Friday, November 26, 2010

oh no. I can't cover my tomatoes

from my dad's. double dang. will I have frozen green tomatoes tomorrow. guess if I do I will have to fry them up tomorrow. time to google a fried green tomato recipe.

It is difficult. no? yes.

"It's difficult to hear that what we reject out there is what we reject in ourselves, and what we reject in ourselves is what we are going to reject out there. But that, in a nutshell, is how it works. If we find ourselves unworkable and give up on ourselves, then we'll find others unworkable and give up on them. What we hate in ourselves, we'll hate in others. To the degree that we have compassion for ourselves, we will also have compassion for others. Having compassion starts and ends with having compassion for all those unwanted parts of ourselves, all those imperfections that we don't even want to look at."
- Pema Chodron

this seems to parallel other things i understand to be true, not because i have read it, not because the language is buried under the institutional weight of the church, but because it rings in the halls of the reality of heart and mind and relationships

forgive us our debts
as we forgive our debtors

i find my debts are those things i have held back/withheld. it doesn't matter if i intended to or not, meant it for good or harm or it was a manifestation of fear or hurt; it simply is a debt i have to another and to myself--a word or deed left undone, unfulfilled. if i cannot forgive myself for what i have withheld, why would i be able to forgive another for what they have withheld? if i cannot forgive myself for what i have withheld, why would i accept another's forgiveness? and if i cannot see my own debts, is this because i cannot tolerate my own unforgiveness towards myself ? am i without debt? no. i have and will have debt. i need to walk in living forgiveness.

forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those who trespass against us

my trespasses exist when i cross over into anothers space in a way that generates fear or harm, regardless as to whether the no trespassing signs were visible or not. it doesn't matter if i intended to cross over or not, meant it for good or harm or it was a manifestation of fear or hurt; it simply is a trespass i have committed against another and myself. if i cannot forgive myself for they ways i have crossed over, why would i be able to forgive another for how they have crossed over into me? if i cannot forgive myself for the ways i have crossed over, why would i accept another's forgiveness? and if i cannot see my own trespasses, is this because i cannot tolerate my own unforgiveness towards myself? am i without trespasses? no. i have and will trespass. i need to walk in a living forgiveness.

forgive us our sins
as we forgive those who sin against us

my sins are those things of mind, word, heart and action that alienate me from myself, others and god whether i intend this outcome or not. it doesn't matter if the thoughts, words, feelings, and actions were meant for good or harm or it was a manifestation of fear or hurt; it simply is an alienation i have created against myself, another, and god. if i cannot forgive myself for alienating myself, another, and god, why would i be able to forgive another for shunning me as alien? if i cannot forgive myself for alienating, why would i accept another's forgiveness? and if i cannot see my own sin, is this because i cannot tolerate my own unforgiveness? am i without sin? no. i have and will sin. i need to walk in living forgiveness.

or love your neighbor as yourself
who is my neighbor?
how do i love? does not loving require a living forgiveness, for even in our most intimate relationships, those we cherish, does not debt, trespasses and sin occur? are there not moments or years of withholding, crossing over, alienating? yes. what does a living forgiveness look like? perhaps compassion? perhaps mercy? perhaps joy? perhaps sorrows? perhaps living forgiveness is love?

or love your enemy
but who is my enemy?
awe dang. if i cut off, shutout, deny the enemies within, my own internal shadows that simply are, i will surely cut you off, shut you out, deny you. if you or your shadow even remotely generate fear or hurt within me, you have become my enemy from which i must protect myself. perhaps if i learn to love you, my enemy, i will be kinder to myself and vice versa. does it not play back and forth? is that why we are called to love our enemy? the outward exercise refines my inward makings, softens me? thus as i learn how to love my enemies, will i not also become compassionate with who i am and the shadow i cast? and as i am compassionate with who i am, will not my compassion for that which seems alien increase? is not love, compassion? is not compassion, a living forgiveness?

if i hate my enemy or her shadow, i will grow hard and cold. if i hate my enemy, i will assume the worst. eventually who will not be my enemy? i will be my worst enemy? yes.

what is hate?
what is it that i reject?
do i assume the worst?
what do i find unworkable?
who is my enemy?
who have i judged as enemy?
as other?
as alien?
as debtor?
as trespassor?
as sinner?

what is a living breathing forgiveness but love. that is love. it is difficult. no? yes.

