floating

i am avoiding. i am avoiding. i am avoiding. a void. ing. thinking. writing. feeling. making sense. yet all the while hoping to sort out some clarity about the tangle i am in.

tangle. tang. sweet yet tart. tasty. lovely.
mangle. destroy. malign. disfigure.
tang+mangle=tangle.

yep, still avoiding while i'm also being random. or dramatic. take your pick.

so, nathania, what is the dilemma you are avoiding?

the same old story: i do not trust.









men.



well, i do and i don't. but tonight, i have found a lot more don't than do. and it's not so much that i don't trust because i have been hurt {because i have been hurt by people i love and trust so much it hurts in that good, stretchy sort of way} but because i have been hurt by folks {thinking of two specifically} who try to make it my fault for even asking for what, only moments ago, was so freely offered. it's the venom of dishonesty and lash outs that replaced eloquence and invitation and delight. it's the 2nd face i'm afraid of and i can't come out again despite how politely i've just been asked.


so there.

i'm in hiding a little. i guess. and that's okay.

but thanks too for asking so sweetly. if only for pointing out this confusion where the head, the heart and then other, significant bits are pointing in three different directions.





just don't ask me about the other, significant bits. i know where you stand so i'm trying not to tease. honest.

2 am

i've seen a lot of them come and go since early november.
at first i was talking a lot to someone
staying up late to the smell of two spirits, crushing against each other,
but now it's just a bad habit egged on by addictive books and adrenals too worn out to tell what's up and down these days.

so now that i am not getting enough sleep, it's easier to ignore dishes, slough off the assignments i have to do for the artist's way or take myself out on an artist's day, write a few long over due entries on my blog, balance my checkbook, get my expenses in order for taxes. paint. read plays. that sort of thing.

if i'm being harsh, i could judge myself under the umbrella words of avoiding, laziness and self-sabotage, or i can be a little fair and pull out gentler words like resting and hibernating. i need a day off not filled to the brim with family or work. better yet, i need my old two in a row.

and rather than whining about it more, i'm just going to deliver a few random thoughts before turning off the lights and praying for no more bad dreams {said addictive novels involve some scary-ish creatures}:

i used to be envious of my good friend ljl {and she knew about it because she's awesome and i could tell her}. she is lovely and sexy and feminine and as we would stroll down the isles of fremont pcc, i watched in awe as the wine stockers, deli workers and cashiers all fell under her charms. fell?...hmm...melted, actually because you had to douse them with cold water to be able to scrape them up off the floor in one chunk. like a messy puddle of wax.

i wanted men to be attracted to me. i wanted to be charming. and now i'm finding that i have a modest percentage of her capacity. enough to get me in trouble. lose friendships, or at the very least misplace them for an indefinite amount of time. current casualty count since october? 3 or 4 {depending on how you count}.

i am cautious.

the sound of trains at night opens a channel between my heart and the pit of my stomach and somehow my heart always feels a little smaller even after the sound fades and the channel closes.

my body is taxed but unfit to my liking.

i need to be asleep by 11:30pm sharp for the next three months.

i need to refuse any offer of milk-bearing food for the next two months.

i am tired.

i am sore.

i am frustrated and equal parts hopeful.

i am sad you can't meet me for coffee. {i refer to the above 4, no matter which way you count}

but i get to look forward to meeting you for coffee and not making the same mistakes i've made before.

now i must sleep.

merry christmas

a late day sun for you all.
the year is closing.
i have many thoughts ruminating in my head.
but i also have a train wreck of an apartment and a sink full of dishes.

more soon, my loves.

futile devices

oh sufjan, you're doing me well right now.
how do you manage such micro-bits of supreme beauty?
the first song off the new album is currently on repeat and it's only two minutes.

here are the video and lyrics:







lyrics:

it's been a long long time since i memorized your face
it's been four hours now since i wandered through your place
and when i sleep on your couch i feel very safe
and when you bring the blankets i cover up my face

i do
love you
i do
love you

and when you play guitar i listen to the strings plus
the metal vibrates underneath your fingers
and when you crochet i feel mesmerized and proud
and don't say 'i love you' without saying it out loud

it's hard, so i won't say it at all
and i won't stay very long
but you are the life i needed all along
i think of you as my brother although that sounds dumb
and words are futile devices.

