a random run-on of ramblings.

saturday night in the hometown with a couple andy warhol readings and kerouac's dharma bums, which i will fall asleep to post-blogging.  my mom won't let my pup sleep in my bed with me anymore, because he whines when i'm gone, so i'm stuck seeing him curled up into a sad, little ball on my floor.  thanksgiving weekend was spent 35% with my parents and 65% in carson, as per usual.  my loves, discount center, white spacemen, and answers to my future's yearnings.  

we wandered the city in the early morn', and several epiphanies led me to start a new project called, "TEXT DEFEATS THE PURPOSE OF AN IMAGE."  my VIS164 photographic strategies class has assigned a "text/image" project as our final, and walking along the streets of carson at 5am led me to realize that, well, text defeats the purpose of an image.  it will be composed of 200 images of barriers (fences, closed doors, closed eyes, lined paper, etc.) taken with my SKLX and printed on 10 separate sheets of 13"x19" photo paper. 

when we assign certain words to a photograph, the viewer is already directed to formulate a certain interpretation.  text restricts the spectator from taking the work in whichever way they please.   it was strange experiencing  the morning the way we did; i noticed how our world is organized into boxes and wondered what it was like when everything was permitted to grow wild.  nature is the only thing that doesn't give a fuck about barriers; i noticed plants growing through and over fences and thought about natural "disasters."  it's kind of amazing in the "land of the free" how hard everyone seems to work to keep others out, so the project is based on that concept, the limitations social conditioning imposes on our sense of self, and my sheer desire for rebellion.  this is what i have so far: 

obviously, i'm still missing "OF AN IMAGE," but i'm getting there (it takes a while).  if you look closely, the photos within the spaces between words portray an openness, permission, or disregard for barriers, representative of the opportunities spaces or moments of silence present to steer a conversation in another direction.

contemplate that while i rest.

whaddup it's 6:02am

and this is how i feel.

that paper i blogged about several hours ago is fucking me in the butthole with no lube.  deadmau5's "will fail" just came up on my shuffle.  but, a double-dose of addy feels like... ecstacy?

so far, i have an intro and thesis:

Yvonne Rainer’s 1979 film Journeys from Berlin/1971 is what Noel Carroll likes to call a “New Talkie.”  Like other Structural Films, it explores the possibilities and tests the limits of language, but simultaneously seeks to “say something.”  Journeys employs the use of a multiplicity of voices from disparate sources to communicate a single message.  With a lack of traditional narrative structure and linear continuity, Rainer exercises various strategies like repetition and image/word associations, leaving the spectator with something like scattered puzzle pieces.  The result is neither clear-cut nor assertive, but rather an open-ended and ambiguous work of radical juxtaposition that ventures through the “mind of a moralist" and calls for active participation.

i'm smart sometimes, but i can't seem to write anything else.  i would like to conclude with, "FUCK YOU YVONNE RAINER FOR BEING A PRETENTIOUS BITCH!"

....F+?

I AM NOT THIS SMART.

so, take the most ambiguous, self-righteously intelligent experimental film with the most pretentious narrative style i have ever witnessed, and an entirely unintelligible prompt, and you have the situation i am presently stuck in.

read this:

journeys from berlin is a film with many voices from the domestic and public space about rebellion and state.  comment on how the pluralism of various narrative voices in the film function to create an array of information from disparate sources.  think about how these narratives feed off of each other in terms of content and their source (personal, public, etc.)  also comment on the nature of these various voices; such as on screen vs. off-screen, naturalistic vs. theoretical and how they relate to the image.

refrain from addressing these aspects as dichotomies, instead discuss them as multiplicities co-existing to create the unique narrative structure of the film.  avoid solely comparing and contrasting individual voices, but rather focus on their interrelations.

justify noel carroll's comments about rainer's "radical juxtaposition" and "mind of a moralist."

if you suffered through the film as i did, you would think, ok... WHAT!?

putting this off until right now has definitely proved of no benefit to me, and i'm sure putting this off for another four hours won't help me either, but i'm going to anyway.

i'll be back later, cuz i'm gonna be chatty soon. ;)

there's no place like home.

this is my text/image assignment for my camera techniques class.  it plays off of that "WOW MOM" shit people do in pictures, with their hands as the M's and W's, and their mouths as the O's.  the "WOW" is done with a more childish font and a more youthful color; the "MOM" is done with a more mature version of the "WOW" color, and a more sophisticated font.  there are several visual parallels, but well, you can analyze the rest.

and here are more photos for your viewing pleasure-

the teologo residence- my home away from home away from home.

dear divine marijuana force of temptation,

you don't phase me anymore.

it's a crazy world i live in, this world of no marijuana.  i find myself more prosperous in several aspects- my wallet is happy, my head is clear, my belly isn't crying, i can breathe, and well, HOLY SHIT- i find myself doing school work when i simply don't know what to do with myself.  i've pulled myself out of the muck of molasses called laziness, and i do believe i am back to my old self.  granted, i still have an atrocious cough that has my room mates offering me cough medicine and waking up at night, but that will go away soon (i hope).  i feel like a retired war veteran- i've survived the battle between marijuana and my self-control, with all my limbs intact, and i'm not on the corner of la jolla village drive and gilman holding up a cardboard sign that says "SMILE."

i have moved on in life, and i mean that in more ways that one (i mean that in about 6.7 ways).