i will continue to prepare my ground for living forgiveness. it will not be enough. but it will be.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

seriously my last iPhone 4 which apple graciously swapped out definitely had a defective element in its camera because the clarity with the new one is fabulous. oh yeah!!! my macrofocus works, my steering wheel 70 mile an hour focus works. oh yes my bro is going to get my now fixed cast offs.

thank you

mom and dad
grand girlfriends
Lori, Amy and Diana
Josh. Jeff and Jon
Karly and Riley
Paul and Cheri, Nicole and Troy
Glenn and Shelly
Michael and Bill
Marilyn, Tom and Thomas
fellow writers and thinkers
Matt, Jerry and Peter
Dean and Sophie
Dr Rachel
Amy and Jeff
Share group young women
and you many others who have been especially sensitive, merciful and kind

my big back porch
the sky
my box
tejano music that drifts over the night air on weekends
my grill
acorn squash and asparagus
the cool breeze of autumn
the rumbles of the trains
my home grown arugula
my veggie garden boxes
the reuse warehouse
my job
my steel tip boots
my new girlie jeans
tire tubes
my summer in Connecticut
and the drive to and fro
my truck
pen and paper
my camera phone
mouse traps and roach killing agents
gifts of opportunity I have been given in the art world

god's abiding love that is not based on me or what others think.

that's a start to who and what I am grateful for this year. I will add as it pops in my head because there is so much more.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

me and my night sky

me and my night sky from my BOX

i think i'll keep the 4 and my lucky little brother will perhaps if he sucks up to me properly will get my 3gs that my friend's husband so graciously fixed for me, replacing glass and screen.

Monday, November 22, 2010

yum. I just ate my first ever home grown

tomato fresh off the vine. lots more to come. apparently tomatoes and arugula are my gardening strong points.

Thursday, November 18, 2010


in dreams begins responsibility
William Butler Yeats

where there is no vision, the people perish.

I can see how this rings true. in areas of my life where, for whatever reason, there was no vision, steps, investments, were not known how to be made to move that way for there simply was not a that way. to live through tomorrow is not a dream, not a vision. it is a barely holding on, a just surviving. and though i may die tomorrow or the next, thriving forward comes in the dreams and visions of future casting. even with the slightest, faintest of vision, dream steps, even baby ones, can be taken.

no dreams or vision for the future of calling, purpose and relationships leads to a kind of death because when the time comes one is not ready/prepared to arrive into that vision or survive the storms that may come before, during or after the dreams fruition.

I wholeheartedly agree that in dreams begins responsibility and that without vision the people, I, perish.

I will awaken to dream--am getting up.
I will listen for vision--am inclining my head.
And, whether with a limp, shuffle, or bound,
am moving toward that which creates, unbinds and enlivens.
And, whether with a jolt, wrench, or ease of gentle morn,
am moving away from that which tranquilizes,  deafens and deadens.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

what is this strange thing i stumble upon late in life

i have always come to the dance late, unsure
a bit slow, awkward
i step in holes
and on feet
i fall

so what is this thing of poetry?
i don't really know
not really interested in googling
someone else's definition
i have not been prone to read it
when i do, i find most to be disconnected
but a few plunge me deep into being alive
i usually weep when i read these
some i can only respond by
writing back

i wept when i read judith krull's the clothes
Of course they are empty shells, without hope of animation.
Of course they are artifacts.

Even if my sister and I should wear some,
or if we give others away,

they will always be your clothes without you,
as we will always be your daughters without   you.
i respond
to excerpts of rilke

The transformed speaks only to relinquishers.
All holders-on are stranglers.

thomas merton

'then what do you know about our courage and our fear? Where do you come from? What is the basis of your statements about us? You say you wrote what you see, but no two men see the same street here. What do you see that you write? What do you mean when you talk about our courage and our fear?'

'i am still trying to find out: and that is why I write. '

'how will you find out by writing?'

'i will keep putting things down until they become clear.'

'and if they do not become clear?'

'i will have a hundred books, full of symbols, full of everything I ever knew or ever saw or ever thought.'

'If it never becomes clear, perhaps you will have more books than if it were all clear at once.'

'no doubt. But i say if it were all clear at once, I would not really understand it, either. Somethings are too clear to be understood, and what you think is your understanding of them is only a kind of charm, a kind of incantation in your mind concerning things. This is not understanding: it is something you remember. So much for definitions! We always have to go back and start from the beginning and make over all the definitions for ourselves. '

jerry webber

My life cracks open.

I stand in it,
careful not to run.

or mary oliver

Listen -- are you breathing just a little
and calling it a life?

but what is it
what is this thing i only read
when for some other reason than my own seeking
it sits below my swimming searching hunger
what is it
that pulls and tares at the threads
of my being

what is it
this thing called poetry

it is an uncovering
laying bare

laying bare my physical senses assaulted by vividness of being, here
laying bare my depth of intertwining and lack of being, with
laying bare the throbs of life and death that enter me, my being

it invites other into this space of laying bare
and in this bare-ness of being
if it is powerful
if the language wraps round
guides and tugs
lingering in the folds of living
if it is real enough
raw enough
it connects and reconnects me to a living presence

but why do i partake
why do i write

no different

it is to uncover
i so want to know
lay bare
i so want to see
lay bare my physical senses in the ways they ground me in presence
i so want to be immersed, grounded
lay bare my depth of intertwining and lack of
i so want to feel its threads, its roots
to smell the fragrance of life deep within
lay bare the throbs of life and death that enter me
i so want to move into presence of being
to be awake, alive
bare and connected

to see, feel, smell, taste the threads of these living, anchoring, fluid connections

is this different than my making, my art
no different
is this different than my seeking, my faith
no different
is this different than my being, my living
no different

it is not drama
it is entering a living presence
and i want to be present
i want to be living

yet in these my primary internal drives
i find my own oddity

i have no habit of reading (poetry)
and haven't really cared to spectate
i have no habit of to go viewing
and haven't really cared to spectate
i have no habit of claiming a knowing that i know,
and haven't really cared to spectate
i have no habit of history or current events
for i haven't cared for this form of what i experience as a nonliving, a spectating
yet i know i "need" to spectate upon these things
for there is living in the things i call nonliving

there are
the runners before
the runners now
i know they will move me
i am a runner
but not a racer
i do not need to be ahead of you
i am willing to step aside to let you fly
but i am looking for my pace
my own limping gate
the one in which when i find myself old and withered
i am still running in the writing, making, seeking, loving
i am living even if i limp

this laying bare is a digging
i have been digging for as long as i can remember
for i am a digger but not of backpacks or cartrunks
i am a digger in laying bare
this can be frightening and threatening
some misunderstand it as judgment
for me it is simply a laying bare
of an unknowing knowing
through, sometimes, a not so gentle digging
and i am certainly not always "right"
but i am honest to what i can see in the bare-ness
sometimes i have thought what lays there bare
must belong to my history, my habits, my internal home my own running
and spent decades trying to see how and how to heal from this thing exposed
only to discover that what lay there in the bare-ness belonged to another
it did not live in my history, my habits, my internal home, my running

i am honest in my seeing
but my understanding can be blurred with an unknowing

laying bare is my work
my running
my being
my ground
my digging
my dance

in it is my call

i must find a way around Søren Kierkegaard's definition of the poet.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

from this to that in 30 minutes

throw me in a different world

and I really miss the Linus blank effect of my truck. I miss my truck. but the hit and run sites are gorgeous. the weather is perfect. and we will see if the replacement camera phone resolves the macro autofocus issue on the 4.

Tuesday, November 09, 2010

will i continue to prepare my internal ground for the day I leap, fall or trip over the edge of my unreadiness.

things i am learning counter to much of my research into both mainline faith and non-faith based psychobabble and spirituality. i simply believe that forgiveness, giving and receiving, is simply not solely an internal work within the self for the benefit of...the self.

counter things i am learning

a reduction of hostility is not forgiveness; it is simply an abatement of hostility within… the self.

tolerance is not forgiveness; it is simply the edge of the abyss of hatred. whether falling into or climbing out of, tolerance is simply a standing at the edge of the emotional abyss within...the self.

a mental no longer holding against is not forgiveness; it is simply a letting go within...the self.

no longer needing to proclaim the other’s offense is not forgiveness; it is simply a subsiding in the need to profess one's deep woundedness. it is a slow settling within…the self.

an internal empathy, an understanding, of/for another's real or perceived offense is not forgiveness; it is simply an internal expansion of compassion within...the self.

the diminishing of vivid emotions is not forgiveness; it is simply a waning of memory, and/or a waning of negative energy within...the self.

moving on in one's life is not forgiveness; it is simply moving on for...the self.

to stop punishing another or one’s self is not forgiveness; it is simply an abatement in the pursuit of the punitive.

silence is not forgiveness; it is simply withheld words.