at the picasso exhibit

"it took me four years to paint like raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child."

winter suns return

cloudy days broken by snippets of sun i keep forgetting to document for you all. today, success.

certifiably single

for the first time in nearly two years, i am completely and utterly single. no man is hovering on the horizon. no crushes are waking me up a little extra smiley and chipper in the morning. no nagging regrets about this or that relationship that should have could have worked out if only the stars were three degrees to the left.

nothing.



i



am




s
i
n
g
l
e.


and it's wonderful.
completely wonderful.

rewind

up until the weekend of my birthday party*, i had gained a lot of momentum with the artist's way. things were getting done. progress was a dear friend i spoke to every day. my home space was coming together and my artistic life was taking wing.

but a few things happened in the wake of that project. minor post-project depression {as opposed to it's evil twin, post-partum depression}. escapism. a relationship {of sorts}. and the artist's way stopped.



dead.



sure, i made paltry efforts, but i wasn't getting enough sleep, for some of it i was working 7 days a week 12+ hours a day, and since i wasn't being efficient in a lot of places it was the first thing to fall off. this isn't necessarily a surprising thing. week 8 is where people stop coming to groups, where suddenly it feels like a what's the point mentality takes over and generally where there is a huge hiccup in the process for most people.

but i wasn't completely wasting my time. quite the opposite. i was just diverted into personal growth, though while not directly about the act of creating work, still integral to my sense of self-worth, particularly as a sexual being {mainly, finally finding it in me to realize i do have worth there}, and those things have long been overdue in terms of needing attention and progress.

so here i am, rewinding the chapters back to 8 {the rest of the group is wrapping up chapter 12 at this point and tomorrow is our last meeting}. and i am re-greeted by the section on artistic losses. but with all things artistic, for me at least, the word can be swapped with personal and mean the exact same thing. personal losses are as vital for me to acknowledge as artistic losses when it comes to the safety and clarity of the creative space.


and here i am, ready to move forward in the wake of some personal and artistic losses all wrapped into one. and in the second page of chapter 8, i read:

the criticism that damages an artist {i would substitute person just as easily} is the criticism--well intentioned or ill--that contains no saving kernel of truth yet has a certain damning plausibility or an unassailable blanket judgment that cannot be rationally refuted...
...personal in nature, nebulous as to specifics, this criticism is like covert sexual harassment--a sullying yet hard to quantify experience. the student {person} emerges shamed, feeling like a bad artist, or worse, a fool to try.

i won't explain the specifics, but man, does this paragraph resonate on so many levels in my life currently. so here i am, mourning losses that are personal in nature and moving forward, with the glorious lessons they also taught me still firmly in hand. thank you.




*yes, i still owe you all a post.

spanish sahara

this is my day in a song.
thanks, matt, my second-night-of-thom-york-in-new-york-city friend.




so i walked into the haze
and a million dirty ways
now i see you lying there
like a lilo losing air air

black rocks and shoreline sand
still that summer i cannot bear
and i wipe the sand from my eyes
spanish sahara the place that you´d wanna
leave the horror here
forget the horror here
forget the horror here
leave it all down here
it's future rust and then it´s future dust
forget the horror here
forget the horror here
leave it all down here
it's future rust and then it´s future dust

now the waves they drag you down
carry you to broken ground
though i find you in the sand
wipe you clean with dirty hands

so god damn this boiling space
spanish sahara the place that you´d wanna
leave the horror here
forget the horror here forget the horror here
leave it all down here
it's future rust and then it´s future dust
i'm the fury in your head
i'm the fury in your bed
i'm the ghost in the back of your head

cause i am
i'm the fury in your head
i'm the fury in your bed
i'm the ghost in the back of your head

cause i am
i'm the fury in your head
i'm the fury in your bed
i'm the ghost in the back of your head
cause i am

forget the horror here
forget the horror here
leave it all down here
it's future rust and then it´s future dust
choir of furies in you head
choir of furies in your bed
i'm the ghost in the back of your head

cause i am
choir of furies in you head
choir of furies in your bed
i'm the ghost in the back of your head

cause i am
choir of furies in you head
choir of furies in your bed
i'm the ghost in the back of your head
cause i am

