Winter break

It is a boisterous day, beautiful, bright. The wind blows horizontally. My heart is light, my backpack is not. Students are sparse in the library, slowly filtering across the country, home for the holidays.

The Devil's Anus

December thirteenth, two thousand eight.

Sitting on my bed with Barbara, both typing on our computers, mine white, hers black.

DEVIL'S ANUS

For some reason it is hard for me to want to go out and do things with people, especially if it is the first time hanging out with them. On Monday my home teacher Dallas Dean called and asked if Barbara and I were up for some mischief for Friday night. We said sure. I didn’t know if it was a date of some kind or what, but turns out it wasn’t, thankfully. We invited Jordan Huntington along, which was perfect. All day yesterday though, I was wanting to bail and not go, even though I didn’t know what we were doing. I just always think I won’t have fun. It’s so strange because I always do. I’m glad I didn’t bail, thanks to Barbara.

So we met up with Dallas Dean, Nelson Diamond, and their friend Danny Bride at 7. We drove for eternity to a small town south of provo, stopping at a gas station (Jordan bought a hotdog and a water bottle bigger than the state of Texas) and at his grandmother Camp’s house. She’s adorable and played “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas,” and “I’ll have a blue Christmas without you” on her super out of tune little guitar, a set list of every song she knows on 3x5’s taped to the top of it. We drank water from zodiac sign glasses while Nelson at old Shrek fruit snacks. When we left she said “Act your age, whatever that might be.”

We drove, Barbara in front going crazy (60 mph cruise control) with Jordan me nelson and danny in back, Jordan going crazy with discomfort and ADD. Mostly funny, cute. We drove for ever, then got to “the devil’s anus,” a mining shaft that goes down for eternity, and dropped flaming cartons with gasoline in them down, down, down, down. So mind blowing. I have never seen something go that far into the earth. It literally went until it disappeared, who knows if it has hit bottom, still. I enjoyed sitting on the cage/grate thing atop the never ending pit. It was incredible. This weird feeling of being on the edge of the world, the edge of life and death, the edge of the stable and unknown. As the gasoline filled containers fell, hundreds of drops of blue light fell above it, maybe small bits of gasoline on fire. It was beautiful. The light dropped down this vertical hallway, tunneling like a domino effect, revealing piece by piece this bizarre piece of land.

Driving home Danny was in shotgun with us 3 girls in back, all over Nelson. It was fun and funny and pretty comfortable. We heard funny stories, like Dallas’s physical exam by a woman doctor. Pretty funny. We thanked them for the adventure, then Barbara and I went to Jordan’s house to have a sLeEpOvEr!!?!?!! Yeah man. Second sleepover in one week. Last saturday we slept at Leah Wilson and Rachelle Ballards. Livin’ the parentless curfew free dream.

THE SLEEPOVER

Jordan had 3 friends here from BYU-I. Taryn, Southern Bell, and Carly. Southern Bell was from Alabama and has a real name. She was exactly what an Alabama girl would be like. She was pretty but freaked me out a little. Reminded me of the girl from the town “Spectra” in the movie Big Fish; weird brow bone or something. But she had a cool accent. I didn’t get to know her hardly. She was sleepy.

TRAVEL

I talked with Taryn for a while. She is my age, 19, and has traveled through Europe and South America already. I am envious of her life. More encouraged though. She backpacked through Europe for a few months, had nothing planned but the airport in Ireland she’d be arriving at and the hostel for that night. She just caught trains and moved in the direction she should be going towards. She just lived. LIVED. I’m so excited about it. She lived in South America for about a year, a couple of the months with a rastafarian group, had dreads, sold jewelry on the side of the road and all. Surprising, based on the look of her. She said when she moved to byu-i last year, it was the 28th time moving. If I could (and I can if I am willing to), I’d drop everything right now, work really hard for a semester and save thousands, then travel from... probably August ‘til spring. Maybe. Then save up money and get back into school.

The biggest thing keeping me from doing that is the Architecture program. I have to apply in spring, like March or so, for Fall semester, the beginning of a 4 year venture. If I travel until spring, I’d have to take the last prerequisite fall semester and apply the Next year. So I’d not start the program until fall of.. 2011, graduate 2015, instead of staring fall of 2009 and graduating 2013. But think, if I served a mission it’d be similar. Huh. jfawoilscmwoiefh. I really really want to do this. I would love it.
Things holding me back:

1. Living at home next semester is one thing, but Not going to school is another. That cuts off almost all sociality. I wouldn’t spend nearly as much time with Barbara and Patrick.

2. People say to graduate from school as fast as possible. But I don’t really want to. I love school. And once I’m out I’m out. Might as well slow down, I’ll never have this time of life to myself again. Michelle is getting married in 14 days. If I get married I’ll never have this opportunity again.

3. Money. Think, if I could save up a ton of money I’d be safe for school rather than going in debt. I might already have to apply for a student loan for spring semester, unless I don’t do school. I don’t want debt. If I have any kind of debt though, it will be school debt, not car or home debt. that is just uncalled for. Dad doesn’t have money, but he made enough last year that I won’t qualify for any kind of government funding. Frustrating. I wish I could just get a 4.0. I am so disappointed in myself. If I didn’t get a bad grade in History I wouldn’t have to worry. It is so weird to me that I can’t get better grades. Why am I not pushing myself harder? I know I can. I know I can do better, I don’t feel challenged in school until I study for test or do final projects. Blah. Too stressful to think about. I do it later. Think, that is.