the passage of time is not forgiveness (and does not heal); it is simply the ticking clock in which memory fades within...the self.

words are not forgiveness; they are simply empty vessels, symbols, vehicles to potentially carry amazing, mundane, or hurtful meaning.

many of these things are good and necessary and in them is the preparation of the ground within, yes, the self. and from this ground is the place in which forgiveness to be given, to be received, may spring.

forgiveness is not just an ego-centrical work, it is far more, far harder, far more powerful, far scarier.

it would be nice to believe that forgiveness is simply an internal work--that is safe, it is easier to hold onto than the truly frightening work of forgiveness. faith based and nonfaith based psycho/spiritual babble would like to tickle your ears with forgiveness as purely an internal work, a work of self improvement, self health, spiritual obedience. but that is incomplete and rings with the sounds of hollow clanging cymbals.

i realize there are some exceptions. there are truly some people who forgiveness may only play out internally and it is a hard, powerful work in its own unique way. as much as many of us would like to believe because of our enormous hurt and fear that we are in the realm of the exception, that forgiveness can only be an internal work, it simply is not true.

forgiveness is very hard work. it is hugely risky for its pursuit and outcome can not be predicted. it is actually quite uncommon. we like to believe we are a forgiving people, but most things we claim as forgiveness are simply the forerunner, necessary but incomplete in and of themselves. most of us stop with one or more of these internal forerunners because it is socially acceptable. others pat us on the back for being such a tolerant, forgiving person. we’ll feel like we are a little better for. and we'll walk away. yet if we are honest with ourselves, we know we have begun the work yet simply walked away with it half finished. we know.

when we are old, we will regret the incompleteness, the loss of opportunity, the absence of things that may have played out differently if we'd found our way to walk more fully into forgiveness. yet with that age we will be merciful with ourselves and forgive ourselves for our incapacities and lack of courage in our woundings. we will be kind with our regrets. perhaps if the other still lives, we will find the courage to workout forgiveness.

forgiveness is a terribly uneasy work. it is scary. it is risky.

it alters the path of those involved. it changes the future. it softens the blows of memory.

but what will forgiveness really bring? i do not know for it is not to be controlled or predicted. it cannot be manipulated. we can hope for goodness it might bring; but it may not bring goodness?

will the process of forgiveness heal? or rip open? bring peace? or conflict? subside pain? or increase? calm? or expand anxiety? alter future courses? or hold steady? ease memory? or harden it? change relationships? or lock them down? build something new? or replicate the old? or sever? create bridges? or damns? open us to compassion? or close us in? mercy? or coldness? love? tolerance? or hate? will it move us out of our self? or into? will it create humility? or pride filled? open? or defensive? strip falseness away? or create more? expose a more whole truth? or diminish it? will it create hope? or dash it? will it open eyes? or close them?

will it give? or take away? both?

will it move us closer to the divine? or distance us? what of our humanity? our gifts? our strengths?

will we only be more frightened? or brave? more at risk? or safer? more codependent? or interdependent? more doormatish? or welcoming?

what does forgiveness bring? anything? or nothing? something unknown?

is it worth the uneasy internal preparation of our ground of being? or not? is it worth following through? or not? is the risk worth taking? or not?

what might forgiveness bring? i do not know for it’s outcome cannot be controlled, managed, predicted or manipulated.

am i doing the work to prepare my internal ground? will i ever be ready enough? probably not. but as with most things in my life worth doing, i am never ready, or smart enough, or knowledgeable enough, or wise enough, or undefensive enough, or open enough, or loving enough, or compassionate enough or healed enough or humble enough or stable enough or silent enough or clearly spoken enough or know myself enough or the other. i am never enough? they will never be enough? i am never ready, i simply leap or have tried and sometimes i don’t even leap. sometimes i get knocked or trip over the edge of my unreadiness. it scares the hell out of me. it scares the hell out of me that i might leap, fall, trip before i am enough, before they are enough. i know when i start to land, i will be so glad i got knocked, tripped or leap over the edge of my unreadiness.

i will continue to prepare my internal ground for the day i leap, fall or trip over the edge of my unreadiness? or someone leaps, falls or trips into my unreadiness.

yes preparing my ground is what i think i am and should be doing. it will not be enough, it never will be, but it is all i can do. and forgiveness has never been about being enough; no one is ever enough to forgive or be forgiven.


forgiveness is a way of living; it is not an event or words. it is a way of living. if you cannot forgive in little things, than surely you cannot forgive when the wounds are not little. perhaps suffering alters one's relationship with living forgiveness or choosing to live without it? i don't know.

i just believe forgiveness is a way of living, any other for me is simply a clanging empty cymbal.

