And so, many interesting things have happened. I was able to get work study back, and with the addition of work study, I was able to get $2700 bumped out of my loan for this year, so this year I’ll only have about $1500 worth of loans, which is definitely good for the future.

Other than that, I’ve been working. Alot. And it’s been good, for the most part. And I’ve been trying to write, and read more. It has it’s moments.

Reflections, 1981 (by yours truly)

I lost myself inside a Rothenburg tonight
and it felt like Finally!
Finally it is more than just
my unopened text on the shelf.
Finally, I am being dared to keep
this page open, like
a secret that I can’t contain.

Admittedly, it’s been awhile
since I’ve had one of those.

And so, Reflections, 1981, haunts me
from page 328 of Art Fundamentals.
It is the jab from a prize fighter
tearing eyelid from eyelid with
his uppercut
so that I might see.
It is the drip in the faucet
down the hall that is keeping
me from
slumber. A drip that suddenly knows

I will drown in this tempest,
this Oil on canvas storm.
The water is so gray I realize there is
no reflection at all. Two yachts
nearly collide, and a third finds itself
far, far away,
emerging from the waveward wall

haunting the crews of the other ships
like the textbook page haunts me.

Unless, yes… I get it!
That third ship… That apparition
with it’s furled sail, like the frightened ships nearer,
it is but a mirror image
playing across gargantuan faces
of God’s good ocean
gone wrong.

Next to the picture, a caption
freezes my thoughts with how
the text likes to play it’s
know-it-all game with me,
likes to show it’s superiority
with its knowledge that
Susan Rothenberg became famous
for her early impastoed,
monochromatic horse paintings
in the 70’s. Looking at it now,
I can easily see why she
changed her mind
in the 80’s, and why I must
hold my opinion tighter
than ever before:
no horse, however monochromatic,
would survive on a ship
caught in the middle
of a wide-eyed,
abstract,
throw-the-paint-across-the canvas,
toss-the-viewer-into-oblivion,
kind of storm

like this.

Sarah’s probably going to say “I told you so”, but seriously, I wish I could write lyrics like Chris from Saves the Day. After seeing them last night with Brian, that’s pretty much my only thought filling my head. Other than the fact that they are seriously unbelievable. And so, this post is dedicated to them.

Saves the Day – Drag in D Flat

If every limb were broken,
tires had all worn thin
and my toes are all in pieces,
do you know
what I would do?
I would play can you drag yourself
200 miles
with just your fingernails?

A little game that I made up.

Do you know that I never ever lose?

There is nothing to
keep me from coming back to you
cause I can picture all the pictures of you
and me on your walls.

What would it take to make you mine forever?
Just your fingernails,
a little game that I made up.

Do you know, that I never ever lose?

Could I cut out my liver,
and make a special potion
two parts my heart,
three parts my heart?
Yeah, you know that I would do it in a second.
With just my fingernails,
a little game that I made up.

Do you know that I never ever lose?

With just my fingernails,
a little game that I made up.

Do you know that I never ever lose?
Never lose.

I think I’m ready for a vacation.

In other news, my FAFSA was processed, and I’m getting a good amount next year. In fact, I’m getting more aid than I have in previous years, even though they haven’t given me any work study and a smaller loan. I’m going to call them about the work study thing because if I don’t have work study, I might not be able to work at my jobs. And I like my jobs.

But I’m very thankful for this chance to resume my life. It’s a good feeling.

Break
by Dorianne Laux

We put the puzzle together piece
by piece, loving how one curved
notch fits so sweetly with another.
A yellow smudge becomes
the brush of a broom, and two blue arms
fill in the last of the sky.
We patch together porch swings and autumn
trees, matching gold to gold. We hold
the eyes of deer in our palms, a pair
of brown shoes. We do this as the child
circles her room, impatient
with her blossoming, tired
of the neat house, the made bed,
the good food. We let her brood
as we shuffle through the pieces,
setting each one into place with a satisfied
tap, our backs turned for a few hours
to a world that is crumbling, a sky
that is falling, the pieces
we are required to return to.

And so, here is a new splash screen for my site. I’m redesigning it. At least, that’s the final conclusion I’ve come to within the last hour.

Tomorrow, I’ll be in Ventura for the Vans Warped Tour. I’m ready for my ears to turn to jelly.

This is the future. Two years ago, when I first started in Graphic Communication at Cal Poly, Dr. Levenson, the head of my department, used the promise of this technology as a “wow-er” for all the new GrC students.

The concept is quite simple: E-Ink is a new way to read books, using a digital display to shift pixels along and flip pages in the book. One AAA battery holds enough juice for 10,000 page flips. Insanity.

Anyhow, read up on it. You won’t be sorry.

Dover Beach
by Matthew Arnold

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits;–on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanch’d land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the {AE}gean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl’d.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

I think the greatest thing I could learn at this moment regarding art is to let it go.

Today, I made chalk drawings on the ground outside the lab with the kids. I really wish I could keep some of my drawings. One, my first, is of a dragon breathing fire onto a castle, and a knight rushing out to vanquish it. And then there’s my robot on treaded wheels saying “SPACE ROBOT!!!” (That one is my personal favorite. One of the kids told me what the robot would say. She also did this strange robot dance. I tried doing my own robot dance… namely, the robot, and she told me I was doing it all wrong. Sheesh, kids.)

And so, there’s really no way for me to scrape my drawings off the pavement and take them home with me. So, I learn that perhaps not everything I do under the sun is fantastic, or worthy of keeping.

Too bad. I should draw in chalk more often.