pixelated.me

It seems the world is full of duality. We are as people prone to it. We employ white lies, we laugh at the bosses joke or praise something mediocre our children do. We fall in love, multiple times and with multiple people sometimes simultaneously and it seems the only thing that matter is to embrace the concept of the deliberate. We can grit our teeth, pretend it won't be the case, but sometimes we will be presented with choices when we don't want any. That is the very nature of our existence, and sometimes over the mere possibility of something we will choose to allow duality into our lives, to be vulnerable to the impractical, the possibly complex, to be deliberate. lives are full of variables, choices; do i turn left or right. or shoud i climb up the tree instead. I think it requires courage to acknowledge that and to come to a fork in the road and stop and make a choice, again, every time you can, even if you chose to remain on your previous path.

I realize these post can at times seem vague but if you stop and think you'll realize that even though i might be writing about conclusion drawn from my own life, there are your own truths to back this up.

So we make choices. and i choose to believe in the holy trinity of love, creativity, passion
that that can all co-exist. That i can connect with that in one person.
I believe that and i think i may have just seen the trailer.

Coming soon....Summer of 2007?
Possibly June

and i was suprised to find that everything was okay. one thing did not negate the other but rather seemed to highlight. it continues, inspite of, perhaps, unswayed by a change in current.

there seems to be an odd fascination with the idea of uniqueness. odd because i both understand it and at times wonder why it and the concept of exclusivity seem so important to us.
somewhere in there is our own concepts of monogamy as an exclusivity club.
I'm not saying i disagree, but i do wonder about it.
if someone shares something with me, something that feels intimate and unique, yet something tangible, a secret, a story, a photo, a truth, and then choses to share that same thing with someone else or a group of people, does it make it any less special that he or she shared it with me? what is the implications of exclusivity when it comes to sharing?
i don't really have any answer, mostly just the question born out of my own experience.


i suppose we all want to feel like we are special to someone for something.

Beautiful Broken Thing.

That i love.
that i tried to fix.
that broke me.
that showed me i was broken.

today i read a tag. a few words adhered to an image and i realized in about 3 maybe 2 seconds that logic and emotion are comparatively speaking not even related. they wouldn't even pass for distant cousin thrice removed. It seems an utterly pedestrian realization, but in those 3 maybe 1 second i "felt" it. It was visceral and i was surprised by just how visceral something that made no sense to me could be. Imagine if you will waking up one day and for 2 seconds "feeling" sad about pancakes. Your brain might think...wait it's pancakes i love pancakes why do i feel sad about pancakes that makes no sense, but somewhere in there for some illogical but none the less true reason, you "felt" sad about pancakes.

it's funny in a peculiar sort of way

i'm finished, this barely makes sense as it is.

Expresso americano! Loving it.

Drinking coffee.
11pm.
two sisters, a boyfriend. and i
debating the relative merits of the rolling stones 500 greatest albums of all time.
4 beatles albums take up the top 10.
have we seriously not managed to top albums that where recorded before the 1980's?
or does nostalgia play a heavy part?

I'd like to say that u2's all that we can't leave behind is definitely in my own top 10.
i will attempt to finish my top 10 list before albums feel like relics from a pre-downloadable music past.

my favorite month is november.
i think fall feels like magic.
and the air is crisp and full of possibilities.
my favorite month is june.

that's not actually a contradiction.

Where can we find a baby mexican wrestling mask?, originally uploaded by <3 KB.

i came across this picture on flickr. it's not mine, taken by Ray Zimmerman, but it made me smile and i had to share it.

Elvis Presley - She's Not You

Her hair is soft and her eyes are oh so blue
She’s all the things a girl should be,
But she’s not you.

She knows just how to make me laugh when I feel blue
She’s ev’rything a man could want,
But she’s not you.

And when we’re dancing
It almost feels the same
I’ve got to stop myself from
Whisp’ring your name

She even kisses me like you used to do.
And it’s just breaking my heart
’cause she’s not you.

brautigan, originally uploaded by "life is in the details".



MAP SHOWER



For Marcia



I want your hair

to cover me with maps

of new places,



so everywhere I go

will be as beautiful

as your hair.

Mobile blogging, originally uploaded by "life is in the details".

For two nights in a row i fall asleep at 5am and wake up at 9:30. My bones ache. I have aslo developed a fondness for small individual serving size bottles of pellegrino mineral water. I could buy the larger bottle and pour it in a glass but somehow the sheer ease of grabing a tiny bottle and drinking it appeals to me immensly.

I could have easily written the postcard. Though i'll never truely know if her response would have been so similar.
how odd to find such parallels in the universe.

It made me weep. quietly. for a few seconds. mostly because i felt like it. mostly because at the end of the book i realized that without a doubt you only fall in love once. The tough textured skin, of where the scars she inflicted on me are, will never be soft again. Those scars that i stubbornly, masochistically tore open so many times over the course of a year. Man!, I must have torn them open once for every time she dove into her own debauchery. For every time i read about it.
Well that skin...that tissue...tougher and wiser for wear will never be as untouched, and somehow the next woman who loves me will run her hands over their weathered surface and grin the quiet grin of someone who carries her own scars and knows. She'll have to, it will be only way she can love me.

for the moment though i wonder if in the years that this novel sat on my book shelf, if in the year that that bookshelf was our bookshelf, or in the months that my book shelf was with you, if in that time you ever read it or if i ever told you how much the book moved me as a naive 16 year old romantic?