Quarter-Life Crisis.

have you ever thought to yourself, i am __ years old, what the FUCK have i done with my life?

i am 21, have physiologically been three different people (skin supposedly cycles over a span of 7 years), and would like to think i have evolved, at least a little.  i've fallen in love four times, fallen out of love two times, made some friends, lost some friends, and found some of them again.  i've graduated kindergarten, first grade, second grade, third grade, and so on through high school, and i'm graduating college next quarter.  i've gotten freaknasty schwasted, done a lot of drugs, had my fair share of casual sex and even more servings of intimate sex.  i've contracted nothing, and have survived this far baby-free.  i've learned about the ins-and-outs of the media, stereotypes, and advertising (none of which can i apply in the real world), watched porn in my experimental film class, and stood naked a-top of a bus bench in hillcrest with black-painted cardboard censors over my goodies.  i've met people who inspire me, and people who truly make me happy.  i've also met people who make me wonder what they think about every day (if anything at all), because i swear their brain is simply a waste of a good skull.  i've processed book requests, made boba drinks, created bullshit promotions for an advertising firm, and taught darkroom photography to kids who are probably too young to be exposed to silver nitrate.  i've seen the ocean and a good amount of america, of the world, even.  i've lied i've cheated, i've laughed, i've cried, but really, who the fuck hasn't.  i've gotten through things i thought i'd never get through, and i've half-assed my way through my entire education.

the next chapter will be art school at the age of 22, and art school graduation at the age of 26.  barbara rubin opened up the concept of sexuality to the film empire at the age of 19.  people get nominated for oscar awards at the age of 9.  motherfucking hannah montana is god-knows-how-young, and although i would never trade places with her, she has a fan base bigger than i'll ever have. people change the world before they can even change their minds, and here i am wasting away into the oblivion of old age. sure, i'll have a degree in a few months, but in the social sciences, a degree is just a stupid piece of paper that shows people you've conformed to the institutions of education, spent $80,000, and slaved away, cramming and shitting out information you'll never need. if i turn 30 and i'm still blogging, i'll post my address, and you have permission to put a gun to my head to motivate me.

i guess the way people live now, 21 is the new 16, but seriously, what the FUCK have i done with my life?

Life is Beautiful

...because my friends are.

i don't know if you ever have, but i am quite familiar with smoking myself into sheer delirium. i smoke myself into an uncontrollable food binge, where my stomach screams no, but my mouth screams, "yes! YESS! YEEEESSSSSS!!!!!!" i talk a whole bunch of nonsense, and do funny dances in my kitchen. although i'd like to deny that i'm addicted, i do think that i must come to terms with how much of a hold my babygirl mary jane has on me. no matter how bad she is, i just keep running back. maybe it's like that toxic avenger song, bad girls need love, too?

i learned tonight that although alcohol makes me talk a lot of bullshit, it's severely difficult for me to lie. when it comes to things that matter, i can't be anything but honest with myself and with other people. even if i wish i could feel a certain way, i can't force anything, because i've gotten to this point where i needn't bother myself with unnecessary things i don't want to do. i have often sought to minimize my material life, but have gotten rid of old things only to replace them with new things. but i have succeeded in minimizing my social life and romantic life. as self-righteous as it is, a lot of people simply don't exist to me anymore, but hey, it's easier that way.

i was sober for eight days straight before last night, a life record as of late, and i learned that being sober is just as trippy (if not more so) as being intoxicated. but it's a little more uncomfortable. i have learned that drugs simply make you feel comfortable, they make you not give a fuck, which can be good, but also lead to something really bad. after i smoked weed today, i didn't give a fuck about my photomontage project due on thursday or the mess in my room that has been hangin' out with me for a couple months now. but after a few hours, i got restless and drove my ass to target just for the hell of it.

i realized today that i need to stop thinking about things before i do them. i waste a lot of time considering, "should i do this... or that... or anything at all?" this first entry is a declaration that i will stop thinking and start doing.

"thing to do" #1: lose some damn weight and get my ass into art school. i am unsatisfied, but mary jane keeps seducing me into complacency. after this last bowl to knock me out, it's bye bye, baby boo. i am better off without you. i hope to sing "since i left you, i've found the world so new," and understand.

anjelicapazprojects-- this will be a document of art as life and life as art.