BACK TO THE SLEEPOVER

Anyways. Last night was great. We fell asleep around 3 I think. I asked Jordan to tell me a story to fall asleep to. It might have been about a duck; I fell asleep quickly. I kind of had a headache because of the smell of gasoline stuck in my hand or nose or brain. I wrote a poem while lying on the bed, before we were going to bed. It went something like this:

Jordan puts on a pink robe,
her friend looking like Tweedledee,
maybe Tweedledum.
Barbara makes impulsive decisions,
I panic, but keep breathing anyways.

The end. Barbara got her hair cut. It’s really cute. I like it a lot.
Speaking of hair, I can’t figure out what mine wants right now. It needs to be more lax than it is now, but I can’t figure it out. Oh well. It’ll happen. Now I must go shower. I am a piece of earwax.

Woman with Schlemmer Mask in Breuer Chair

This is an essay by Davey Davis, a student here at the U. I enjoyed it. It is about this photograph, Woman with Schlemmer Mask in Breuer Chair.

Erich Consemüller’s Woman with Schlemmer Mask in Breuer Chair is couched amid the clamoring struggles of power, expression, and representation that were central to the Weimar years in Germany. The woman’s bland portrait becomes the empty vessel for a host of insecurities and traumas created by the post-World War One experience. From the overt displays of this oppression through the work of Otto Dix to the more subtle accounts of sexism in the Bauhaus, the image of the free, creative woman is subverted and manipulated by the dominant patriarchy’s subconscious insecurities. Throughout the Weimar years the intention remains the same: for men in power to dominate and control women in order to maintain hegemony in the visual world.

The woman in the mask is exemplar of the mythological new woman. She is sexual, thin, slightly androgynous, and stylish. As the new woman, she is supposedly created out of the modernity that was ushered in by World War One, earning freedoms as a producer and consumer in the public realm. With women’s social freedom comes a sexual freedom that is cumulatively unnerving to even the most freethinking of men. Their reactions to the idea of an equal slate of sexual expression ranged from nervously warning to violently prohibiting, from publishing books on modernized sex[i] —with the patriarchal sexual hierarchy firmly in place— to the abhorrent Lustmord images.

Both of these reactions can be read visually through Consemüller’s image, the first through linking sexual stimulation and societal stimulation. One of the aforementioned sexual critics, Axel Eggebrecht, paired the endless stimulation of the modern metropolis and the state of constant sexual stimulation the new woman’s presence created. This sexual jitter in the air was certainly negative and had to be shut off: “The insecurity of the man in relation to the woman has become virtually unbearable.” [ii] Eggebrecht called for a return of old gender roles to desensitize the sexual currents of the metropolis. The discourse of limitation begins here, with the Schlemmer mask neutering and desensitizing the woman in the chair. If she once was the sexualized new woman she has been rebuffed and returned, put in her place. By connecting the over-stimulating city to the new woman, Eggebrecht creates a fallacy where the symptom and cause of distracted modernity is the modern woman; she becomes the scapegoat for a larger pervasive social condition.

The largest social condition of all in the Weimar years was the symptomatic trauma resulting from the First World War. Through a similar complication of gender and society, the traumatized reactions to the war make up the dominant discourse towards woman in the Weimar years. The work of Otto Dix is a clear example of men’s visual interactions and reactions to the condition presented by the new woman in a post-war Germany.[iii] In varying degrees of obscenity Dix’s oeuvre is a collection of sexist violence, through it one can map out manifold ways patriarchal reactions manifest themselves and attack women. In brief, female sexual licentiousness is equated with the violence of war, which brings the violence home and visually transforms it into an escalated battle of the sexes.

This violence is not immediately relevant to the woman in the chair; she is not graphically murdered like the women in Dix’s Lustmord paintings. But the motivations are connected: in literally destroying women through art, men can be seen as Pygmalion burglars of procreative power. As Maria Tatar writes, "the only way to manage the trauma of a military conquest is to transform the manifest tyranny of a "feminine" position (struggle, conquest, and submission) into an experience that emphasizes the procreative advantage of that position.”[iv] This conflation of physical violence with other forms of dominance forebodes the woman in the chair’s situation. It is on the field of creativity that we shall see the most grievous casualties.
The theft and barring of creativity is central to regarding the Consemüller image and the Bauhaus in general. In examining the Bauhaus it becomes apparent that the inscribed misogyny transfers from the overt hyperbole of Dix to a more pernicious situation: institutionalized oppression. Modern woman enrolled in the Bauhaus school in droves as a way of realizing their new opportunities as the acclaimed ‘new woman.’ The school, however, responded by marginalizing or rejecting female students, shunting them into the weaving program or categorically denying women access to the architecture school.[v] Lack of aptitude was used as an argument to hold women back, and oftentimes the students would take it as a personal failure when they were rejected.

The position in which the institution placed creative women is inscribed on the woman in the chair. At first glance she is simply a model, an absurd model with a modern mask on. Like the chair in which she sits she is a depersonalized art object ready to be sent into mass production. Already we encounter issues of sexuality and commodification, the role of the modernized techno-sexual body,[vi] but the ancestry of this pose has an older pedigree. The Consemüller image descends from a long line of portraits; beautiful women whose bodies have been turned into a superficial object to be gazed upon. She is attractive, her smoothly shaded legs and tailored dress are definitely feminine. She is not, however, outrageously sexualized, not a Venus of Urbino nor one of countless nudes in the very same chair[vii] whose image is manipulated by her sexuality. There is something equally pernicious and updated about the Consemüller woman’s treatment. In a classic female nude, painted by men, the subject of the painting is disarmed and subjugated by the painterly craft in a method similar to the procreative theft described earlier. One principal factor is control of the gaze. If the woman’s head is turned from the viewer they are free to look upon her, but she does not have the liberty to assert her identity back. The woman in the chair gazes directly at the camera but ineffectively. Like the sexualized woman before her, she has been disarmed of her gaze, but by a more tangible construct: the depersonalizing Schlemmer mask.