I am, i fear, afraid, terrified, of what I've craved the most.
one can never fall in love again, for the first time.
first love is naive, there is only the most abstract understanding of how vulnerable you truly are.
first love is for children and fools.
Love, with a capital "l" love like in harsh French movies or a Patrick Marber play,
this is the love of the courageous, the slightly masochistic, the knowingly foolish.
this is the trembling possibility that occupies my mind tonight.

I'm re-reading a book "the hottest state" by ethan hawke (yes that ethan hawke)
it is a book I've loved, for years, it is a book i read before i knew about first love, and it is a book about first love. I remember reading the book, a book that within its first few pages informs the reader that this love story will end in heartbreak, i remember that i used to read it with a palpable anticipation. I would devour each page that unfolded their love story for me.
I didn't know enough then to understand the word "heartbroken" it was an abstract, no more understood than death.
But tonight, as i read it again i realized my heart was gently pounding, perhaps merely tapping against my chest, in awful anticipation. Because when i read this girl, Sarah, i know not only that she will break his heart, hurt him, but i understand why and that makes it all the worse.

and so i am in that spot. somewhere across an ocean is a possibility, one that i would have once dove into, blindly, foolishly, and whole. It is this possibility that scares me. Because i know what it means, and my heart, my battle wearied heart, is cautious, and would like to live in world where there are some guarantees, or at the very least a warranty if things should go wrong.

i don't live in that world. i live in a world where on a good day i decide i will reach out to this possibility and see if she's reaching back.

I am sitting in a white room. on a white bed. with lighting that i can change to either blue, red, green, or a combination of the three with a remote. It’s a hotel in Barcelona.
I’m tired. i spent the day walking around being a tourist. I realize now that i hate being a tourist. i hate going to museums and taking mediocre pictures of things that have already been photographed for $50 photo books under much better lighting conditions. I like having gone though. I like having the recollection of the place. I like saying i have seen such and such painting or sculpture in person, but i don’t feel any more enriched or moved by the situation. 9/10 it all hangs out in short term memory and then fades.
I am tired and i am also suddenly faced with the reality that i don’t know what i am going home to.....(4 and a half hours later) i am going home to find a mechanic. There’s a few things that need fixing

They all sat around the table exchanging transient glances.
just to check that they were all still there. conversation seemed beyond their collective. no one seemed much concerned with it. they all flipped through the pages of 4 year old National Geographic magazines politely provided by the impolite staff at the hip looking cafe. If someone were to walk by...in fact for arguments sake, lets say two separate somebody's were to walk by separated only by a 12 second interval. They would’ve each have walked away with vastly different stories. Where as one would have spied three friends comfortable enough to wear the role of quiet strangers, the second somebody would, if he was the sort to notice details, if he was, say, the sort to notice when his gf had trimmed her hair by only the slightest of trims, if he was that sort of somebody, then he might see, nestled, burrowed neatly in the folds of carefully worn rejection, the unmistakable whimper of unrequited love, on the face of one of the three “friends” sitting at the table in this hip looking café.

I left mexico feb 7th 2007. Since then i have been in Belfast, NI, Madrid, Spain, Alcala, Spain (in an area known as Andalucia) and will soon board a train for Barcelona.
In all this time i have tried to remain me whilst allowing for the newness of my surroundings to affect me.
It has been interesting but unsettling. Hence my title. I expected to find time to write, be creative and so far it has been everything i didn’t expect. I have rediscovered photography but have found little reason to work on my novel/script. Even when you try not to have expectations you inevitably have them. Something about this “lost” feeling has left me in the arms of some old habits. Meditating on past relationships. I have an odd fascination with the “anniversaries” of things. Even “not so pleasant” things. from the end of things or the beginnings of things that ended to the really trivial at times. for example: realizing that it’d been a year since....i saw U2 play in mexico which i actually realized because i missed a friends birthday that fell on near date. Which i suppose is ironic. But tonight i found myself thinking of feb 28th. The day that i was meant to leave madrid for mexico ( a departure that has now been delayed a bit) feb 28th is also the day i left mexico for nyc in 2006 and became acquainted with an american girl with piercing eyes and one hell of a smile who would tear me to shreds and from which i would learn to rebuild myself. She wrote two days ago to say hi. It seems...misplaced. like the hi between to old friends whom have lost touch. That is not the case with us. I can’t help but wonder what it is that she wants from me. It should be irrelevant. But in this slightly displaced state sitting in a living room in the old world i find that i do care. It is in part vanity but also curiosity..but none the less what a year it has been. I really do loath that even now these...women from my past can reach forth into my today and stir things up a bit. Frankly it doesn’t seem fair and i’d like to lodge a complaint with the proper ministry office.

so what is love?
energy certainly.
but is it created in the instant that two people fall in love?
Is it, perhaps, just the uncovering of something that was always there?
the romantic in me would like to believe that.
or perhaps more pragmatically if energy changes form then is it merely the love we had for someone or something else changing form?
I can’t say for sure but someone recently pondered the question of “where does the love go?”
and to her i would say nowhere.
the love doesn't go anywhere. it's all just choices people make, one after the other until they turn into the narrative of a life. the love just gets cast to the back of the closet like and old pair of boots you once loved but that you can't wear anymore because they make your feet hurt. They are old and brown and have lost their shape.

a bloke named...._______
It's like watching a monkey who's figured out that picking his nose will make the tourist at the zoo laugh.
It's always the same joke...the same hahaha made up lyrics...the same joke of fucking up the songs...the same slightly lost puppy look aimed towards the girl he fancies at the parties...
In the end i feel like punching him in his grin just to shut him up.