writings

essays

Hoagie Roll Photos: What does it mean to be of a place? Inspired by John Updike's A&P, R.E.M.'s Nightswimming and Heidegger's Being & Time.
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Investigating Bauermeister's Rainbow: Although Rainbow creates a relationship between the human experience, the cellular and celestale, it does not project Bauermeister's own spirituality and experience. Rainbow is valuable in that it is made shortly after her artistic voice in the Fluxus movement and the start of her lense boxes. It culminates her use of art as a way to change our perception of reality, and deviate from absolute truth, adding humanity to her intellectualization of her mother's illness.
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Reflection: I'm not convinced that time is linear. Occasionally I daydream in class. A day passes by as the professor changes slides. My mind often drifts to memories or make-believe moments of people who exist only in the past. When they drift out of my existence, they stick to my thoughts vividly for months or longer. Those strangers we meet can feel familial after an initial conversation. Although it is against my logic, they strike through me metaphysically. I'm coming to think that the way we perceive time is based solely on what we choose to remember...
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Subjectivity in the Work of Ellsworth Kelly.: After four years of studying Kelly's Green Curve with Radius Twenty Feet, I began analyzing my subjective perspective on the painting. It came to represent my college experience. In this work I explored how a word represents a consented contextual/societal meaning through experience. How does a word substitute an idea?
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A Note on Cavell's The World Viewed, The Joy and Purpose of Cinema: Meals remind me of movies. I like meals. Meals with company. Meals without company are so so. We make the food or the food is made for us. And we sit down, with plate in front of us. And we feel a sense of purpose. Hunger is innate, routine, and this meal wasn't wrong in a way like snacking is. The meal is a part of our day that we attend to. It is a piece of time. It is shared in each family household, like Rockwell's Thanksgiving. Movies are like meals. We sit down to eat them. We are hungry, well what are we hungry for?
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poems

dear old lover

I got a message from an old boyfriend, asking me to be penpals, and wishing me well. But dating him was like chasing the wind.

It's wild that I chased the wind. When I felt like running after something, and something felt like nothing and now nothing keeps trying to play tag.

I know how the wind feels.
Somedays I think
I'll meet you outside my window,
but when I look out
all I see is rain.

tuesday night

Hey I know it's late, but I think I left some of my stuff at your place.
I think the back of my neck maybe somewhere near your ps3.
Or maybe by your bong.
I think I may have left my favorite pair of socks and the
small of my back. I mean what really matters is that black dress,
I kinda need it this weekend
Oh, and also that point when it hurt and I fought back tears.
I can wait until the weekend, but if you're home and still up,
could I pop in and grab my stuff?

constantly thinking. chaotic.
i'm constantly thinking. neurotic.
accelerate. foot's on the gas.
ready to brake. turn. check the mirror.
fifteen seconds ahead. flip a switch. switch a lane
turn. slow down. angle & timing. distance & angle.
turn the wheel slowly. gradual. smooth. controlled.

what does he think. time ticks. ticks of the signal.
silence.
speak. check mirrors.
fifteen seconds ahead of us.
fifteen miles of decisions in the rear view of
my psyche.

young drivers

sensitivity

a blessing and a curse
imagine too much sensitivity
couldn't swallow a bite because
i could feel it too much in my throat.
place your hand on my shoulder
slap.
a rush of electricity upon contact.

like a fox on the highway, dodging
judgement, anxiety, social disturbance
speak. check mirrors.
ten over the speed limit.

wildfire kisses.
eye contact like splinters.
but he can't hide a smirk.

bumps

bumps left. bumps right. big hands

no consent. bumps. brush. coast. wrap. lope. rope.

no words. no exchange. just bumps and bumps

gropes and grabs

unwrapping my presents, tearing paper

Untitled Poem #4

There is a glass that separates me from you.
I can't tell if its visable, if its clear or opaque

There is a glass that separates me from you.
I think you can see it. I think you know its there.
Stares. staring at me.
Or are they staring at the glass.

If they looked away, did they look away from the divide.
Did they look away from me.

There's a glass that separates me from you.
Its stiff. Its thick. Its cold. Like classroom lighting.
Its enclosing. Its plastic wrap. And I
don't have enough air to breathe.