes to find my newest puppy, Charlie, standing beside my bed, looking at me and whining to go out. My foot hurts. I look down. My inclination to look at my foot when I wake up happens almost everyday now. Remarkably I hurt my foot while healing it.
Which is a story that isn't a story when you think about what really constitutes a story and what doesn't. It's more like an anecdote that sounds more like a complaint, but it isn't a complaint so much as it's a thing that happened because I wanted it to happen.
So I made it happen.
To rephrase, I made a nice man say yes to do something that I still wonder if he really wanted to do in the first place. I won't know because I'll never press into it. Some people can't lie to you and it's not fair to make them. Needless to say it's art, it's done and healed. Beautifully although not entirely without it's problems since I injured myself in the process of healing it. Which isn't the truth but it is at the same time.
Can something be the truth and a lie?
Why not.
I injured my foot last year and the process of healing it recently aggravated the injury. One could blame it on my newly acquired art or lack of proper shoes. But the blame lies with me. There's the truth and lie hidden in plain sight.
And now I'm writing but not writing. It's Sunday. You're not tired of wasting time. My foot hurts. The puppy is outside. I'm awake and laying on the bed. It's now 1:25 and you're wondering when this will...
CHOCOLATE STRAWBERRY BUBBLEGUM- JULY 29
Late last night early this morning is when I met with sleep.
It's 6:53am.
I'm awake.
I'm ambivalent.
There's a chocolate protein shake spinning in the background and Strawberry Bubblegum playing on my IPhone.
I'm enjoying the quiet minutes of the day before I greet my co-workers who I help to save the world one child at a time.
The quiet moments are interrupted by my brain that never really stops thinking.
The deep question of the moment: Heels or Flats? Of course the deep answer is Heels.
Heels hurt less and my indecision reminds me of Fight Club and how much I loathe that there's going to be a sequel. I just finished reading the first book. I still don't own it.
LIAR?
No. I'm not lying.
To loosely quote Brand New: “I've had time alone to hold my lying tongue.”
As Justin Timberlake plays I realize that this isn't my song of the day but I may be writing about him later...
?
As I put on my makeup I realize I'm happy I didn't have a beer last night.
Its 7:00. The song ends and before I hit repeat I take sip on my chocolate shake after I put down my blush brush. My fake blush mirrors the real thing but its not the real thing.
By 7:03 I realize that somewhere its late last night and someone is have a beer that's not real as they steal bubblegum that they won't enjoy.
and now its early and i don't plan to arrive late to work.
Enjoy the stolen bubblegum that'll be discarded when it loses its flavor and ache because you're missing the stolen glance of the girl you aren't pursuing because you wonder if she feels the same thing when all you have to do is tell her.
But I'm not missing the past this morning and the future remains to be seen...
It's 7:39 at the bottom of my chocolate shake the song has ended, my face is made and I'm ready to start another day.
kisses,
m.
A COUPLE OF BEERS AND YOU'RE OFFENDED - AUGUST 7
A couple of beers and you're offended... Or things you shouldn't say sober while playing a record.
...I'm not drinking. That's what I tell him. I mean that's what I'll say. When he asks I'll say it. Or not.
It's not really the things you'll say. It's the things you'll do. I'm definitely not drinking a beer right now.
Maybe later? Maybe not. Why not?
Because the things you say aren't what you mean and things people mean to say are the things they'll never do. You have to love passive aggression.
But I'm not drinking a beer. I'm writing.
So, I'm listening to Sean Rowe. Not drinking. Writing. It's a writer's life for me? It's a life. A wonderful life. I'm not saying what I mean, but you get the point that I'm listening to music and writing. I'm writing about art this afternoon followed by a few people that I don't really know but might have met.
One person I don't know and haven't met is Sean Rowe but I have his new album spinning. It's the loveliest thing: a record. The best part about it being a record is that it was free because I asked for it. [*Thank you AntiRecords and Epitaph] It's a novelty because the only people who still have records besides moi are my DJ friends and the hipsters that are all snatching up records & players in the fear that they may soon leave this planet. People have been saying that for 20+ years now...
I continue to own records. I just picked up a new one, Sean Rowe, for free.
And I'm still not drinking.
Back to the art that should be free. It is free. Sort of and not really. It's online to see and free. It's in a gallery but not always free. And somewhere, definitely somewhere there's a beautiful work of art on an ugly wall hiding away miserably for no one to see because it wasn't and won't be free.
