I wrote this approximately a month before I just signed a contract with Brownstone Entertainment. whatever that may mean to you - is pretty irrelevant to me right now but I remember that this post meant / means a lot and artists... we build boxes and put you inside of them... and it isn't a bad thing when you love your beautiful box. questions will be always questions without every asking for answers..
I've gotten to a guarded place. My blog is where I let it all out- if you like it you shout it out, and if you hate it that's ok because "others' opinion of you is none of your business baby" is something ingrained in my mind. (the other "naivety" I am stamped with, which is portrayal of a lost child... is she really when she holds such beauty in following and maintaining restoring... the beauty of the honesty of children no? How honest they are- they question everything because they ask why? why not? why? So what may be your "truth" is it really only because someone TOLD YOU SO? well who are they so I can ask why? and how should she I,. same. wrap the box she made if we should call it that no? that she wraps you in and puts you inside as she tells you the truth so you have a cushy pillow with rainbows and butterflies as she I tell you the truth. our truth. the truth. and why how is that cruel to be honest?.... we are only making the spaces you like to be in. how you feel in them when you truly break it down that's semiotics and why I intensely LOVE to show tell interrupt to interpret right? love word play... when I'm in my head sometimes like now. k. bang.
my current inspiration.... what I want...
you read further or are offended by the "graphic content" of this nature is at your discretion my pretty pieces of flesh... how perfect. I love that. I live for when people say that I flash my eyes bright and gleaming at them- the size bigger than stars... as you see- and tell you with this passionate flame that burns FIRE brightly...
It is perfect,
ah- a play as I tip my hat to you mr. steinbeck (you honor his work- no?)
"now you don't have to be good... you can be perfect" (he switched the two- right? go check because that is how I feel...)
I just didn't know a box existed... I wish I could get those report cards back but yet I can remember holding them with such pride whenever I got to see the BSJ with my straight A's, my strong remarks. Shows strong leadership skills. very imaginative. social butterfly needs to not interrupt the lessons!... I remember that one Mrs. Morrison. Roscomare Road Bel Air School. Before Curtis... kindergarten...
to really learn- live- want to get inside of- understand- be the "best at"... let's just say "KNOW" something inside and out... the history is the imperative and of utmost importance... so I went back and been crawling around my brain through researching all about "when I was little jazzie" and "how did you become like this" (you only showed a card with the "how did you become the way you are" follow up drewsilla)
drew brown's question- god dammit drew, that one was fucking good... that question that made me erupt into rage flying over little red
(sarah lorsch the INCREDIBLY talented writer than just paints imagery of beauty in her work...)
and slap down the fucking screen on that silver macbook and scream FUCK YOU to this drew looking at me a bit confused as I stood just standing at this point in the room. teddy ulett faded away. adrienn reico quiet as a cat.. as he had walked into and gotten "trapped" snapping away furiously of my "jazzieland" other artists and their articulations...
I stood there hoping. praying a PEEP of a voice would say something. to explain.
Little Red- perfectly said. "nothing made her this way. this just really how she is..."
A confusion but not one of delusion for how ironic the one you call demonic morale is held to one of the "truth" you all speak of and "stand for" is what the denotation of "the beauty of children" "untainted by the cruelties of the world"... how fucking funny haha.
I, kindergarden I never knew that it was apparantly my turn to go down the slide, and the children were called back into class.. the teacher, Mrs. Morrison- you'll forever be my identical aesthetic match to Mrs. Brady with that hair and that face you serve. live it.
her back turned for a moment and I had led a "revolt" I walked outside and the others all followed because it was my turn to go down the slide and I wanted to. I didn't know it was a "revolt"... and shit clicked real quick when bsj told me this little tid bit I had not recalled... I just didn't know there was ever a box= so if I'm called weird creepy "avant garde" is your "safety word" to the "yous" that you use, as I the muse am amused... to hold a stamp of... it's ok to look at that one over there... (me)
it's "intriguing interested fuck you're SCARY WEIRD freaky CREEPY avant garde... if you're up to or ever paused to give applause to you Ms. Joan Takayama-Ogawa (I would be so upset if I fucked up that spelling... you have no idea how integral and stunning CAS is and was for me. and I wish and want to sit in your class all day. and wish I took the com arts masters st martens because I love to learn.... critical analysis and semiotics... SEMIOTICS. the study of the the signs and symbols of the world around you with connotations (how you FEEL) and denotations...
My EMDR Dr. Janetsky with my ptsd treatments only to recent- has it "clicked" my "handshake to you Lond... of how powerful artists are...
your 5 senses.
see... I hope you see... the emotions evoked by the denotations (what your society and sub-cultural demographics hold as the "what it means"...)... when you wrap your brain around how you have the power to make people fucking feel things by what you say and SHOW. shit... use and abuse... the pain of the stabs thrown at the one whom will stand without armor. I don't care. I just don't fucking care because I'm apparantely not doing something wrong if I "never grew up" because no one ever made me... you've all paid me instead... and I'm told of words of inspiration, admiration, passion in nuances of your breakdown as there really is such comfort to the one whom admires the power of the tact: "beauty in the breakdown" and the pretty little trainwreck I am. the elegantly disheveled juxtaposition bi-polarity duality individuality.
"to be irreplaceable one must always be different" -coco chanel.
I didn't know that was a quote of hers until I saw cute match boxes somewhere as I'm cruising through my Jazzieland and laughed! My spark of garb as my love peaked out seeing the fancy dress up I would watch as the beautiful objects would emerge in the evenings from boxes and clothes at the top of cedears lined. sparkly- so pretty Nana. Chanel... I love it.. I aspire to leave a mark, steps of a legacy as she articulated unbeknownst to little jazzie... you're not weird jazz... you're just different Marcel Huggins made me feel a warm blanket with that calming soothing beautiful articulations one particular moment of the word weird being thrown around...
the creators of basically:
what you taste, what you see- how a comfort in a state of sheer pandemonium your body seizes and hence that seizure after. that one... but how what you see... can make people feel
a break I must take... as I am dreaming about and wanting to create and write my story... editorial... story... pictures... worth a thousand words... I love to write fucking NOVELS captured with what imagery... the GARB creates that emotes you evokes you.. is worth to the yous I only hope I have amused...
Hannibal Lector your opulence and decadence lends to such prevelence as I dream and in the hunts of the extravelent gown for my princess... of saudi arabia thang. perfect. really. it is. it's my perfect. that's all. mine.
I love you black sheep- you're such a beautiful creature... you will see if you haven't already...
force myself to stop working on a new shoot concept, design and pitch. I really want my cannibalistic decadent dinner party. That Dr. Hannibal Lector would be proud of and possibly hold. I just didn't know there was a box... that's all.