Oskar Schlemmer’s theatre pieces were meant to homogenize and dehumanize their wearer, in an attempt to abstract theater into a geometric or robotic pursuit. His performers are made into dolls by their props, they stand in as symbols for natural humans, cut off from world events.[viii] In order to achieve this effect Schlemmer borrowed from two worlds, primitive simplicity and mechanized homogeny. The mask mimics the European idea of a primitive object, with its simple shapes and exaggerated features. The crude eyes and trapezoid nose could have been lifted off of a tribal mask, but the mask’s smooth metallic construction makes it an industrial object as well. This combination of impressions is imposed on the female wearer and bars her individuality. The woman is both turned into ‘the other’ through the exoticiszing mask, and made into a nobody through its machined anonymity. The primitive, inhuman, staring eyes allude to the deeper fear men reserve for the alternative: an unbridled, sexual, and creative woman. Men react to this concept with repulsion and attraction, erotic interest and punitive subjugation.

Shrouding her face is an act of subjugation, as is a bloody corpse presented by Dix. They both represent the culmination of the male fantasy of control, the violence inherent within them underscoring how infantile these attempts at oppression really are. By controlling the woman’s gaze, the masters also control her agency, or her ability to control her creative output. A close parallel can be seen in the physical institution of architecture, where the gendered spaces of Loos and Le Cobusier again deprive the modern woman of her vision. [ix] In architectural space the simplified and fetishized mask has its counterpart in the masculine treatment of the feminine interior. Beatriz Colomina uses Josephine Baker’s house as an example, where the architects neutralized the occupant by putting her on display in a voyeuristic swimming pool, making her a fetishized and coded object. As an object she has been removed of her interior and has become all surface.[x] The superficial woman does not exist as a creative equal to the man who positioned her so; she turns away from the camera, visionless. This type of discourse puts the advances of the new woman in perspective as her position in the world is still modified and limited by masculine conceptions of visuality and space. These concepts, embodied by the Bauhaus and its masters, physically contain and enshroud the woman.

The masculine institutionalized power of the Bauhaus becomes inscribed on this image through the contrast of what is identifiable and what is not. Regard the name: Woman with Schlemmer Mask in Breuer Chair, by Erich Consemüller. The mask belongs to Schlemmer, the Chair to Breuer, and the photo to Consemüller. All these men's artistic achievements swirl around in perfect recognition, while she remains faceless, nameless, and sightless. The objects have more identity than she does, because they have been vaunted by history. In contrast, her dress belongs to Lis Beyer,[xi] a product of the same school that produced the mask, chair, and photographer. She is given no credit, as her role is antithetical to the myth of male procreation. The woman is blinded, visionless, and objectified, still caught in the control of misogynist visual representation. The focal depth prizes the chair over her features; the mask contains her expression and self-expression. She is simply a commodity to expedite the creative machine for men, to spirit them along like a disempowered muse. She is a faceless cog, a replicable agent of capitalism.

These objects and methods are certainly commodities. The photograph, the specified mask, and the industrial chair: all are objects of reproduction and mass production. Their value is not in their uniqueness or creativity but in their vacuous homogeny. By placing the new woman in such surroundings she certainly is modern, as modern and as disempowered as an assembly line tool. Yet unlike the Breuer chair the model was manipulated into this position through sexual power play. Women are inscribed with the inhuman side of modernity, the machine aesthetic of replicable anonymity.[xii] Dix silenced and dehumanized women through murder, leaving a corpse behind. The Bauhaus’ method of silencing is much more effective, because the viewer is unaware any violence took place. Anonymity goes both ways, however, it is possible to realize her oppression as applicable to all Weimar woman who were marginalized. The image can be recreated as a symbolic portrait of Hannah Hoch, Marianne Brandt, or countless other women artists who have been wrapped up by the masculine hierarchy and have been childishly barred from participating in the creative game. When women cannot participate in the creative, external world, they must not retreat further into the domestic realm and leave the public space unchallenged. That space is not intrinsically masculine, it has just been made masculine, and it can be unmade.

[i] Eric Weitz, “Bodies and Sex, Sexuality and the New Woman” from Weimar Germany: Promise and Tragedy, New Jersey: Princeton, 2007, pg. 310.
[ii] Axel Eggebrecht, “Machen wir uns nichts vor: Ein aufrichtiger Brief,” in Die Fraue von Morgen, pg. 121 from Weitz, Ibid, pg. 311.
[iii] Maria Tatar, Lustmord: sexual murder in Weimar Germany. New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1995.
[iv] Ibid. pg. 81.
[v] Anja Baumhoff, “Woman of the Bauhaus- A Myth of Emancipation” in Bauhaus, Eds. Jeannine Fiedler and Peter Feierabend, Cologne: Könemann Verlagsgesellschaft, 2005.
[vi] Janet Lungstrum, “Metropolis and the Technosexual Woman of German Modernity” in Katharina von Ankum Women in the Metropolis: Gender and Modernity in Weimar Culture, California: UC Press, 1997.
[vii] Karl Hubbuch, Nude in Bauhaus Chair, 1928.
[viii] Juliet Koss, “Bauhaus Theater of Human Dolls” in Art Bulletin; Dec2003, Vol. 85 Issue 4, pg. 731.
[ix] Beatriz Colomina, “The Split Wall: Domestic Voyeurism,” in Beatriz Colomina, Sexuality and Space, New Jersey: Princeton Architectural Press, 1992.
[x] Ibid. pg. 94.
[xi] Juliet Koss, “Bauhaus Theater of Human Dolls” in Art Bulletin; Dec2003, Vol. 85 Issue 4, pg. 731.
[xii] Ibid. pg. 724-745.