Now there's a question or two: Is it still ART if no one else can see it? What's the point of "one of a kind" if no one else can see it? Seems rather meaningless. Kind of like drinking.
It's meaningless to discuss meaningless art and with my last thought the record ends.
When the record ends with a skip it reminds me of days long gone when I used to hit the wall to make the floor vibrate and reset the player. But that's a memory from a very long time ago when passing someone on the street meant you stopped and said hello. Most people don't stop and say hello... but some still do. Now there's a recent memory I'd completely forgotten that makes me smile. After I finish my passing memory with a smile I reach over to put the needle back onto the record and before Sean Rowe can start to sing I begin to remember to say...
I'm not drinking.
IT'S LATER JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE - AUGUST 8
It's later.
I'm writing about Justin Timberlake and you're wondering what it means and I'll tell you but not just yet.
You're not ready.
Why?
Because you're still making excuses about the girl that you'll never pursue & ache for her kiss. You'll say she met someone else first and blame all the things in-between that aren't really there. There where she stands and loves you, you'll make another excuse for denying that kiss. It's a memory, a bizarre memory in the present.
Like TV?
Nothing like the TV.
Real.
Present.
Stop Making Excuses.
It's painful to watch real life not happen because you're afraid to let it.
And its a bizarre love triangle situation that reminds me of a song and now I have to hear it.
Am I going to tell you about Justin Timberlake now?
Not yet.
But I do like his new album, suit & tie. It's smooth.
And that smooth album makes me think of a smooth panda wearing a suit & tie, his broken television and a lot of traffic on a Sunday morning longer than some time ago but earlier than a forgotten Fairytale.
The Panda had a suit, a Rabbit and a plan but I didn't catch their name only their game. A game that didn't end well because the Rabbit wanted to say "what's up" but didn't because he was distracted by that thought of me and the Panda.
a girl, a panda and a rabbit walk into an art gallery...
Bizarre?
Indeed.
And now its later and here's the thing: I met Justin Timberlake last week.
[liar? hush!]
I did meet Justin Timberlake... The Rat Terrier last week. He's rather sweet. And knows exactly how to stay quiet. He happened to stop me on my morning walk. So I picked up Justin Timberlake and returned him to his owner who was walking toward me quickly. As she hugged, kissed and squeezed JT like he'd been lost at sea, she said to me without recourse or reason:
“I can't imagine my life without Justin Timberlake. He's everything I need. No man could ever take his place. Once a man did try to come between us, but I told him how it was... You feel me?”
I smiled and started walking again. Before long she yelled out to me, “Do you have a dog?” I didn't answer her, but I waved goodbye to Justin Timberlake and kept moving.
You weren't ready for that.
But...
Hopefully you're ready for the girl.
Or the world.
Now or Later is a terrible thing to waste. Even if its only a candy.
So if you're ready...
Then you should GO!
REPLICATE - AUGUST 8
Sometimes I rhyme quick
Sometimes I like to go swimming after midnight and replicate.
Sometimes I like to replicate...
Sometimes you like to duplicate.
It's nothing like Fight Club.
And you love wasting time.
Especially yours when you try to waste mine.
Stop wasting time playing games by punishing and lying to yourself.
Are we having fun yet?
It's your game not mine.
It's always fun because its not fun for you.
Fun! No?
Maybe you should quit.
Why?
Because you shouldn't do anything if its not fun anymore.
It's fun for me...
for always.
Replicate.
Duplicate.
How about integrate?
Collaborate?
Nah.
You wouldn't be interested.
Ah but its not same way I'm not interested in you and its not about you... Never is.
But you want it to be... All about you.
I'm not interested. I'm not Sorry.
Go ahead and cry. Someone somewhere will drink your tears for breakfast. Yum.
Anyhoo,
This is better.
Replicated. Duplicated. Never Collaborated.
Fun.
Is it fun yet? Of course it is... For me.
Enjoy!
Kisses, m.
TIME FOR GAMES - AUGUST 16
ENJOY! - AUGUST 25
Trending: Trend Report - The Micro Dream House - SEPT 30
Continuing this ever growing trend of the micro house, Barbie thought why not let you see just how fabulous these homes can be inside and out. Some are so amazing you might think you are living in a work of art. Luxury comes in all sizes, Dolls and Kens. Which one is your favorite?