#1 thing i didn't want to learn today:

that the ugly corporation that just bought the gorgeous building {lovingly maintained since 1915} will be renovating it {destroying all its old world charm} and evicting us all under this thing called "just cause eviction." we found this out not because they have given us any notice, but because my neighbor happened to approach an apartment that has already been asked if they have 50 units available for us to start viewing now. they wouldn't be approaching other buildings if they didn't already have all the permits in line.

my heart is breaking.

my beautiful home....

a slice of humble pie

i need to rewind a bit.
essentially backwards two entries to "the letter i wish you had written."
it was out of line.
passive aggressive all wrapped up in pretty paper.

debating deleting it, but for now it'll stay.
painful proof i am not perfect
and still have growing up to do.

suns and silhouettes

much like life these days, the light and dark of things living and breathing side by side.

the letter i wish you had written

dearest nathania,

thank you so much for the time you have given me. it's been a gift, a delight, a light shining down on this turning point in my life that i made in the wake of meeting you. i have enjoyed every moment you've shared with me and all the ones in between.

yet here we are, at a parting of ways, and while i can't possibly explain to your satisfaction the reasons why i can't continue forward in the same direction as we have been going, know that in all the words yet to be spoken {or not}, all the spaces and silences to come, that i don't regret the paths we explored and the time we shared. you are a captivating creature, one that i love and am proud to call a friend.

you have breathed new life into quiet spaces and that has left me gratefully yours,

t.

now switch the names and know that i do find softness to share in hard places, but you don't seem to want it right now, so here it is. perhaps for you to find another time.

two weeks' worth of envelopes

two weeks ago i received the first of the international envelopes to return. yipee for flying across seas & spanning continents and find me. they hailed from ilz, austria and toronto, canada. thank you mom & dad {the latter of whom called and didn't leave a message at 4am austrian time time to ask a question about mixing color}. thank you, cam & princesses lauryn & erin.

the second week followed up much the same with envelopes from england, australia, a few local friends from washington state unable to make it to the party and then another from down under. thank you marcus, tara, martin {and lilian}, sunshine farm {guy, rachel, renae & not to baby jesse}, & sahra!

currently listening to: the mix at my current favorite coffee perch, roy street coffee in north capitol hill.

obstacles & illusions

{to be read as part 2. to the thank{s}taking post on 11.25.2010}

my brother-in-law told me something a few years ago i've never forgotten:

if one person says you're an asshole, they're having a bad day.
if two people say you're an asshole, then you're having a bad day.
if three people say you're an asshole, maybe you're an asshole.

i'm not sure what it is about that lucky number three that makes something stand apart and forces the lesson to be learned, but it's always the third one that seems to drive a point in.

for me, this lesson came in the form of the third man to step up this fall, and not only acknowledge his attraction to me as a woman, but his deep appreciation of.......who.......i.......am : the vivid bits of emotional intensity and color that i have always assumed to be too much for men to get. too much for them to see, too much to enjoy and always and forever too much to appreciate. and yet, here they are. ducks in a row. loving/appreciating me in whatever way they can and i am grateful for that.



because...



because........








because for pretty much my whole life up until about a week ago {almost exactly} i convinced myself that even if i somehow managed to have a scrap of physical attractiveness borrowed from the fine feathers of the moment or perhaps flattering lighting or whatever else i can attribute beyond the inherent physical quality of my body, that even then, my overwhelming beingness of nathania would be too much for men. they would turn away before blinded or drowned {pick your metaphor as long as it's negative}.

and that's how i've walked forward in my life. step by self-negating step. and as much as my confidence has grown and i have even lived into wonderful moments of true feminine boldness, the fundamental belief i had for myself was always as above.