Texting Conversation

--How's the homework coming?

~~Pretty well, I'm just getting into an essay that has been sitting in the back of my mind for a long time, and once I get started i always realize that it won't be as hard as I thought. So I'm feeling productive and relieved.

--Oh fantastic :) That's the best kind of feeling. Well maybe not the best. But it's up there for sure.

~~Yeah, top 3 when it comes to homework.

--Ha, that's a lot of qualifiers... That's like "when you're in the street, depending on the street, i bet you were definitely in the top three..." :)

~~Haha. Yes. I might even qualify it more, if you will, by saying it's in the top three when it comes to doing homework on a Saturday evening during the last couple weeks of school :) Better. Or better yet, when it comes to doing homework on a saturday evening during the last couple weeks of school when your name is Jessica Gilmore. And when you are wearing blue shoes. Yes. Perfect.

--I bet there's been at some point in time another Jessica Gilmore wearing blue shoes that has done homework in the last few weeks of classes that hates that feeling. What now?

~~Well, she was probably on drugs or had recently been through a dramatic breakup or was hungry or sleepy or had a name change or had more teal than blue shoes. There's no way someone wearing blue shoes named Jessica Gilmore studying on a saturday evening in the last couple weeks of finals could possibly NOT feel productive and relieved somewhere in the top three homework elicited emotions. :)

--Wow. Awesome text. Are you stopping to have dinner any time soon?

Melrose #3

It’s 2:12 AM, technically 12.3.8. I’m sitting on my bed in white Woods Cross Lacrosse Shorts and a pink vneck that barbara dyed. I just got out of the shower. My bed is sitting on the ground. It is from ikea and comes with risers but they wobble and I want a solid bed for all the nights I’m making sweet sweet love to gentlemen callers. My bed has white sheets that are turning brown because I never wash them :) I have three pillows, a red one, a black one that would have yellow writing on it if it wasn’t inside-out, and a grey and black one that matches the grey and black squared down blanket I have, which are from ikea as well. Also on my bed is damien, the stuffed dog that Davie Supinger gave me when he asked me to prom Junior year, I use him when I am reading in bed, and Michelle’s yellow fleece blanket with pink orange and brown flowers on it. My phone is my alarm these days, so it sits on my bed somewhat tucked into damien against the wall. I used to have a little boxlike thing to keep it in, taped to the wall, but it came down one day and I haven’t put it back up. On my wall is a sticker with a picture of Jimi Hendrix and a quote: “When the Power of Love overcome the Love of Power the World Will Know Peace,” along with 3 wire art pieces: Jared’s face, a face of a boy in my art class last year, and a smaller wire of a drummer. Then there are 14 pictures on my wall by a local artist who’s name I cannot remember. There are 3 rows of 5, one picture fell down. That I also have not put back. I think this is because I hope to move soon and don’t feel motivated to fix things. Near the light switch is an I Voted sticker and two paintings that belong to sara of Buddha. My roommate, Megan Heiner, is not here tonight. Her bed is made. It is not on the floor like mine, so she has a lot of stuff under it. My half of the room always looks messier because I don’t have that space to hide things in. The closet doors are made so only one of our sides can be showing at one time. One or neither. Right now mine is showing. I sort of have my clothes organized from lightest to darkest. There are a few things that aren’t exactly in the right spot. On our bedroom door is my coat rack with a million of my coats on it. I have a small “bedside table,” a simple single drawer, open right now. Lots of papers and notebooks and cds and such on top and inside. The last real thing in my room is a 3-drawer “dresser” with clothes in it. I should get ride of some clothes. Sleeping in the room down the hall is Jannali Wood. Seeca Larson is in Centerville at her best friend Janelle’s house. Our kitchen is a disaster, dishes and crap everywhere. Always. The living room isn’t too messy right now. Seeca just put up a tree. Christmas! But it’s fake, small ish, has a million ornaments on it, which isn’t always bad, but when they are tacky... and it has colored lights. I am stuck on my family’s ways with Christmas trees I suppose. Our front door is red and has a 3 on it. 1162 E 400 S #3 SLC, UT 84102. Melrose, if you will. Sleeping above me is Alex and possibly Eric Redbird. Chase Gentry used to sleep directly above me, but his gf got home from her mission about a month ago and he moved out because they are getting married on the 20th of this month. Freaky deaky. Sleeping below me is Bob Jensen and Benjamin Bailey. There you have it. Melrose. The glorious life of 195 a month. I need to pay the power bill, asap.

Keyboard

Question: Why entrust reality to young unlearned imaginations? Once partitioned,
A simple dream forfeits goodness, hides justice, kindles lies;
Zeros, X’s cover various barriers, never mending.

Time is of the Essence

Today, time is not of the essence. If anything, the rain and my body is telling me to ignore time today.

