Day 856: Give me grafiti

Here's the thing: I love art.
If you've read my blog before you know this. Art, above money makes my world go round. It's about more than freedom of expression, it's about more than color and lines and light and dark.  It's about more than shadowing and contrasting. It's about life and love and philosophy and though I'm using words right now: words cannot express the reality portrayed in art.
Art is more than paint, sketches, photography or tattooing. Art is movement, words, poetry, litter, facial expression, AND reality. Art is life, art is nature, art is you and the love your parents have for you. Art is passing strangers on the street. Art is driving up and down the same street and seeing something new every time you do. Art is believing in things, something, anything that means more to you than your bowel movements. And to some people, art IS their daily doo. Art is true. It's also fake. It's a melody stuck in your head even when you don't know why. It's hokey, it's heart wrenching - art is everything. Art is being pissed off, art is being diplomatic, art is love. Art is love like there's only one true love for every person, but only a select 2% get to experience it. Art is unique, art is vague, art is tired and used and worn out.
Art is when you call your mom because you can't do anything else and she says the most perfect thing you could ever hear. Art is when you're lucky enough to have more than one best friend. Art is when you meet a stranger for 5minutes and it means more to you than the paycheck you earned that week. Art is when words anyone said ring in your ears like a nightmare, but you wait for it to show up.
Art is fucking. Bad fucking, good fucking, obligatory fucking, needless fucking. Fucking against trees, fucking in the parking lot, drive-way, bathroom, wherever.
Art is a brownstone, art is a dome, art is a lean-to, art is your home.
Art is birth: the process and the action. Art is life: the process and the action. Art is death: the process and the action.

So.

I've put art on my body.

I love my body. I didn't always love it. I've grown to love it. And I don't care who knows it, I don't care who doesn't agree. Fuck off if you don't like my body - I love it. And I want to art it up.

I have arted it up.

Maybe someday I'll go into my direct interpretations and reasons for each piece I have, but today isn't that day.

I hope you have a great day.

My Love,
Misty

Link of the Day:
http://iamthedoc.com/

Day 767: Elipses

May, May, go away
Come again some other day.

Oh, wait, there's still almost two weeks left of you.

Great.

Love,
Misty

Link of the day:
http://earth911.com/home-garden/grow-food-from-scraps/6/

Day 745: Ode to the simple things

Here's to the campfires,
the tickle fights,
to staying up too late,
to getting up too early,
to the end of the day,
to a fresh delivery of sand to a group of toddlers and pre-schoolers.

Here's to short love,
to freshly bloomed flowers,
to weeds, stubborn and strong,
to belief in the impossible,
to knowledge however unbelievable,
to sour cream on salsa or perogies or soft young hands, dipped right into the bowl.

Here's to you and you and you,
and to them,
and to me,
and to us,
and to ours,
and to our hair and skin and eyes and those long long nights that feel nothing but cold til the morning.



Link of the Day:
http://wildwomansisterhood.blogspot.nl/

Day 670: Ever get that creepy feeling?

Okay, so I often see elderly women who remind me so much of my Granny that in my peripheral vision, I snap judgment and think she's revisiting (she died in 2000). She was one of the most amazing people I have ever had the great luck to know. She taught me tolerance, open mindedness, what it means to feel pretty, how it feels to be alone, and how to deal with those dark parts of your soul. She didn't do any of that on purpose. She did all of that just by being herself, and by loving me and by talking to me like I could have been one of her best high school girlfriends. That time when everyone is striving to tell their truth just so they can see it for themselves as it spills out of their mouth.

And then I get to thinking about that theory that everyone we love who has passed surrounds us by being a part of other people. So, like, the way I understand it, in this theory: if you think someone looks like your granny, they actually are being partially taken over by your granny so that she can be close to you and so she can let you know she is actually still with you in a way. Alright, alright, they don't "take over" other people, but they find their likeness and make it apparent to you. I don't know if that makes sense, the way I explained it, and I also don't know the title of this "theory" or "idealism", but I do know I've heard of it. And I really like the thought of it. So, like everyone you meet who reminds you of someone long gone - you get them back! For a split second here and a minute and a half there as the woman with white hair asks you how you can tell how much you're going to have to pay for this green bell pepper. For that short time, it's like no time was lost at all. That's what I like about this theory. Or idealism, or whatever it is.

And then, because my mind wanders, and because I'm often working on distracting myself from present situations that desperately need my decisive powers: I think of people I meet, or people I see who I think I must be related to.

Weird? Yah, okay, I know you've done that too. Meet this cute so-n-so, and then they do this thing which is very unmistakably a very characteristic thing of your uncle's. All of a sudden, it's "BYE BYE GONZO!"

Like I recently worked for a woman here in NY, and as soon as she started to speak, I thought "That voice sounds familiar". Then, I notice the shape of her left eyelid and how it's a little different than the right - a characteristic I've only ever seen in my family. Well, I've only ever NOTICED in people in my family. Then we're chatting, and holy moly, she's originally from Oklahoma! I'm surreally convinced she and I are oddly related. Like she must be my great grandma's niece's kid or something. I tell her at some point that she reminds me of people in my family and she passes it off "Yeah, it's because we're from the same part of the country", but I know plenty of people from that part of the country and the only people I know with those certain characteristics belong to my family.

It's a long shot. But in my head, where I'm building my understandable and strange world, we MUST be related somehow.

And then there's this one actress who reminds me SO MUCH of one of my aunts. It's bizarre. Her manner of speaking, her hair, her thinness and the way her neck creases, it's all so very unique. It's all so very creepy. I mean, really, really really really really, there's no way! Fuckin no way! But in my head, I build these short little allowances that make it so, and BAM, we're related.

Creeeeeeeeeeepy.

But fun.

And I like it.

So there.


Link of the day:
http://www.moillusions.com/2006/06/experience-real-hallucination.html