but the first stepped forward in october, the second in november, and now, a week ago, toeing the line of december, a third man moved toward me, however briefly, to whisper my worth to him into my ear, reminding me one last time of something i should have already learned long ago:

that men are capable of seeing the full dimensions of my beauty
&
that mine is a beauty that lasts.

so here i am. marveling at this new self-perspective that i wear quite well on some days, and fold-up and put back on the shelf on others. but it's slowly incorporating itself into my being and i can be patient in the meantime.

and now the other similarity between these men: despite their ability to look at the full brilliance of me and smile into the warmth of my sun, there are things getting between us. the first, the obstacle is himself, the second, one timezone, two mountain ranges & more than a few states, and the third, simply the product of a misalignment of time and space that whispers a faint chorus of what if. but here we are. apart. and that's okay.

because:

i have also discovered i can be more patient about this than ever before, because for the first time i don't feel the threat that the apartness is somehow linked to my worth {or lack thereof} but rather to what i believe to be a complex network of chance and fate. and one day, there will be a one man and no obstacles and we will be brilliant, each on our own, and together.




currently listening to: any other name -- thomas newman

a return

it should come as no surprise that he came to me, but it was, even though i should know that he always returns when i do.*

............................................................
............................................................

last night, i flipped a bird to my dirty dishes i need to wash, my checkbook i need to balance, my bills i need to pay, my neat piles of laundry that need to be hand-washed, mended or ironed, and even the next chapter of the artist's way that i need to read; all insulted in order that i could paint. it's been a while since my creative self has been used. maxed out in the wake of creating and distributing a wide scale {for me} collaborative project {yes, i think just about everyone's received their envelope finally, so i'll announce the details soon}, i went dormant for a while. hibernating in extended phone calls and novel-length text messages to the friend i announced meeting on the same day the first envelope was returned {see here if you've forgotten}.

and what a lovely return it was. one that no matter how many times i make it, it never ceases to surprise me how effortless it is to be alive in creative spaces. and alive in a way that only today, i was able to articulate that is not possession of creativity, or my ability to create, but merely in a state of perpetual wardenship to this force that i present myself to and it passes through me, bypassing all conscious decision-making skills and dialoging only with a set of pre-verbal instincts that are crystal clear in their process from intention to manifestation, even if they don't let me in on the process. the painting last night happened and suddenly i'm ready to place the finishing touches on it and how did i even get there? it was thrilling.

and so, last night, as my reward, or rather as proof of reuniting me with my creative self, thom yorke paid a visit. it was backstage after a concert and somehow i was there slightly on the sly. i was hoping no one would notice and kick me out. he was taking care of post-show business including signing stacks of posters fans had put out for him to autograph. i had slipped a few into the stack and he asked me to help him pick out which ones to sign. i noticed he had already selected mine and somewhat flattered, i had gone through the stack picking out the most interesting looking posters {one from the bends, one from hail to the thief, etc. it was this quiet bonding time that was interrupted when others joined us. there was talk of future concerts and he invited another person present {randomly i think it was someone i knew from highschool} who had been helping him to come backstage the next time he was in seattle. my reaction of shock and awe was such that he turned to me and included me in the invitation. that somehow opened a door between us and suddenly we're talking about the spring tour, coachella, the magic of the 2nd new york city show and i saw that he got it. he got me. i wasn't shy or nervous, i just was, and he appreciated it. and when they asked him who he'd like to drive him back to the hotel, he gestured to me and said her and i realized he didn't even know my name yet, which was fine, he would.

there was more, and i woke up after and had the sudden mid-night-mid-morning-too-early urge to get up and write it all down, because this was the closest we have ever been and it was a relief.



*again, i feel i should repeat in case the reader forgets, i know that thom yorke in my dreams is not about the man, thom yorke, but the idea of the penultimate artist that he represents.

currently listening to: fog - radiohead

i'm behind

i owe you many stories. many words. many moments.

but tonight is mine and it's reserved for sufjan stevens and painting.






see you tomorrow? perhaps.