Draft autosaved at 9:31 AM

My two hours of sleep last night were choppy, disjointed. I was completely out but my dreams related everything I have experienced this weekend in one long, bizarre story. I felt awake the whole time.

Draft autosaved at 9:35 AM

I struggled to type a name into my phone, it kept changing.

Draft autosaved at 9:39 AM

A boy bragged about a PC as he pulled multiple bags of square caramels from his backpack, digging for something. A scary looking girl sat staring at me, wearing a grey shirt and grey eyes, drained looking, sick, close to death or maybe just returning from it. She said nothing, just continued staring as I looked at her. She had big eyes, eyes that were trying to tell me something but I walked away, I had to. I was trying to get somewhere.

Draft autosaved at 9:42 AM

I was trying to help someone. It was impossible, something kept getting in the way. I was frustrated.

Draft autosaved at 9:43 AM

I am still dreaming. Time moves awkwardly. There is consistency in the music on my ears. But even it is different: not calming, just keeping me from rocking back and forth and talking to myself. There is consistency in the knot in my back along my left shoulder blade. !?!???!!! As I typed 'blade,' Sufjan Stevens sung to me, "when the light pressed up against your shoulder blade." I never woke up today because I hardly went to sleep.

Draft autosaved at 9:47 AM

My lungs feel like collapsing. They want to, I'm not letting them. My heart is tired and doesn't enjoy pumping today, but my muscles aren't letting it stop, only slow down.

Draft autosaved at 9:48 AM

I am aware of people around me. Sort of. They exist, I see them, but they aren't alive today. They are merely around. If they weren't sitting around me, I would think something is wrong. Nothing is wrong, so they are sitting around me. But they aren't very important today. My energy isn't bouncing off of them back to me. It is bouncing off my skin, back into my body, collecting as a strange knot in my abdomen.

Draft autosaved at 9:50 AM

I think I feel like throwing up. I just took a deep breath. I think I forgot to keep breathing for the last few minutes. My automatic physical processes aren't being very automatic today.

Draft autosaved at 9:58 AM

Time is of the essence.

I spoke in Church

Awesome. I was asked to give a talk in Sacrament Meeting today. My goal was to say what I wanted to say without saying more than I know. In church I tend to kick into the somewhat brainwashed-6-year-old testimony where I say what I know should be said. I tried to speak slowly and carefully so that only what I believe and feel good about came out of my mouth, nothing more. It's really not a big deal, what I could have said would be doctrine, most likely, but some things I just don't know for myself right now, and I feel dishonest if I teach something and don't believe it myself. I think the congregation probably felt what I was doing, and maybe it scared some of them, but I felt honest and good about it. Cool.

I’m ready for change of some kind. In 2.5 more months my contract will be up and I’ll have the opportunity to move if I choose to. I love the people I’ve met here at Melrose, but I’m ready for change. I want to live with Barbara, I think. And I want to have my own house rules rather than those set by someone who has lived here 3 years longer than me. I feel babysat sometimes and that’s weird. I’m excited for change. I love it. I hope to find somewhere very close to campus. No further away than I am now. Patrick lives even closer than me, kind of, so I’m going to call his landlady who runs all the places on 13th apparently. I want to see if there’s a small apartment like Patch’s opening in January. He pays 300 and lives with Shawn, so if Barbara and I found another roommate we could all just pay 200. Cool. I’m annoyingly excited.

I’m very happy with who I am. I enjoy thinking and being. I think in sentences. I didn’t realize this until Professor Jackie Farnsworth mentioned that most people think in pictures or something and she thinks in letters and words and sentences. I think in practically full sentences. Yet I think quickly. My mind jumps from one thing to another incredibly fast.

I’m listening to The Devil Whale’s cd, Like Paraders. It’s great. I have a crush on Brinton Jones: his v-necks, long necklaces, pretty hair, wonderful voice. Good, good music.

The other day a large mirror, like... 3.5’ x 4.5’ was leaning against a dead end sign by a house just down the street. I sat by it for a while. Funny, looking at myself in a mirror while reading DEAD END. Then yesterday I sat by it again and noticed it said Take Me in the dust, so I decided I wanted it. Today after I went running (3rd day in a row. Congratulations Jessie), I put on some gloves and brought it home. Now I need to find somewhere to put it. I’m happy about it though. Very happy.

I play the devil’s advocate often. I think conflict is crucial for learning. We learn the most from people we disagree with. But by being this way I find myself in situations where I’m being taught by a majority. Today, for example. I raised some conflicting points and was taught/lectured/told, 4 against 1, how I was wrong. But I wasn’t wrong. I could have told them everything they were “teaching” me. I know that side, I just want them to hear the other side. And sometimes it gets too intense and I feel bad for bringing up conflict, but other times, like tonight, I learn and enjoy myself. And always, I learn more about the people I’m with. And I love it.

I ran past a couple little boys today and one started running with me but stopped when his mom yelled after him.

Oh! I met an interesting person at the public library tonight. His name is John. He’s 20 or 21. He dropped out of school and spends all his time at the library. He’s an artist. He makes music (today he recorded “14.6 minutes of gold” called Oh! I’m Sober -- October), writes always (has 60 pages of a book written on his computer), and makes art via ink and watercolor. He got married in Vegas on “let me check.. yep. April 12th.” And is in the process of divorce. He does drugs, not bad kind, but not this month, it’s sober October. He has enjoyed this month though, he likes waking up clearheaded and feels productive, so he will probably stay sober for more than October. He recently got laid off at work, some kind of warehouse on 33rd, because he didn’t work. He wore a t-shirt that I recognized, an orange bandana around his neck, black pants, and black bootshoes. His ears are “ruined,” so he’s going to ruin them more. They are gauged to about the size of ...eh.. somewhere between a nickel and a quarter. He says he’ll just be an old grandpa with SUPER huge ears. He believes in love. “Love is the greatest thing you’ll ever experience.” I asked if he’s loved anything not human. He said he’s in love with his life, the way he lives. He loves to read. He is very spiritual. He can get into others’ spirituality if they allow him to and has seen others’ spirit guides. I told him he should read Autobiography of a Skeptic. I said, so you want to be a writer? He said, “I don’t want to be a writer, I am a writer.” I was walking down the stairs and he waved to me from the tables along the curved wall and motioned for me to come over. He looked like Trent Nelson but his ears were gauged so I knew it wasn’t. I sat and talked with him for about an hour, maybe 50 minutes, and hardly told him anything about myself. I also met his friend Nicholas and Nicholas's “friend who is a girl” named Chelsea. John said he’s at the library everyday, from 9 to 9, and that he doesn’t eat. So next time I’m at the library I’m to look for him on the 3rd floor. He has small brown eyes and a perfect smile. I hope his book gets published.

I brought a can of soup, a can of pears, a yogurt, and two capri suns to Patrick’s today and listened to music from Bob Dylan to Will Sartain’s Dad’s album, Home.

John the Writer told me that he and Nicholas are best friends but take breaks from each other when they feel they are hindering each other's growth. Maybe Barbara and I should take a break. I think we are hindering each other. :(

Life is good

Life is good lately.

Barbara and I ride the scooter everywhere.


Patrick wants to start up a basketball team.

I am happy.

Peep

This is my life these days.

Chariot

I can’t help but smile at the boy in the red shirt with the white shoes as he passes me in the library. With Page France playing at the perfect volume in my ears I’d smile at anyone. My smile turns to a quickened heartbeat as I watch him walk away, exactly to the beat. He must be listening to the same song. For 12 seconds he and I are thinking, breathing, living to the same rhythm.

http://www.myspace.com/pfranceee

The Union

The Olpin Union lawn. I love this area of campus more than my bedroom, perhaps. The honeylocust trees create the same shade in Centerville as in Salt Lake City. I lay on the usual "grassy knoll" and it's Sunday afternoon, I'm on my front lawn reading with Michelle, Rob, Sara, waving to passing neighbors, trading sheets of comics, falling asleep to the smell of grass. The sound of the Union bells brings me back to now and I smile as I listen to Barbara's bursting laughter, Patrick's countless stories, Alison's account of busy schedules. I hear music on my left ear from over there and music on my right ear from over there. Bicycles bicycles bicycles. A beautiful fixie that I envy so much, that impractical double-weld receiving the attention it asks for, the freespirit, the peugeot, the dawes. Somehow they water the lawn at an invisible time so the grass is not even damp for the hours we sit. Alison went crazy about the bugs. I don't realize they exist until Patrick killed the beetle. Last year I'd sleep on the grass between Physics and Calculus. I'd wake to nearby slack-liners laughing or to the heat of the now lacking shade or to the deep bells telling me I was late and I'd walk into class smelling of summer grass, the print of which still on my face and arms. This year I sit in circles of people. Add two friends, Hello Kyle, nice to meet you Blade, minus 1 friend, have fun in History, add a couple more, Hi Erin, Hi Tony, welcome to our circle, goodbye Barbara, Institute is overrated, class at 2, goodbye friends. Until tomorrow. I try to stay on the grass to keep away from the bankers, the club presidents, the proactive volunteers. If they approach me I look at my friends as we talk as to not give the salesman too much comfort. Just leave us alone; I have an account, he has too much debt, she's with that other credit union, no I don't want a credit card, my mom says I don't need one. Can't we just have that football? So many people, so many haircuts, so many shoes, so many friends, so many legs, so many sunglasses, so many loners, so many ipods, so many ideas, so many. Hungry for a brownie I pay a visit to Slim Jim with the bow-tie. Welcome everybody! It's impossible to walk with Alison, with Barbara, they know too many people. I would love to read my book, but I know I'd only move my eyes left to right left to right and stare right through all 1531 pages, accidentally listening to College happen around me.

Breakfast

My family went through different breakfast phases: the year of the cereal, the year of the hot foods, the year of the granola, the year of the fruit drinks. During my cereal days, I’d eat Corn Flakes, Chex, Rice Crispies, Wheaties, Raisin Bran. Usually two bowls, or at least not one. Dad would read from the Book of Mormon while I read the backs of boxes. Around my bowl I’d build a small fort to hide behind as I ate. Bigger, taller boxes were most desirable, but smaller ones would do. The worst were the milk cartons—they’re not even square—hardly wall-like. I’d recommend using the cereal boxes that aren’t as popular. If two walls are up and you’re choosing between Life cereal and Raisin Bran for the third wall, go with Raisin Bran. This way you are less likely of being asked to pass your wall mid-read. Also, check to see if the asker really needs the box of cereal or if they are just trying to build a fort of their own, because breakfast forts are definitely in these days.