Monday, November 08, 2010

Beautiful but seemingly early sunset

I am so impressed

with my students. I leave at the end of the day, and they stay to work. They experiment, try things they never imagined they might. They work hard, work to improve their craft, to expand their thinking.

My students continue to impress me, challenge me to be better and make me laugh. YES.

Sunday, November 07, 2010

Hmmm iphone 4 vs 3gs camera

iphone 4...blurred, over polarization of image, colors blownout, etc. both images shot while driving (i shot a whole series and this is best of set-ouch)

iphone 3gs...even caught in focus the water on the a great shot in almost every click

iphone 4 macro autofocus isn't working keeps focusing on the background. but wow on how clear the fence is. but i don't want a picture of the fence, i wanted the tomatoes. i shot it with the built in software, camera genius, and camera plus pro...baaaaaahumbug.

iphone 3gs macroautofocus is working awesomely...see hairs on plant. amazing. the iphone 3gs camera white balance is so much more accurate as well! sure i get more pixels with the 4; have a flash for evening shots, but what good does that do me if i can't capture normal shots as beautifully as the 3gs. is it worth the video. nope. i use the camera all the time; my 4 just kind of sucks in my opinion.

am super frustrated with iphone 4 camera. if i can get my 3gs screen fixed, i am returning the iphone 4.

returned; replaced with new iphone 4; new camera works excellently!


Never drop a light fixture on your fire extinguisher's trigger. At least I now know it worked and was fully loaded. Ummm but I am not sure all ever get this fine yellow dust out of my studio. Eeeeeek

My first sugar snap

Saturday, November 06, 2010

Waiting a poem and performance by Faith Wilding (Womanhouse)

A Poem by Faith Wilding

(early 1970s)

Waiting . . . waiting . . . waiting . . .

Waiting for someone to come in
Waiting for someone to hold me
Waiting for someone to feed me
Waiting for someone to change my diaper Waiting . . .

Waiting to scrawl, to walk, waiting to talk
Waiting to be cuddled
Waiting for someone to take me outside
Waiting for someone to play with me
Waiting for someone to take me outside
Waiting for someone to read to me, dress me, tie my shoes
Waiting for Mommy to brush my hair
Waiting for her to curl my hair
Waiting to wear my frilly dress
Waiting to be a pretty girl
Waiting to grow up Waiting . . .

Waiting for my breasts to develop
Waiting to wear a bra
Waiting to menstruate
Waiting to read forbidden books
Waiting to stop being clumsy
Waiting to have a good figure
Waiting for my first date
Waiting to have a boyfriend
Waiting to go to a party, to be asked to dance, to dance close
Waiting to be beautiful
Waiting for the secret
Waiting for life to begin Waiting . . .

Waiting to be somebody
Waiting to wear makeup
Waiting for my pimples to go away
Waiting to wear lipstick, to wear high heels and stockings
Waiting to get dressed up, to shave my legs
Waiting to be pretty Waiting . . .

Waiting for him to notice me, to call me
Waiting for him to ask me out
Waiting for him to pay attention to me
Waiting for him to fall in love with me
Waiting for him to kiss me, touch me, touch my breasts
Waiting for him to pass my house
Waiting for him to tell me I’m beautiful
Waiting for him to ask me to go steady
Waiting to neck, to make out, waiting to go all the way
Waiting to smoke, to drink, to stay out late
Waiting to be a woman Waiting . . .

Waiting for my great love
Waiting for the perfect man
Waiting for Mr. Right Waiting . . .

Waiting to get married
Waiting for my wedding day
Waiting for my wedding night
Waiting for sex
Waiting for him to make the first move
Waiting for him to excite me
Waiting for him to give me pleasure
Waiting for him to give me an orgasm Waiting . . .

Waiting for him to come home, to fill my time Waiting . . .

Waiting for my baby to come
Waiting for my belly to swell
Waiting for my breasts to fill with milk
Waiting to feel my baby move
Waiting for my legs to stop swelling
Waiting for the first contractions
Waiting for the contractions to end
Waiting for the head to emerge
Waiting for the first scream, the afterbirth
Waiting to hold my baby
Waiting for my baby to suck my milk
Waiting for my baby to stop crying
Waiting for my baby to sleep through the night
Waiting for my breasts to dry up
Waiting to get my figure back, for the stretch marks to go away
Waiting for some time to myself
Waiting to be beautiful again
Waiting for my child to go to school
Waiting for life to begin again Waiting . . .