The Micro Dream House
Bunkie
The Tetris-like Micro House
The Rustic Backyard Micro House
The Diogene Cabin
The Tiny Desert Dwelling
The LoftCube
The Tiny River House
The IcosaPods
The Micro-Compact House
The Champfer House
Would you live in a Micro Dreamhouse?
Barbie Would!
Enjoy!
Kisses, m.
TREND REPORT: FALL COLOR SCHEMES BY PANTONE - OCTOBER 16
Trending: Fall Color Trends 2013!
Because color isn't just for fashion anymore! Keep your Dreamhouse in seasonal style! A fresh palette change does wonders for your interior! Don't forget to check the Pantone list for the year & seasonal colors. In case some Dolls and Kens are unfamiliar with Pantone they are the leading color experts for all color trends... Fashion and Interiors! Here's your trend report for Fall color!
Do you change the color palettes of your interiors by season?
Barbie does!
Enjoy!
Kisses, m.
IS THAT ALL? - OCTOBER 18
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| Barcelona, Spain. 2009. |
"Is that all you were gonna come at me with?" he says as we see other for the second time on the street last night.
To be clear I don't know him, we never met. Not formerly were we introduced through or by anyone. We had only exchanged an innocent glance that had happened an hour before as I shuffled myself into another art gallery to appease an unhappy client by "researching" possible selections to acquire for their home.
This man played a guitar out on the street. As I passed him, I nodded and smiled. I had wished I had a dollar to drop him but I didn't so I quickly went past and made my way into the crowded art gallery.
But in this instant when this man says this to me while still wearing his knockoff Raybans, even though the sun has long since set and twilight is upon us, he looks as though he wants me to gesture or say more.
Perhaps he saw an instant that I didn't. Or is that there's something to be said about a man who assumes that because he straps on a guitar that every woman is ready to chase after him. I don't expect every man to chase me down because I wear a short dress or skirt or change my hair color. I'd rather they'd want to spend time with me because we get along... or that I'm more than interesting to them.
There's something to be said about a moment when it's had. This clearly wasn't it. So I kept walking. Wondering to myself: How often did his line work? Did he often expect women to come at him with game? Indeed.
Before he interrupted me I was thinking and heading back to my car realizing I hadn't found the perfect picture to come back to my client with and the only piece I had truly wanted to acquire, a photograph, probably wouldn't come through either. I was thinking and wishing all artists remembered emails, text messages and phone calls and... I was recalling another artist who makes me laugh because it's a situation where the roles are reversed and as a client I do try my best not to be as difficult as my clients are with me.
As my laugh quieted I was still smiling. But this time this man was walking toward me and passing me. As we scooted by each other he interrupted my thoughts to ask with a bit of arrogance "is that all you were going to come at me with?" I paused but only long enough to realize he never took off his sunglasses or really bothered to talk to me. He looked me up and down like I was just another faceless nameless girl to him and he'd expected something that wasn't worthy of him. My time.
I do not wish I had taken his picture. I do not wish I had captured a name. To him I was nothing so I figured it was best that he remained nothing to me. So I kept walking and said nothing. Because I had nothing, no moment, no cash to give him. It best to leave him where I passed him in the street without another thought.
MAPS - NOV 9
It's been a while since I posted some new darkness, the writing... in fact it's been a while since I've posted some writing. I let someone's bad attitude and my work environment affect me more than I should. Terribly inauthentic of me don't you think. haha. bygones.
Needless to say I met some lovely artists and promoters, rather encouragers of art today at The New Algonquin Round Table who were very curious about my writing which yes it's been a while. Lovely to meet you all! Well I thought I'd give them a treat when they visited my blog: A story! It's old. Please don't judge me. It's been far too long since I've put up new. In fact the last short story about darkness I wrote has never been posted/published. It was something I had written after getting this lovely snake on my leg. Beautiful art! I could brag about the artwork for days. One of my favorite artists... Whom I trust, respect and who's work I've come to admire a great deal in addition to his always making time to answer my questions. Now the unpublished story? It's about an art collector of sorts and reminds me of another story I once wrote...
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| snake. 2013. photo courtesy: w.m. |
It's a little bit of something interesting I wrote about two years ago. It's not quite darkness or dirty. It's was about the experience of getting inked, which at that time I participated in as a bystander. It would not be until a few years later would I experience this for myself and realize... my friend was quite ridiculous to make it sexual. (PERVERT!) There's nothing sexual about it but it is... quite personal for both the artists and the people receiving the art.
