After Party Thought Number 1:
I rarely watch the Academy Awards.
Tonight, I actually wanted to see them.
Mainly due to the significance of the several films nominated. Significance being: I watched them, I paid Lincolns for them. I was also attached in some way or another.
For whatever reason (reason about to unfold) I wept whilst saying this in my head: how much I want to erect words into images and images into motion. To read about a scene caught only in denotations, but eventually pushed out and conducted into dimensionality, touch, sound, body language and explicit sights. Dear me, I desperately want to do just that…
Gosh. My tears weren’t as exact as aforementioned reason, hence the after party.
After Party Thought Number 2:
I need to speak in another language. If I don’t I will…holy shit, mother Seattle is freezing right now, no me digas!
After Party Thought Number 3:
I’ve been chatting it up with God lately.
It is incredibly reminiscent of Heather Marie at 8, in which I sat in my bedroom, alone, smoking in the freezing rain. No, smoking for me at age 8 would result in a swift trip to hell (my first best friend’s mother said “damn” in front of us when we were 7 and later I told Mandi Heiser, “You’re mom is going to hell”).
Reorient: I sat in my bedroom alone on a bed that looked like a large, wooden drawer on the ground. Daybeds apparently were popular in the 80’s as well as disassembling them–2 birds 1 stone when there are 2+ children in the familia. As I sat in the oversized drawer, I looked up, as I always did and that which I did tonight. I looked up and thought why? Look straight, God is there too.
It was awkward, less lofty and austere, more personal, plus I was looking at a hideous old Avalon Toyota. Sedan=God? Maybe.
After Party Thought 4:
The body. Why oh why am I doing a possibly large event around the body? What connects me to it?
-long moments of confusion and musing-
I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately. What part of human development am I in when death and Freud haunt?
Thanatophobia: the fear of death
I’m having a small existential eruption over dying. When the awards show was displaying all of the famed and deceased, I could barely watch, thinking, ‘Did they know they were dying last year?’ Do I know I’m dying some year?
You betcha bottom dollar I do and as a consequence I will be no longer be driving, flying, crossing major intersections and riding the 358 (the 358 alone could get me robbed, verbally assaulted, and miraculously given, without contact, any STD–although I’m completely crazy about this bus’ people, just not the unstable vehicle).
However, I will travel by train. Those iron tracks feel like God’s hands holding me, similar to me talking to the Sedan in Thought Number 3.
After Party Thought Number 5:
I love life. Maybe that’s why I fear dying. I love and adore my husband, more than I could comprehend. I love the opportunities I’m given to create and be therapeutic. I love the communities I am in and encounter, whether here or there who are loving this creation and these creatures well, including creature me. At 28 I have immense skepticism about the rest of my life, but what exceeds the furrowed eyebrows is my immense gratitude for people who smoke with me in the freezing rain on my rickety back porch and subscribe to a greater calling than mere puritanism or flatness or boredom or safety or convention or knowing.
Thank God for the Sedan and the Oscars even if both are equally trite, the Spirit of God comes just as it also blows my smoke to and fro, away and close, straight and swirled with elegance and whim, but only for a few brief moments.
After Party Thought Number 6: