Tuesday, August 25, 2009

what the fuck, my legs are dancing, and my mind is tangled. it feels weird, and i find myself in these shadows, and these circles of light.

Monday, August 17, 2009


A local noise ordnance unplugged the Sunday night Lucero show early, so Ben Nichols and Rick Steff played guitar and accordion on a park bench to about thirty of us in eckhart park until late. We helped with the lyrics while the alcohol helped Ben to forget.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

let go what you don't like, or, hopeless, drunken, romantic, dancing

looking at yourself, i mean really deeply inside, is maybe one of the hardest things to do. to realize the mistakes you have made, however great they are. to see the other people around you hurting so badly. to realize the work you thought was moving you forward, was really just a shuffle sideways. in some ways, i feel like i have failed. i have failed myself, in that i was not true, and i was not loved. my heart, my stomach, my liver, kidneys, they float in a toxic fluid, leftover, spilled from a toxic year. how did it come to this? how was i so blind, when i didn't listen to what was said, sitting on the porch, in a restaurant, or on the beach? how stupid was i to continue to hold on? why not just let go that night. why not just jump off that turquoise balcony and see where i end up? maybe on the back of a motorcycle, maybe at a bar, maybe in a school, or maybe swimming far into the atlantic ocean. none of these places are far away.

i realize how right my situation is, how it will allow me to grow and to become the person that i want to be... so that the separation between who i actually am and who i identify with, believe i am, is much less. will i/i will walk with tired and bleeding feet, crying tears that won't stop, and look up in awe at the mountain i am at the foot of. i discover the mountains in my life and ask to climb them, and meet my spirits and friends on the top, and we dance for hours. maybe they will play 'backwards walk' but maybe they will play 'that much further west', or 'pieholden suite' and we will watch the stars at night when it gets hard, and then breathe in the sunrise the next morning. where is that day? i can't predict the future, but i know it loves me. because if you let life in, with a lot of fucking pain, there's nothing you can't do.

i just wish it wouldn't hurt so much now, because there are days, more often than not, that i would erase it all if i could.
the sky is black, it's about to thunderstorm something crazy right now.


Wednesday, August 5, 2009

untitled conversation

gallery, site

at an art gallery opening this weekend i discovered a small and quite powerful piece hanging in the first corner of the space. it spoke to me in a way i hadn't heard in some time. it made me realize...how important it is to share your jewels, the words that resonate and the pictures that feel, and not allow them to fall asleep in your mind, and then cease to exist in their magnitude. here is the artist statement:

Anthems of Empty

What happens when a memory ceases to be remembered? Does it no longer exist, or has it been corrupted into some form of the truth within the depths of consciousness. When memory fails the individual, what is left behind but a word, a partial thought, stories without text, songs without lyrics, anthems that are empty... like an old shack on the side of the road. The shell is mostly there, but the inside is gone and will never again be what it once was. My work is made up of these fragments of memory;
built up, pieces of a former whole, rearranged and layered together to make a new.

The action of writing on page leaves a mark, a scar, on the universe. Even if it is erased, it never is totally gone. It may change forms, but once made can not ever really be undone. Even time leaves a mark These scars left on people, on the universe, are not always visible. Sometimes they can only be seen when a portion remains and what was the whole is no more. Material deteriorates, paper yellows, an image fades unto a puff of smoke into the sky... to become some other memory in some other place. These pages from old books, some of which are so fragile it takes all the will in the universe to not have them crumble in my hands, they need something structural, because inherently they are on the verge of total ruin.

sarah e rehmer

Sunday, August 2, 2009

shocked by honesty

found this in the woods while i was riding my bicycle. i love finding notes, it feels like i just met a new friend.