Enjoy the story! And the Art!
Kisses, m.
Map
(11-2-2010)
A map of creation rests silently above my porcelain skin. Imprinted. Lines take shape and reach further beyond limits to document the contours of form. Two tiny tendrils of black circle and envelop my inner thighs. There’s no place untouched by the black vines climbing down and around the hips and small arch of my back. His rough arms reach across. Arms touching exposed valleys while moving closer against the canvas of flesh.
The color of the mermaid tattooed on his left arm appears to bleed into his skin. She’s weeping profusely as the needle enters my skin. Penetrating the thin layer of flesh with its intent the sharp instrument spreads the secrets of its inside. Throughout the surface the color spreads. Stamping itself into the bare reaches of the flesh canvas. Dark emotions swim from the petite lady sitting on his upper bicep as he continues to work. An artist crafting a masterpiece like no other before while I sit patiently waiting. In and out the needle works. The sound hums as I wait. Buzzing melodically to accompany the insatiable feeling of enjoyable pain that entices the receptors in my skin. Color grows larger and longer reaching upward and toward my face. The lines follow the symmetry of my breasts to complete the whole of the torso.
Branded by markings that reach beneath the surface in a sensation that is like nothing felt before. Unique identifiers laced in and out of the dermis to isolate one person from another. The only thing to separate the masses and it rests above your skin. An unprotected barrier now covered in a slightly bluish black outlined by red throbbing with an irrepressible pain that is more satisfying than unpleasant. Far from displeasing the sensation deepens the awareness of the body. Hands reach into the small curves of my small frame and grab to hold tighter as the surgeon continues steadily with his instrument.
Chair spins and rotates upward and around to follow the lines of my upper body while his hands move the mermaid never stops her tears. Her green tails swims in and out of my imagination while the final words are laced into the curls that stretch from the front up to the side of my neckline. The only thing I can visualize is the small tip of her green tail as it swims in the movement required to shift the needle against the remaining pieces of white skin. There are no souvenirs from this journey to commemorate the previous experience unaffected. No empty places or patches of bare left in this blueprint of life. Squills wind down one side and back up to the top of another in the pink light that falls clear through the windows upon the camouflaged bareness.
INDIE SHUFFLE - MY DESIGN MIXTAPE - NOVEMBER 10
All designers and artists crank up the tunes whenever they are working and it doesn't make them looney! Music has been known to cure all kinds of ailments. Some people have a fabulous song of the day that defines them and others make an entire playlist to map out their fun times. Which one are you dolls? Well I'm a little of both until or if I decide on a single song of the day which can alternately become my song of the week!
Enjoy some tunes from my own personal shuffle mix! Leave a comment with what you're playing today!
Kisses, m.
DECOR HOROSCOPES - NOVEMBER 10
Needless to say Dolls and Kens but how you face the world has a lot to do with how you view it! Some people think astrology plays a big part in the everyday MAGIC of our lives... But how does it play into how we style our decor?
Decor Horoscope
Virgo
Meticulous and organized, Virgo cannot stand clutter and pays special attention to detail. She needs lots of storage space so that her home is always neat and tidy. Virgo has a penchant for vintage furniture, especially light-coloured wood and glass. Her decor is arranged in a way that facilitates easy conversation and you could eat off her floors! Furniture stands out and contrasts nicely against walls that are painted blue, yellowy-green, taupe or cream. Guided by an attention to detail, Virgo favours the practicality of her furnishings; she's always ready for company. Freshly ironed placemats and snacks await guests in her simple, well-organized kitchen.
This doll is a Virgo but you Kens & Dolls should look up yours! Find out your design horoscope at
http://www.styleathome.com/decorating-and-design/styling-secrets/decor-horoscopes-what-s-your-decor-personality/a/34749
(Via/www.styleathome.com)
STYLE ICON: RUTH HANDLER AND BARBIE - NOVEMBER 13
“Barbie has always represented that a woman has choices. Even in her early years, Barbie did not have to settle for only being Ken’s girlfriend or an inveterate shopper. She had the clothes, for example, to launch a career as a nurse, a stewardess, a nightclub singer. I believe the choices Barbie represents helped the doll catch on initially, not just with daughters - who would one day make up the first major wave of women in management and professionals – but also with mothers.” - Ruth Handler
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| The First Barbie - Teen Age Fashion Doll (1959) |
The story of Ruth Handler is one that few people know. Yet we know who Barbie is but we do not know the fabulous woman behind the fabulous doll. Without much effort one can assume that the doll, like most children's toys was a fantasy created by money hungry men. This is not the case in the creation of Barbie which in turn launched the spotlight onto a toy company, Mattel Creations that Ruth and Elliott handler co-founded 15 years earlier.
