a nostalgic favorite.

dear diary III.

january 12, 2006

dear diary,

thursday was a trip. transportation by shuttle to be lifted up for once! me! helping hands! lifted! and helped! helped to find my humility.

do you see the happiness in my penmanship? do you feel the moisture in the paper? i'm sweating my excitement diary! i'm absolutley vulnerable! the act of helping is a life of an admirable specimen, correct? but oh my suffice it to say that i'll take the title of coward, lowly, ungrateful, and selfish pair! i'll take it! with a slice of pie and a swift smash to the knuckles.

for once i was lifted diary! taken by this... this shuttle of sorts. this dreary, bleak, and emotionless mute of a shuttle. it just appeared in the night as i was on my way to grab a fallen cane, and simply swept me off of my fingertips. i was flying diary! i was flying.

i know the warmth of help. i feel needed and appreciated.

i am helping hands. i am proud.

love,

an unknown anonymous in pleads of humility

dear diary II.

september 9, 1967

dear diary,

it was a bit hard waking up today. the sun seems to have put me on his hit list. it isn't fair to mention, but in strengths to not leave you hanging i'll give you just an inch. an inch for your mile. see, my name is harold and i'm a plant. not your ordinary weed or seed you'd place in your courtyard community garden. no, see, i am nothing but a measly houseplant. i am neglected. i am malnourished. i am what i am, and that is harold and a plant.

there comes a time in every plant's life when the sun puts he or she on his hit list. you see, the sun has a great envy toward us. as we sag and droop in this seemingly sad manner, he knows the truth.

now as a human being, you look at me through your eyeballs and see that it appears that i am in bad shape, death being right around the corner. this sort of thing depresses you. however, your being alarmed is quite okay! you see, with your neglect i prosper. i get to see all of those little things you mistakenly continue to look over (like searching underneath every cushion for the remote control, which causes you to haphazardly forget about me, for example). the sun sees this too, but he has to stay put for, well, obvious reasons. i can watch and see and smile with a drop of a leaf. this death that appears to be developing isn't the kind homo sapiens experience.

you see, when the AC blows heavily across me, as you sneeze on, run past, pick at, talk to, and trip over me, harold the plant, i am thriving! when your t.v. begins to snow and the thunder is causing the sky to perspire around the time i need sustenance. when your record player crackles and the dust flurries shrink my roots and make them cringe faulty words. when you have company over and i am left observing in the corner. when i am listening and you think you're all alone. in all of this, i am sinking.

see, you mistake my drooping for fatality. you poor souls. you lonely sun.

what did you want to see, what did you want to be when you grew up?

love,

harold the plant

Everything is melting in Spain. Me and you both Dali, me and you both.

It´s hot in Barcelona so I´m not sleeping. Instead I woke up from being awake feeling like I just had a life altering converstaion with Iris Barrel Apfel which ended up making me feel like just maybe things are falling into place like a cheeseburger with extra ketchup?

I mean odd comparison, I´ll give you that, but aren´t you hungry now? And not for literal food either.

Take your time and you´ll be fine.

voyage.

I'm on holiday in Europe.

in two's.

Do I have to be challenged by others to magnify my creative crystal ball?

Okay bullets:

• Kevin Shields

cause why?: Creator of song that seems like my favorite: City Girl
blossoming in my belly: I heard this song years ago and thought it was from some 90's nostalgic memory I couldn't place. Really I had just heard it in Lost in Translation and resulted in the same fake memory; to then again have this same EXACT memory on some car ride to somewhere far away while listening to the LiT soundtrack and having quite the "aha!" moment.
brain sparks: Reminds me of all those times I felt cool (at least seemingly) to older teenagers who I had no reason in putting on that pedestal we both lust after and loathe. Plus daycare and all the things that seem sad to other people, but were probably bigBIG reasons of why music that sounds like it was made in the 90's makes me feel like I'm an airplane.

• Miranda July

cause why?: Person I'm most influenced by sub-consciously: link.
blossoming in my belly: It's like one of those things where you doubt yourself "creatively" (or something just as demeaning sounding) and then while channel surfing you stumble upon Demetri Martin and he's telling jokes on an easel, and it's like, "hey! I had that idea first". Then why didn't you do it? Oh cause you were too afraid of being "cliche" or "blasé". I had that lovely punch-in-the-stomach feeling 100x over while watching Me and You And Everyone We Know, and then I died when I read No One Belongs Here More Than You. Died.
brain sparks: Anything I've read or seen by her makes me feel like a spiral staircase. It's not even some deep metaphor either. Like I literally feel like I'm falling down a spiral staircase. Because it seems fun to fall in a spiral. My Miranda. My July.

p.s. This is another project I'm starting, "in two's.". It will just be a magnification of obsessions that have taken place since the beginning of (my) time. There will eventually be vocal dialogue and possibly a hand puppet.

somewhat obligatory.