A Hodgepodge of Porcupines? with their Guard down? (no quills here)

Tumbling through my own thoughts – slowing to a crawl at certain times and speeding into a frenzy as slews of unending sentences spill forth through the tips of my fingers rhythmically tapping the key – it becomes very easy to forget where I was going with anything. There is never a strict agenda when I bring my thoughts to the page, or maybe not even in my head either. More often than not, a character as absurd as a man who drinks poison for a living is all I need to get me going. That would be some cool shit to write about for my next short story I say and my sprawling unconscious responds with, “fine, I’ll fill in the rest.”But being guided through the corridors of my mind by color coded fluorescent lights may be all in all a better strategy if I wish to extend my stories to anything longer than twenty pages. Wouldn’t? Shouldn’t? Naw…it couldn’t, I would never finish it cause I’d get bored halfway through. There is more excitement if I don’t know the ending either as I write the story.

Each scene needs to be important by itself. Come come no filler filler. But when I plan, I always find myself adding such elements. Such bombastic or often dull lulls of needless plot.
Sometimes you don’t want to buy that OJ with no pulp, sometimes you NEED that pulp. Ironically, I guess OJ with no pulp goes down smoother than the other variant. Revel! Revel! Cheap amusement has come!
Couch lounging relaxation to soothe the mind into a gentle haze of acceptance of whatever stream of information is being filtered into the tête. Cups of corn syrup and handfuls of salt, munching with ever-dry lips and watching with half-closed-lids, and an engine that is barely running, grumbles on to keep the top happy.
Outside, in the bay, the cargo ships sit in the polluted waters that spit out purple seashells for kids to collect and dogs to step on, awaiting the delivery of their presents from ashore, until then, their red noses sticking out of the water, their empty stomachs allow such buoyancy. Reveal to me your little red nose greedy vessel. Wait in the cold night till fate delivers you what you yearn. Then before the collared man wakes the next day, leave without a note, taking with you your earned riches, only to give it all away. Give and take, never keep anything, and see the new and old.

It is easier to move on when you do not linger. Deal with success and failure in the same way – quickly learn and move on. Otherwise, how can you improve? By sitting around on your successes or failures…all you do is spit out purple shit.

The Love Doctor

In light of Valentine’s Day approaching, (cue groans..groans that are all coming from me…) I would like to share one of my beloved poems that I wrote during my Sophomore year of college in a poetry class. It’s called The Love Doctor.

The Love Doctor

Let me tell you what I think.

I think this thing they call love,

it’s bullshit.

We women do all this work to get a man’s attention —

hair soft as cotton candy

nails clean with girlish pinks and reds always prim

body right, curves that round the world —

Oh, and don’t forget a personality, we must have a little of that.

Which one should you be today?

The loving girlfriend that gives him massages,

hot meals, alone time for him to be a man?

So he can watch the same shot

being made by the same person on TV,

or so he can criticize that girl’s physique

like it really is that thought provoking.

Or should you be the girlfriend that’s —

oh wait

he doesn’t want you to be anyone else.

That’s all there is to it with love.

I’m telling you, when a man finds out that you

have needs, complaints, wants, dreams, feelings, tears—

They deny ever knowing you,

like a grain of dreary dust they stepped on,

walking away from a deserted beach

holding another woman’s hand.

My advice honey,

the next time you hear someone say the word love,

tell ’em to come see me.

Pride

We need to stop acting like we are better than others. This is a rampant issue on campus and off it. We are not better than another person who chose another major or someone who decided to join an organization that we don’t like. We all made it to this university and we all deserve to be here. We should not judge others based on these shallow labels, it takes a lot more than that to deem what someone else worth is. A pre-med major is no smarter than an English major and I really don’t see how we can make these comparisons so easily.

Let’s get back to the fact that all of us went through the application process and all of us were accepted. This wasn’t a mistake, we’re here because we deserve to be here, not because we chose a major that is easy to be accepted into. Sure, there are different applications for the different schools, but none of them are easy to pass through. We made it here and we deserve to be proud, but we should not be proud because we are better than other students on campus.

In addition, your hard classes do not make other classes easier. We all take hard classes and we all struggle with our majors. Even if you do happen to struggle harder than other students, that won’t make you a better or worse student. We all can succeed or fail here and our quality as people is not the reason for that. We are all worthy and we deserve to be treated with worth.

The Mixtape

First and foremost, Hello! I am a new blogger here at arts, ink and I am thrilled to have an outlet to share my love of music, film, and art through. My name is Cait and I’m ready to get into it and get some feedback from you all.