The idea of the fabulous Barbie doll came from an instance where Ruth was watching her daughter, Barbara and her friends playing with paper dolls. The girls played and imagined the dolls in a variety of roles such as career women, students, cheerleaders and athletes. It was in that instant that Ruth decided she wanted to make a doll that would be better choice for girls to play with.
Ruth Handler and Mattel Creations exhibited the first Barbie, the Teen-Age Fashion Model, Barbara Millicent Roberts, at the annual Toy Fair in New York on March 9, 1959. Buyers where wary that this new doll would be successful as she was nothing like the typical popular baby and toddler dolls. Barbie was a doll with an adult body design based on the Bild Lilli doll Ruth Handler acquired in Switzerland. The first Ken Doll, Barbie Doll’s boyfriend, Ken Doll, made his debut in 1961, two years after Barbie.
To many Ruth Handler is a revolutionary woman and Style Icon responsible for creating one of the world's most significant icons, Barbie. Not only did she create a woman capable of doing the impossible for all girls to look up to she further went on to invent a breast prothesis, Nearly Me, which is still in use today. For any little girl that thinks that nothing can be accomplished, she should find inspiration in the idea that a woman created an empire with a single idea for a doll. That in itself is what makes the fabulous story of Ruth Handler and Barbie remarkable and inspiring.
Did you own a Barbie as a little girl or boy? Or as an adult?
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| Barbie by Tyler Shields for The Dirty Side of Glamour c/o tylershields.com |
Is this how you play with your dolls, Kens and Dolls?
Enjoy,
Kisses, m.
REMINISCING WORDS - LET HER HAVE HIM! - DECEMBER 9
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| Revenge c/o tylershields.com |
"F**k it! Let her have him..." Is something that I should've said once upon seven years ago when I thought I was in love with "the love of my life" before he decided to go back to his ex. But I didn't. I wrote. This lovely story (see below) was originally written with a twist of course. [Read it here: She'll get hers (09) - 1st written in 2006/2007. edited 2008. Posted in 2009. Ha!] I was afraid people wouldn't understand so I flipped things a bit... but I wrote it anyway.
After this one I wrote another. But didn't stop there. I wrote another. And another. More and more. Terrified of the gamble of it all, I still wrote everyday. And it's rather funny in hindsight how much I wrote. Then, the need for revenge ended but the ideas did not. So many things later... I still write. I still get inspired. I still get hurt. I still get angry. But I don't feel the need for vengeance. Why? If that guy had been the love of my life I never would have needed revenge. I would have let her have him. Enough said. They deserve each other... miserably.
Do I worry about being in love again? Or how he'll see my words? No. My love will accept my past as exactly what it is: the past. As I will do the same for him. He may not understand where I was when these words were written but he will not judge me for my creativity. Love accepts, as is. You don't love someone if you need to change them. Anyway I know there's a guy out there with a unique spark for pondering the same darkness or at least an appreciation of it.
Enjoy a little bit of vengeance revised...
kisses, m.
She’ll get hers
Destroying something beautiful will set you free. How cliché of me to believe that. The beautiful destruction is nearly complete and I’m no more free than when I started.
Yet I’m standing over the body of this pristine creature gutting her insides and making ground meat out of her face. White skin completely emaciated and ripped clean from the bones.
Hmph! The broken bones. Well that’s worth a giggle.
What’s left of her golden hair remains tangled among sticky red, squirmy goo, which from my perspective… well it could be brains. Oh who knows? This spectacular mess is truly immature of me. All of it is nothing more than a temper tantrum that’s gone array. But it couldn’t be helped. At least not from where I was standing.
She had this coming and I don’t feel bad for it either.
“She’ll get hers,” is the thought that crosses my mind as I watch the conniving little bitch, with her short skin-tight black hooker dress, walk over to the car.
