Video

Transitioning

I am transitioning from young adult to adult, from daughter to friend, from dependent to independent. I find that this is all very difficult to process. Though I may seem mature, I am actually very childish at heart. My tender whims are being denied and this I find harsh, though this is life. I dream of being great, writing, teaching, and loving. But for some reason I have hit a wall. Now, I want growth to meet me wholeheartedly, now I want to turn the tides outward and into the blue of sky, and now that I stare into the blank of white screen, I wonder why I have taken for granted what I was given:  a truly loyal family, unwavering friends, a sponge like mind, and words that shed from me like skin from a snack. For the longest time the only path I found feasible has denied me its access, and now I am begin to realize that its not the path that matters as much as the journey itself.
 


"Take a step back" "Look at the wall in front of you" "Knock it down" "Hell use your fist if you have to"  

I was once so sure that my life would be designed as I see it, and now that I am beginning to realize that my vision is blurred by my own self-doubt and my own self-loathing, I want nothing more than to stare at the moon and be blessed by its size, be blessed by its presence, to know that I am here, I am standing, and that I too can glow. Now I believe more than ever is the time for action, and this is my creed to myself and the world: I will journey forth towards the enigma that is any life and make my presence known (not as a quivering foolish heart) as a tree, solid, strong, stoic, and sturdy, so that I can give back what was given to me. 

TO MY BELOVED SISTERS

The Function of the Eye

There can be tons said about the significance of the eye in Literature. Surrealism for one explored the function of the eye in art by distorting it, for what it saw was distorted anyways. George Bataille in the Story of the Eye had intercourse with a loose un-body-bound eye. Disgusting, noted, genius, just a little. The function of the eye was to play on the idea of the gaze, who is this other person you are engaging with, and what is it about them that determines you, why does their gaze inflict such excitement, what does that excitement represent, how does it constitute you? The list of questions goes on and on......and in having intercourse with the gaze you are actually submitting it to your whim, controlling the onlooker. Its a power play, because the EYE-I-OTHER Dynamic is all about power and reference and maybe representation (here I mix in a little Edward Said).


Frankly, Story of the Eye is vulgar for any uninterested reader, but again where do you draw the line between what is artful and what is plan lude:

• Check out the link below to read the story:

http://supervert.com/elibrary/georges_bataille

ABOVE is "Un Chien Andalou" by Salvador Dali and Luis Banuel. Its some what graphic so be warned.

    BELOW is an experimental rendition of word play in reference to the above ideas.

TODAY'S EYE CATCHING STORY IS THAT MY MOTHER JUST HAD EYE SURGERY TO REMOVE HER CATARACT! I WENT TO THE HOSPITAL WHERE SHE PROCEEDED TO EXPLAIN HOW IMPORTANT MY FEMININITY WAS TO MY iDENTITY. I PLAYED ALONG, INSERT WINKING EYE, BECAUSE I KNEW WHAT SHE KNEW, WHICH WAS THAT SHE WAS SCARED. I'M PROBABLY NOT SUPPOSE TO SAY THAT, BUT WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO SAY ABOUT EYES IF NOT WHAT IS SEEN. IT'S OBVIOUS THAT TO HER MY iDENTITY IS LINKED DIRECTLY TO MY OUTLOOK ON LIFE WHICH IN RETURN DIRECTLY LINKS TO MY WEIGHT AS A FEMALE, BUT I CAN'T SEEM TO SEE EYE-TO-EYE WITH HER ON WHAT OUTLOOK IS AND WHY MY OUTLOOK DETERMINES WHAT THE ONLOOKER SEES. iRONICALLY I AM HER PHOTOCOPY. WHEN ONE LOOKS AT A MIRROR THEY SEE THEMSELVES AND IN AN HONEST MIRROR THEY SEE THEIR EYES, I SEE MY MOM. HER EYES ARE GREEN LIKE THE GRASS, MINE JUST A FADE DARKER ARE LOOKING AT HERS IN HOPES THAT HER FEAR WILL FADE IN SEEING THAT MY EYES TURNED JUST A SHADE GREENER FOR HER. SO THAT SHE KNOWS THAT WITH MY EYES SHE WILL SEE.