Bikes

Yesterday was fun and good:
-Earned 90 dollars donating plasma.
-Helped Colin, who is being evicted from his apartment, move to Angie’s.
-Went to noodles and co. with Colin and got pasta fresca. Jessca Fresca
-Sat on Colin’s neighbors porch drinking beer (and Arizona raspberry iced tea) with the neighbors, including a couple boys who work at the bike shop where colin and I bought our bike lights. One of them has an awesome tattoo mid forearm. It’s just two stripes, one thicker than the other. It’s great.
-Rode home with Sara and Ashley.
-Had a fun family bbq with everyone but deb scott and john. Clark, michelle’s bf, was there, as well as dave liffereth and heather rigby. We talked about and ranked our favorite fruits.
-Played old-fashion numchuck throwing game and tether ball for eva. My arm kills. Clark and I had to call a tie because our game was going so long and it was getting to dark to see anything but the light gleaming on the edge of the swinging ball. We had to just jump in front of it.
-Rode back home with sara. I love her so so much.
-Rode my bike around slc for a while then met up with Carter. We were chased away by sprinklers twice, talked about lighting on my face, and thought of at least 45 ways to commit suicide.
-Woke up today surprised to find Barbara, a new friend, in my roommates bed, rather than my roommate.

I want to learn about energy. I will go to the library. I haven't been there for months!

I had a super spiritual dream two nights ago. It freaked me out. I tried meditating in bed but fell asleep, then had a dream about God. I woke up feeling pretty drained and had a hymn stuck in my head. ?!?!?

Good books: Angela's Ashes and 'Tis. Both by Frank McCourt. He makes me want to write.

Today is lazy. It's what happens when I have to do laundry. There's an invisible war going on in the laundry room. Every time I go in there are new loads in the washer or dryer and my clothes will be wet, sitting atop the washer. I'll get it all through eventually.

I want to ride my bicycle. I want to ride my bike. I want to ride my bicycle. I want to ride it where I like.

Bye.

sicle.

Forgetfulness

Forgetfulness
by Billy Collins

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the hearbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the name of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L, as far as you can recall,
well on your way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

Nothings

I sneezed in Physics while my pen was in my hand and I thought I had a mark on my nose. I needed a mirror. Or a friend.

I have decided on my answer to "Everything happens for a reason" and it is "False." Maybe there is a reason for everything that happens, but not everything happens for a reason. As a god believing person I think I'm supposed to think everything happens for a reason, but nah. I just don't agree. And maybe you can find something that comes from any given event, but the event doesn't happen to fufill this something, the something just happened to come about because of the event.

Bored of that already.

Guilt. There's an interesting subject. But I don't feel like elaborating on that one either. Maybe another day.

The other day I was watching a girl. She was sitting near me for a while. Then another girl walked into the room then back out a few seconds later. In those few seconds the girl I was watching looked girl #2 up and down then made a face of dislike. The expression was gone pretty quickly. It made me wonder how often I make facial expressions that I don't necessarily mean or want to be remembered for.

Funny that I saw a friend text someone unknown while smiling and it made me jealous. Kidding. Not funny. DUMB.

"It's hard for me to like her. She reminds me of someone from high school that I didn't like very much."
"That's like Japanese women for me."

Ha. I just remembered when a boy at church who served in a Spanish speaking mission spoke in Sacrament Meeting and referenced John as Juan without catching himself.

I'm sleepy.

Rant for Respect

I'm trying to lucid dream. I checked out a book from the library called Exploring the World of Lucid Dreaming by Stephen LaBerge and Howard Rheingold. It's teaching me how to lucid dream. I've yet to have one. But I'll get there. I feel very close :)

Sometimes if I'm holding my foot weird my arch will start to cramp up and almost do a charley horse, but I can move my foot before it happens. I've never had a full on charley horse. Then last night happened. I woke up and almost yelled/screamed in pain and I'm not a screaming in pain type of person. It was like my calf muscle was being squeezed between two planks or something. I can't describe it. It was the worse muscle cramp I've ever had. I couldn't move my leg. I had to just curl up and fall back asleep. I learned that I should have massaged it out. It was super sore today because of it. Seriously the weirdest thing, being woken up by that. Word is I should eat more bananas. Or drink more water. Or do a headstand before bed each night. Or touch my nose then jump three times then say magic 5 times then get in bed all in 4 seconds.

The following paragraphs are one continuous thought but for easier reading I'm breaking them up. Prepare yourself for my rant. They're rare.

So I'm getting a little annoyed. I don't usually get annoyed. I am a pretty relaxed person when it comes to getting along with people, even if they are crazy. But when it comes to the point where I feel like strangling someone I think I should do something about it, eh? My roommate Kylie is driving me insane. We are so opposite of each other it's almost funny. But it's not because she's so irritating. She does not understand that I love more than anything going to concerts and going to gallery strolls and to the library and to film festivals and such. I may leave my dorm alone on the weekends and sometimes spend the whole night alone, but I am completely satisfied with that. I often meet up with people I know and love to be with either by coincidence or on purpose, but if I don't, I don't care one bit. I love doing things by myself too. I've learned enough about myself in the past few months that I can keep myself entertained for days and days. She doesn't understand this at all. A weekend to Provo to go to a concert and to stay overnight with my sister is one of the most fun things I can do, but when she hears my plans for the weekend she says, "Jessie.. You're killing me.." And she's for real. It's literally painful for her to see what I do for fun.