Your car. Our car. A black ‘68 Camaro. It’s the same one I gave you for our five year anniversary. The custom upholstered black leather interior with the red piping that you wanted. Nothing was too good for my guy until now, when the very glue that holds us together is being tested by this cheap piece of trash. Fortunately the same interior will hide any spill including blood.
With a flick of my cigarette I open the door. She slinks on over and slides in. I’m behind you Bitch and I’ve been anticipating this all night.
She carried on all the time. You were never the first or only one in her line-up. In front of my very own eyes I’d seen far too many players. Men. Women. Possibly animals?
Hmmph! SLUT!
It never made a bit of difference. Because it wasn’t sufficient to break up my home, she wanted more.
Enough!
Why should this filth be allowed to parade around in this manner? My limit had been reached and I was certain to catch her in the act. And I did.
She was always particularly interested in the chasing tail late at night. Right after a roll in the sheets with my man she couldn’t help herself but look for more. Couldn’t get enough and just like clockwork, there she was… Creature of habit. Another bar, another mark, another night.
Trollop.
Home-wrecker.
Whore.
Same thing. Different names for it.
You know THAT girl; the one that’s scheming and sabotaging her way into one bed after another without consequence. The type of filth you wouldn’t consort with. Needless to say, this type of common woman had weaseled her way into my home. And I’m about fed up with this game. I’m tired of defending my actions when I’m not the one to blame.
Sadly, I can’t blame you for all of your indiscretions with this common filth. This type of woman saw you coming and went for the kill.
Somehow the trick seemed to be in getting her alone to communicate my point of view. And honestly that proved to be less of a challenge.
When I picked her up in the bar, it was like a stranger giving candy to a child. Without much convincing the little Harlot just about jumped on me when I bought her a drink. Her eyes all lit up like a holiday when I flashed the ring on my finger. It’s the promise of money and a little two for one fun that gets the little bitch giddy.
After making my final offer clear, getting her out to the car required little effort. She could see the money, smell the excitement and taste the pleasure. But it’s funny though with all her senses working overtime she never saw the crowbar coming, especially when it caught the back of her skull after nailing her square in the face. Her tightly bound body slumped over in the seat without much effort as I gave in a little more.
Just like she wanted.
Off into the dark night I carefully maneuver the car out along an unmarked road by the highway. There shouldn’t be anyone along this stretch of road until it’s too late. Delicately, I pull what’s left of the tramp out of the car.
After dragging her body onto the road, I gently remove my tools of the trade: Hammer, knife, screwdriver, and a pair of scissors for fun. By the time I’m finished, there’s going to be no chance of anyone identifying the body. No one will be able to guess that this wasn’t an accident. An accident where some unsuspecting motorist will assume he’s run over a wild animal.
Little to no skill is required to beat a human senseless with a hammer. So I proceed without caution. The thin lifeless body lies across the asphalt as I pummel down with my barbaric weapon. Uncontrollable rage can pretty much take over in an instant without any warning. Like a surgeon, the real skill comes in knowing when to stop.
The bloody hole of red spatters back at me and gasps for air. There’s no real face left and her sluggish breathing signals my cue to stop. “Darling, you really should have stopped at one tonight. That last one was my man you messed with and no one gets away with that!”
DREAM ROOMSPIRATION: GO FUCK YOURSELF! - DECEMBER 16
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| Chris Zylka c/o TylerShields.com |
Barbie knows that sometimes you may find yourself conflicted when dealing with designers, artists or even a loved one. One minute you its nothing but peace and happiness only to find that the next minute is filled with a handful of "fucks" telling them where they should go. However should you find that you are stuck between a "fuck you" and a "peaceful place" try decorating with that feeling instead of ending your relationship with that difficult creative type or lover.
Dream Roomspiration: Go Fuck Yourself! Giving yourself the middle finger!
Lighting
Pillows
Chairs
Art
Would you find peace within to decorate and give yourself the middle finger?
Barbie might!
Enjoy!
Kisses, m
HOMELESS FOR THE HOLIDAYS - DECEMBER 24
Homeless for the Holidays. Can you imagine it? I could and I couldn't. Two weeks ago an old friend of mine posted a pic and a story to his Instagram. It was an image of a homeless person in Skid Row Los Angeles wishing for that Merry Christmas that we all so desperately ache for. The image was simply so touching because it captured the meaning of christmas for him and all things he was grateful for in his life: his girlfriend, his family & friends, his job, being able to eat and so on. The sentiment may have been lost on someone but it wasn't lost on me. It truly is one of my favorite images and combined with his words truly captures what is most important during the Holidays.