Waiting for my children to come home from school
Waiting for them to grow up, to leave home
Waiting to be myself
Waiting for excitement
Waiting for him to tell me something interesting, to ask me how I feel
Waiting for him to stop being crabby, reach for my hand, kiss me good morning
Waiting for fulfillment
Waiting for the children to marry
Waiting for something to happen Waiting . . .

Waiting to lose weight
Waiting for the first gray hair
Waiting for menopause
Waiting to grow wise Waiting . . .

Waiting for my body to break down, to get ugly
Waiting for my flesh to sag
Waiting for my breasts to shrivel up
Waiting for a visit from my children, for letters
Waiting for my friends to die
Waiting for my husband to die Waiting . . .

Waiting to get sick
Waiting for things to get better
Waiting for winter to end
Waiting for the mirror to tell me that I’m old
Waiting for a good bowel movement
Waiting for the pain to go away
Waiting for the struggle to end
Waiting for release
Waiting for morning
Waiting for the end of the day
Waiting for sleep Waiting . . .

“Waiting” was performed at Womanhouse in Los Angeles sponsored by the Feminist Art Program, California Institute of the Arts.


each time i have seen the womanhouse video of this performance i have wept; each time my heart has broken

for waiting is my habit
for as long as i can remember
it has been my habit to wait
and to work to understand, sympathize,
care, make room for, rationalize,
explain away

it has been a silent waiting

my waiting has been different than in this poem
there never were children; they did not come and
i don't think any one else is responsible for me
i never have; though some have come alongside
but i have waited none the less

my form of waiting has been an unhealthy habit
but i have believed (and still do) to wait is compassionate, giving,
caring, making room for imperfections
and so i have waited for as long as i can remember
for it is my habit

it has been my habit to wait to see
that person with whom the other claims to be,
manifest within our relationship
it has been a waiting to see that kernel
of all the goodness i can see buried there,
it has been a waiting for the things that cover
over, that muddy, that distract, that alienate, that distance,
melt away

my form of waiting was meant
to deflect my hurt without blaming;
deflect disappointment without burdening
another with my hopes or needs;
to deflect anger at what appeared as disregard
because anger didn't resolve it simply alienated;
any hint of anger, disappointment or hurt
appeared experienced as threat;
my form of waiting was to hope in goodness uncovered, made real

my form of waiting appears to
not uncover goodness,
does not make room for it to become real
but instead enables
i do not understand this

hope and waiting have always been linked for me
i think my habit of waiting stemmed from hoping
but how does one stop waiting
without giving up hope
i experienced that once
the loss of hope
it was devastating

yet i repeatedly return to my habit of waiting
if i stop waiting
were will hope go
isn't hope a form of waiting
how do the different forms of waiting separate themselves
so that i can hold on to a healthy waiting
one that is not enabling
i want to hold on to
the one that is hopeful
the one that is believing
the one that is trusting
and let go of the waiting which enables

honestly, i have no idea how to do this

maybe i am not suppose to wait

isn't waiting a form of not living in the present
but living instead in tomorrow
where no one else resides?

maybe i am not suppose to wait

but what is hope then?

Setting up for BOX 13
resident artists' group exhibition

BOX 13 ArtSpace opening
Saturday, Nov 13, 2010
7 to 9:30 pm
6700 Harrisburg Blvd (77011)

Also open for
Artcrawl Houston
Saturday, Nov 20
10 am to 8 pm

Come on out!

Thursday, November 04, 2010

Why did the chicken cross the road?

Pecking order!

I don't like when I catch myself doing this to some with others as I try to peel back my own surface and stuff some value generated by the illusion of "better thans" in there. I really dislike when I've caught myself doing that again. It never makes me more valuable and it certainly doesn't gauge my actual worth. It just makes me feel very petty and cry. And have you ever seen a chicken cry? Its not pretty. I hope I will stop crossing the road.

Monday, November 01, 2010

I haven't decided about the new phone

Camera. It captures in low light, were as before I would have gotten black, but it blows out the colors even in broad daylight my internal jury is out still. But i have a friend whose husband will change out my old screen. if it works i may just return the new may be more megapixels but i don't like how the four blows out the colors and all the digital noise, my 3gs images are smaller but seemed so clean and the colors rich and correct.