There's a concert on Thursday at Kilby Court. It's Seve vs. Evan. I've seen them plenty, but a few fun friends are going to be there and it will be a great great dance party. I'd rather go to this than almost anything on Valentine's Night because it's a terrible holiday, but the girls are going to dinner. Kylie and her bf Tyler, Kristen, Chelsea and her friend Brett from down the hall, maybe a kid named Grant and a girl, etc.. they're all going to dinner. But I don't really want to go. Sure they're great, but combined, they just aren't the group of people I want to be seen with, honestly. This group is like the people form high school that you were so different from that you wouldn't even acknowledge them at the grocery store when only 2 of you were walking down the isle. I'm totally the odd one out. I don't mind, but I'd rather be doing something else with other people. I love Chelsea, my room roommate. I could spend hours with her, but she fits in with the group much better than me. Anyways, today right before we went to workout, Kylie said, "Jessie, you can't come to the gym with us unless you come to dinner Thursday." I said "No deal." I just wish she'd understand that the things she finds super fun I find super lame.

I'm perfectly okay with her hating my DI clothes, my weird hair, (oh, that's another thing. She always gives her opinion on my hair. Always. Today she said, "Jessie, you know how your hair is this length but choppy and layery? I think you should grow it out longer but keep it layery and choppy." She has commented on what she thinks I should do with my hair so much that I don't even respond to it anymore. I look at her while she talking but don't comment back and she doesn't think twice about that) my weird outfits, my odd music, whateva. I don't care that she disagrees with everything I am, but she has no room to try to change me. I am her opposite in almost everything. We really don't have anything in common. She's very "my way or the highway" style. And I refuse to do anything her way. Not just because I'm stubborn and rebellious like that, but also because her way is completely repulsive in all ways. I would bring this up with her, but honestly it would not change a thing. I'm very lucky to have Chelsea as a roommate. We have opposite views on PLENTY of things, but we respect each other enough to not care at all in the end. It's so great.

The weirdest thing about this is that I rarely get mad. I've been mad at my little brother a couple times and my parents a few times, but I'm over it very quickly. I don't hold onto things. So for me to actually be frustrated by someone is saying something. That's how bad it is. I guess what it boils down to is respect. If she would respect me enough to leave me alone I'd really, really appreciate it and probably genuinely respect her for that. Jeez. Girls are dramatic. I'm such a girl.

I like being busy.
I don't like being poor.
I like school.
I don't like Charlie horses.
I like getting to know new people.
I don't like being tied down by anyone.
I like freedom.
I don't like roller-skate blisters.
I like gauged ears. Sometimes.
I don't like any other facial piercing.
Except nose.. jewels? dots? I like nose dots.
I don't like girls.
I like boys.
I don't like dermographic urticaria.
I like chocolate fountains and pineapples.

The end shmend.

Thinking, Falling, Dancing (2.10.8)

One of the more awkward one seconds, I have found, is when the boy opens the door of the car, the girl climbs in, then for about 1 second, the girl just has to sit there while the boy shuts the door. For some reason that one second is ridiculously weird feeling. It's odd to already go for the seatbelt when the car won't be moving for another 15 seconds at least, but it's weird to just sit and stare at nothing. And never for the 7 or so seconds it takes for the boy to get in the car is my mind just resting. It's always racing with thoughts about who knows what. I may or may not be alone on this one second of awkwardness.

I fell so hard at Classic Skating. I fell 3 plus one half plus one half times. The two halves barely counted, but the last full out fall was Bad. I was cruising around the curve a little too fast and just completely ate it. But do not worry; I caught myself with my elbow and hip. Man it hurt. I had to get up and just casually make my way over to the bench with the body language of, "oh that? That didn't hurt at all. Really. I just got tired all of a sudden, that's all." I've always been like that, ever since I was little. I'm too tough to show when I get hurt. I don't like the sympathy and attention. I feel awkward. So I fake.

Oh cute, I just found a cute bruise on my knee. I think bruises are cool looking. I also have battle wounds on my anklebone from the inside of the roller skate. I like having injuries to show off.

It's amazing what dancing can do. I went to a concert. It was medium fun. During the last band I started feeling really drowsy, so I got up and started to dance. Then Tyler and Michelle did too. And then everyone around us did too. People were smiling and laughing and pointing. I was 10 times happier than I was mere minutes before. I got gross and sweaty but didn't care one bit. I love dancing. I used to hate it, but then I stopped caring about what I looked like. Now I love it.

I should work on an art project. Goodnight, computer keys.

’ffects of Irregularity. (2.8.8)

My neck is stiff. My hips are sore from working out with little Ty. My throat goes sore if I don't drink water every couple of moments. "Are you feeling healthy and well today?" Only if sleep works miracles.

nothing, nothing, nothing, then BAM. Multiple somethings. Please, for my own convenience, would you all meet up and talk out your plans of attack so I'm not put into the spotlight. But it is all put in perspective by Alexis. Thanks Marie.

Twenty six connected squares of Js, 18 connected squares of Bs. Jessie wins.

I scared my lovers. They thought I was dead. She said, you're the kind of person who would climb into a stranger's car and never come back. I felt terrible for being irresponsible. Eerie sponsible people are dumb.

Recent dreams and how I felt in them:
Witnessed a shooting; important.
I woke up and got ready for physics when I really didn't and was late; annoyed.
Walked around in high heels; proud.
Brother/mother Brian was 19 again; curious.
Brother Jared died for the second time in my dreams; sad.
Bought a new pair of white shoes; excited.

Ryan made lucid dreaming sound undesirable, but I still want to do it. Note to self: check out some sort of How To Lucid Dream book at library.

Goodnight Moon and Chelsea.