Music is my safety–a realm I always feel secure and welcome in. It is what one might call “my jam” (pun intended.) As such, I can’t think of a better first post to introduce myself through than a hopefully recurring segment called “The Mixtape” in which I share a few of my favorite songs at the time. These could be new underground EPs or some throwbacks to 70’s rock that your dad can attest to the coolness of. Without further ado, here is this week’s grocery list for your ears:

  1. Electric Love by BØRNS
  2. Let My Baby Stay by Mac Demarco
  3. Midnight by Kodaline
  4. Talking Backwards by Real Estate
  5. Agoraphobia by Deerhunter

This is a decidedly mellow (save #1) playlist. These are the kinds of songs I would let simmer in the background while I make my bed with my window open. It’s that kind of feel-good-Sunday-morning shit. These songs give me that waking-up-naturally feeling when the sun sifts like sand through the blinds in your bedroom at home while the house is quiet and the day is yours.

Light an incense, change your underwear from last night’s escapades, pop an aspirin, you don’t have to brush your hair, but sit back and let these songs melt over you.

 

Cait

Saying the Things That Never Get Said

When I was in New York City this past Summer, I made sure to make it to my favorite spot in the city – The Strand. The Strand is the most amazing book store you can possibly imagine and I spent over an hour reaping the bounty of their shelves. One book that particularly stood out to me had an all mustard-yellow cover. Whoever said you can’t judge a book by its cover was far from right in this case. The off-yellow of the cover wound up perfectly matching the sort of off-beat humor and quirk of this book. The book actually turned out to be a collection of short stories called No one belongs here more than you. Stories by Miranda July. I’ve always loved short stories and the description on the back of the book really made me feel that this was the book for me. “July gives the most seemingly insignificant moments a sly potency,” it says. She does indeed. The power of these stories is the way in which they give voice to all the thoughts in one’s mind that are so often silenced for their out-of-placeness in common culture. Her stories reveal the depth of human complexity through seemingly insignificant experiences. I was able to see myself in so many of these characters and hear my own unspoken thoughts through all of their voices, no matter how extreme or unlikely the circumstance. I felt truly touched and inspired by this work. Miranda July has a presence in film, writing, and art and has just released her second book entitled The First Bad Man, a novel. I highly recommend No one belongs here more than you. It takes you on a journey of profound empathy that never fails to reveal something to the reader about his or herself.

Art of the Box

We say that art is thinking out of the box. That freedom and open space offer inspiration and this inspiration is what forms art. The higher ceiling, we think, affords more wondrous creation. But I think this is wrong.

I think boxes create art.

Orson Welles, the director of Citizen Kane and other great films, believes that the best art rises out of constraints. Whether physical or financial, constraints force artists to push their creative limits, and it offers an economic edge to a work. Welles believes that constraints are necessary for art to exist. With no deadline, for instance, a work would never be finished. Or in the absence of a budget, unnecessary costs will occur. Without a container to provide shape, how could art hold any form?

The enemy of art is the absence of limitation.

Too often we push for divergent thinking and “innovation” but do not give it the proper limitations to grow. This may seem oxymoronic, but it carries weight. When given a white canvas and hundreds of paints, the possibilities are limitless. While this abundance is a wonderful privilege, the artist may struggle to make something beautiful–for there are no setbacks to excite her creative ingenuity. But this is not something the masses have understood, historically. For a renaissance period to occur, a civilization needed peace and prosperity. When basic functions have been satisfied, art could be produced. More time could be devoted to creative ventures, so the arts would flourish. But after a time, the period would end and some calamity would begin–famine, war, etc.–and the arts would go dormant. This makes sense, of course, because why would anyone paint a portrait when they should be growing food or building weapons?

But do these struggles not spark inspiration? The hardships and constraints of war and famine have motivated some of the greatest art. This is not to say that horrible things are necessary and that art can only exist in hard times, but unbridled freedom is not an incubator for art.

Some of the best ideas rise out of brainstorming sessions when clear requirements and constraints are defined. Once given boundaries, the creative process can ensue. Fresh ideas are sparked from the friction between constraints and can form thoughts that challenge the boundaries. As they burn, these ideas can find innovative means to operating within and around limitations. Some red-tape is good, for when it binds our hands, we let our feet do the creating. If our hands were never bound, our feet would’ve never had the chance to express themselves. Constraints can be frustrating, but they challenge us to think different. To think inside the box.