light wind at night.

i'm drinking tea.
its late. tonight i spent some time with floyd.
he read my thoughts. it was so weird to hear. to hear someone else reading my thoughts .
hes narrating my film so we went over the script.
which is a lot of fiction and non-fiction mixed, a blur between real life and dreams.

he made chicken and poured beer into two glasses. i couldnt bear to tell him i was a vegetarian so i took a bite or two anyways.
meat.it tasted like it always does.-
ok, but i'm not that interested in eating it.

im sleepy now and want to drift into sleep. and well. .lately ive been having trouble sleeping. ive been doing so much "next step" thinking with this switzerland thing its been hard being here now. and theres so many great things happening here now.
so i'm trying to be around for them.

so thats what happened with floyd. whats about to happen tomorrow too.right this second my eyes are here and now and sleepy.
so im going to drift into that.
dream of light and dust and all of that just laying on the edge of things.
i just want to run my fingers through it so i can make little trails as if it were on an old piece of glass that hasn't been looked at for awhile.

i want this sound in my ears and to be miles and miles away.

15 minutes

until 4 am

i should be sleeping as i have class at 9. but i did all my work for it and i'm on a creative kick.

finally uploaded new moments from new york to This site:

www.birdvision.weebly.com

it had been a minute.

and Now im here

back to breakfast this morning

or talking about artistic processes with this one

or how eggs should be cooked

or how yoga is like tai chi yet opposite sides of the same line

mind body soul sort of activity

this is my new room.

its magic.

and this is my roommate. i adore and look up to this girl so much.

i love this photo of her. both her's the her of now and the her at age..4 ? 5? who knows.

she has the same fire and spunk. its incredibly inspiring

check out her work here; http://samjaffe.org/home.html

its 3:57 am

goodnight moon

Back rub foot Rub

i cant write any more tonight. i just cant.
these are the thoughts that ran through my head after i finished a bio essay for this grant application.

formal writing can be so exhausting. i'm listening to japanese parisian and its like pouring warm liquid all over my soul. like drinking a glass of water after your mouth has become dry like the inside of a cabinet.
i love the way this material shines. i bought it at a fabric store for two dollars a sheet. it doesnt do much but sit in my room. sometimes i tie it around my neck so i can show you. victor came up to the little nest that is my room today. he looked around slightly fathomed, most people react this way to my space. he touched the corner of this and said, "its nice".
i agreed. simple english is beautiful. having friends from france here make me realize the ability to express things with only a few words at times.

i've had to think of so many words today.
i want to detangle them all like the tattoe on my left arm, the one that also looks like a spread open paperclip.
someone pointed that out at a museum, i loved this new perception of it.

my song from gk just came on. he wrote it when i was 18. oh the timeless sound of my heart. love changes but i dont really. no, no thats not true. i change every minute. but some sounds, somethings,..well..its like you can see a million sunsets, but no sunset is the same.
i can hear the same song that was written for me, but every time it is different. so my appreciation for the thing doesnt seem to change or waver.
it comes back and hits me like the day i was 18.
back rub- foot rub

yes please.

Its peculiar i cant ever remember feeling as sad as i drew myself two weeks ago.
and then at the same time i can.
its like when you catch the cold . you don't realize how bad it is until you're in it. until you really have it. right now i'm laying in my bed listening
to a record called music from vietnam. I rented it from the library
with Vince before we went and saw a film called Great Directors at the Gene Siskel Film Center.
I stumbled across some beautiful things in there.
Agnes Varda who created Cleo 5 to 7 says "As an artist you will have doubt, will experience pain. sometimes you lose it, and you just want to watch and experience other artists work, (films), but even when you lose it, it comes back."
adored that.
Then the other notes i jotted down in my journal that i had to decode after from the dark theater light were as follows;

- Dreaming is not dead, just forgotten.
-Sometimes in leadership people are taking quick answers instead of following through. (-dont do that bird)
-EVERY EXPERIENCE FEEDS IDEAS.
-INVENTION is CREATION
-Being alive in terms of an artist is a gift.
-Fashion changes all the time.
-Reality interests me less than truth.
-Even in a dream one keeps looking for a solution.
-Film like other art, reflects the world.
-I did what I wanted, good or bad....it was me.
-Van Gogh made art/paintings to look for a truth, not for an audience - remember that.

this middle image is from a 69 cent photo i found in a box in a store called JUNK in New York.
i think its one of the most beautiful things ive ever found. i wish this copy could do the real thing in my journal justice.
that boy, he's just looking, in disbelief, the curiosity of age. of greying, of time.

jan 25th. a morning bike ride

i did visuals at a show again last night.
its always changing. never know how i feel about it because i get very wrapped up in it when i'm doing it.
have the taste of morning in my mouth now. my body feels tired and a bit sore, more from living than anything else. the way its been clenching itself in the snow.


i feel a bit like this right now. kept trying to wake myself up this morning. the alarm clock would sound, the invisible nudge of morning would push my shoulder, the whisper of the day would say. c'mon its 10:30 am, there's a lot of living to do.
but i found myself gliding in and out of sleep. watching myself pass by like houses on either side of a bike ride.

the 23rd.

i love the things you can see and read just from the small of someone's back.
from the way there hair lays, the posture in which they carry themselves.
its this language of self.
its universal.










its time to disappear into sleep.

as usual.
i took this in new york when i was there, all this beautiful, bizarre, what the heck imagery there.

the answers are in the palm of your hand

searching. searching.