two weeks is a long time for a lot to happen

writing

Two weeks. It has been two weeks and I am committed to this blog. Things have changed so much since then and yet I feel myself thinking that every day. Every seven years we are living in brand new flesh and that fascinates me to no end. My best friend, Ed wrecked his car. Just to get a french fry from a bag of fastfood, a simple thing I have done many more times than I can count and a sweet middle aged womans’ car was sitting, crumpled inside of the nose of his car. Wrecked. His car, I thought. “My life..”, he thought. Well, no one was hurt and boy were there a few of us in there and that is the most important thing. We still have each other. We still exist. I’ve been around, lending my car here and there while I figure out my next move and get way too drunk at a party and start painting with bodily fluids and dancing to team sesh or brand new until 7am. I have been thinking every single day, “wow I need to write” because I ran out of canvasses, which may not be all of a bad thing since I just started to finish a bunch of really old stuff that I had the audacity to post online circa 2011 and they look awful and I wanted to die (that year was such a mess).

 

I drove to Tampa and made giants bubbles with my sweet friend, the unicorn and played in the leaves. She is the most beautiful unicorn I know and he’s so sad and stressed out because I guess its a normal thing for people in their 30’s to drop their friends for no reason to appease someone (that sounds like something but definitely not love) and oh I’m always so in love with the aesthetics of her and her life and I love her so much I never know what to say but to me its wild to just not be a friend to someone to satisfy your relationship. It sounds awful, like some kind of an existential dictatorship. She got drunk and I was awake all night reading the hard cover copy of Hyperbole and a Half and it made me think about a time when that book was 100% a mirror of my life and how my friend who wrecked his car told me he read it and it reminded him of me and (siiiigh)

 

I am moving into this beautiful art house with all of these actual people just because I do’t want the household to crumble as it might and god forbid because I love these guys and they are my friends and we’re just going to make art and I am going to breathe deeply outside for no reason because I mean 4 people plus guests at any given time is a lot to deal with for little old me and I need my space and my unicorn time.

a transitional period for hundreds of buttons in a tin

Uncategorized Posts from the blog

It’s four days before mothers day, so I guess my own mother decided to appropriately use the holiday to soften the blow of telling me she’s gonna sell the place I have been living and subleasing from her in two months. I took it well considering this particular month is the financial collapse resulting from a bad decision and a dedication to fun that is totally unwarranted. My domain name, http://www.camicamirobot.com, over drafted my account so I have no money for another two weeks and now I need to save up for a new one by July.  I still smiled when I saw a few baby blackbirds bathing in a puddle this morning, on my way to an antique store to listen to them briefly tell me they don’t sell antique Asian dolls and would  be closing soon to attend a funeral.

At any other point in my life, I swear a day like today would have crumbled me but I spent all day yesterday painting with Holly and I was happy.  She woke up with a cold and I made her some tea and got medicine and I realized later on that we are all broke because we help each other and I wouldn’t trade my lending or fun for anything else in the world. I had Ed Hopper in the passenger seat next to me, with Holly and Dalton in the back and we were driving through Tarpon Springs via alt. 19 through a sea of beaten up Gyro and Cuban shops and everything was bright and Ed was going on about the difference between the world with glasses and the washed out world he sees with just his glasses on and I couldn’t even pay attention because I was too lost in thought about my friend who draws comics and pedophilia and counseling and the unfair judgement of society and its refusal to even offer help to an entire population of people that exist in the world and meanwhile later I would get a text message about my living situation that can only be described as annoying and I’m not scared by it or anything at all and realistically, one of my only concerns is where I am actually going to keep all of these vintage buttons. Buttons from when my Grandmother was in school for Fashion Design, years long ago that I could swear the people and flowers and places lacked pigment and she looked at photos of her Hat Model mom who wrote poetry and was distant and sad and all I do with them is keep them in this fucking tin on my floor.  I wonder if someone would buy them and love them and transform them into things and help me pay my rent, but even if I don’t sell them they deserve a better fate that what has been dealt. Its a prolonged transitional period and they deserve to live a little. Until then I will keep making strange button mandalas out of them as per my morning ritual. Wish me luck in my life, friends. I feel like I’m just being blindly optimistic at this point.  I should be scared but I know deep down I did this on purpose because I love a little challenge.