Enjoy!
Kisses, m.
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| © Brett Thomas |
"I pass by skid row everyday on my way to work. It is a little out of the way, but I do this partially because I like to remind myself of how lucky and thankful I am for what I have in my life (roof over my head, food In my stomach, & good health) and who I have in my life (my girlfriend, my family, & my friends). I have seen this lady the last couple weeks (with this Xmas tree in her thoughts) and she has reminded me of what the holidays are really about, helping people in need. Instead of wasting our money buying Xmas gifts for people that don't NEED anything, go out and give something to someone who does. It doesn't matter how big or small, the smallest effort can go a long way." - Brett Thomas
BETWEEN HER LEGS - DECEMBER 31
Some men like to spend their evening working hard on a piece while other men seem to love to spend their evenings getting hard with a little peace between some girls legs. There's nothing wrong that but don't count on love if that's all you like to spend your time doing. Which one are you? Here's a story that a lot of people love while others seem to think I went a little too far when I wrote it. Perhaps a bit of peace between my character's legs would have been better to their liking?
Enjoy!
Kisses, m.
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Peace between legs c/o Tyler Shields
Between my legs
Between my legs. Lies a hope for the future. Safety. Love. My insecurity? The reason he strayed is between her legs. The reason I stay is between mine. Infidelities he shouldn't have. We're both crying. Both aching. Knowing it’s too damn hard to watch him leave each time. Welcoming him back into my arms despite these flaws. Into the warmth, the depths where he’d linger too long. Falling and fading quickly, taking me down with him. Consumed by desire. A dark desire that is delicately hidden but ever so welcoming. Watching him savor the taste like drinking a hearty pinot noir as the flavor deepens into a meaningful experience. An exceptional wine, meant to be slowly enjoyed down to every drop.
Disappointment. My weakness. Inadequacies as a female. The one thing that sells you short as a woman is there between your legs. Never being taken seriously. As a woman it will keep you weak if you choose. Deprive you of love if you let it. Or allow the true nature within to become empowered by it. Controlled. Demanding. Eve in the Garden of Eden with that convincing apple. Damned is the man that believes he is manipulating a woman. A woman is a cool calculating creature never to be trusted or taken lightly despite what lies between her legs.
Waiting for him to return one more time. Deep down knowing that the game never changes, yet I’ve been foolish enough to continue this way. Sitting carefully, naked in the cold dark kitchen at the small table I trace my fingers carefully along the Formica surface. My bare skin is alive with the anticipation of his return. Element of surprise. It is my very intention to seduce and distract. The pressure of cool metal steel is nestled against the inside of my thigh as I wait. Looking down I can see the invention of death between my legs. Just as I continue to think he hasn’t returned soon enough the front door moves. Quickly my hand reaches in pushing aside the revolver where his eyes can not see. Nothing but my smile and open invitation.
Carefully the dark room masks his face as he moves closer to me. Only his eyes are visible as he makes his way forward. From the looks of it, he’s quite pleased to find me unclothed and honest. Standing over me his hands reach down into my hair and along my neck. An extraordinarily hard kiss as he makes an effort to lean in. The roughness of the moment is intoxicating as his grabbing hands continue to trail along my bare skin. Hands around my hips and in the small of my back as lips move downward, tracing their way from neck to breasts, then further. My ambitious efforts have me fumbling through his clothing, unclasping and removing, as he advances. As he reaches my navel I continue to reassure him by gently stroking his hair; beautiful hair, dark, thick and lush. Head movements find a balance as he nears my thighs. Tug at the back of his head to make eye contact. Lifting eyes meet mine in a piercing stare. Shh! He calms me with a smile before reaching between my legs.
Slowly I part my legs further and give way. Sliding the gun out from its hidden place, ever so silently, with a scoot of my thigh. Removing the cold steel instrument of death as he bends forward to kiss the inside of my thigh. Lips continue to softly caress my inner thigh as his hands come around to circle my hips and pull forward. Silently I find a place beneath his temple. Bare. Visible to my aim. Rocking my hips forward to meet his increasing movements, with my target in sight, I squeeze the trigger tenderly releasing death. Between my legs.
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