Something I don't understand: why sometimes my statements are taken as law, as fact. I change my mind often. I vent. I do and say things sometimes because I'm scared shitless of what might come of it if I really said what I felt.
Interesting moment of the day: making out with my date to the sound of the world ending. Or, at least the canned digitally remastered sound of the world ending. I wonder how expensive it was to acquire that particular effect...
Other interesting moment of the day: having to fatten up a child's doll to look like an actual cherub and not a cheap anorexic oversexed piece of plastic. I have to think that companies do things like that in order to cut costs, but then that makes me think that perhaps corporations in general market oversexing in order to cut costs. If a piece of clothing is sparkly and only has two strips of fabric, we can sell it for ten times what it's worth and tell women it's clubwear! They'll love it! And so will the men! At least that's what we'll make them think!
And, final interesting moment of the day: Getting iced on for 30 seconds in 60 degree weather. The ice thing was last week, dammit! I blame Kim and her  brown druid cloak of doom...
I have GOT to stop working this late. Sleep, damn you RaeRae, Sleep!

It would appear, that in the popular consciousness, at least from what I've seen in the past six months or so, that 50 years of progress have been shredded and torched.

 - Feminism is a bad, man-hating institution that puts women as trying to be the same as men instead of equal and individual.
 - The abortion debate is growing, and now saying that abortion is an issue of a woman's right makes that person a murderer.
 - A man runs for president and all anyone can talk about is his race and religion.
 - California took away homosexual's right to marry.
 - Having sex outside of a relationship, much less outside of marriage, is considered an empty, dirty act, and being a virgin is touted as the only way to be seen with honor.

Maybe it's just the source of my perspective lately, and the fact that he who screams the loudest lately tends to be the socially conservative, but I feel like I'm the last of a dying breed, the promiscuous, cursing, free-thinking, intoxication-consuming, jaded angry bohemian.

Or perhaps I always was.

From: Freedom Writers
Erin: Maybe we should talk about art. Tito's got real talent, don't you think? You know something? I saw a picture just like this once, in a museum. Only it wasn't a black man, it was a Jewish man. And instead of the big lips he had a really big nose, like a rat's nose. But he wasn't just one particular jewish man. This was a drawing of all Jews. And these drawings were put in the newspapers by the most famous gang in history. You think you know all about gangs? You're amateurs. This gang will put you all to shame. And they started out poor and angry and everybody looked down on them. Until one man decided to give them some pride, an identity... and somebody to blame. You take over neighborhoods? That's nothing compared to them. They took over countries. You want to know how? They just wiped out everybody else. Yeah, they wiped out everybody they didn't like and everybody they blamed for their life being hard. And one of the ways they did it was by doing this: see, they print pictures like this in the newspapers, Jewish people with big, long noses... blacks with big, fat lips. They'd also published scientific evidence that proved that jews and blacks were the lowest form of human species. Jews and blacks were more like animals. And because they were just like animals it didn't matter if they lived or died. In fact, life would be a whole lot better if they were all dead. That's how a Holocaust happens. And that's what you all think of each other.

Xanga Username: angelwingfive, but I also have a dreamlog called nocturnfliers.
Xanga Birthdate: November 5, 2004. Ironically, I only built a site to be able to read a friend’s post about something I did a week before that that she used as a second-hand life lesson. She no longer updates, but I still post here almost religiously.
Xanga "Statuses":  I was in the very first batch of blogs that was chosen for “True” status. And I’m saving up my credits to someday get lifetime premium (because I am still a poor college student).
Xanga Profile Picture: A happy accident. I was trying to snap a picture with my camcorder of my hair for a project for design class, but I had the white balance wonky and I got an interesting angle of my face and shoulder too, in a Warhol-ish primary color thing.
First Xanga Friend:  Dinkerbelle, Addicted_to_Caffine (who has since changed his blog name and then dropped from blogging)
Xanga Friends: Gamerwoman3d, Sheepmonkey, FullofGrace27, strawberry_fields_forever, Jessica_Vaughn, bob_81624, bittersweet_ending, and then a bunch of people that have stopped blogging altogether.
Xanga Family: I think one of my cousins had a xanga back when it was popular.
Other Xanga Pals: Those, I will not be able to name them all. But I still have a special place in my heart for them, even the ones who try to seduce me online (hmmm… or should I say, especially…)
Xanga Likes: I’ve been around for a while, so I like the transition xanga has made from being a pre-socialnetworking socialnetworking site to a legitimate force in electronically published thought.
Xanga Dislikes: I’m still kind of sore that guestbooks don’t get used anymore. They’re not included at all in new sites.
Xanga Achievements: Cradle. Of. My. Little. Pony. You just had to be there.
Commenting Habit: I ask a lot of questions. I also go through welcome wagon a lot and comment on the noobs.
Timestamping: I reverse timestamp, actually, if I find something I wrote a long time ago that I never got a chance to post.
Protected Posting: I protected post sometimes, when there’s something really bothering me that I don’t want a big audience for. And a year or so later I un-protect it.
Xanga Themes: HATE them. When I started the dreamlog, it was a nightmare. A blog is not a cookie cutter. My xanga has the same Van Gogh painting up that I’ve had for a couple of years, and I will try to still use “Look and Feel” until, well, until I can’t anymore.
Xanga Pulse: I have almost 200 pulses, just of lines I make up in my head. I’m sure none of them make sense to anyone but me.
Xanga Plugz: I don’t personally use them, but I read plugged sites and comment.
Xanga Hopes: That we might not all descend into madness.

Hmmm... let's see... I insulted one close friend to the point of third-degree burn, had to talk to another about buying a sex toy for a prop onstage (both of these friends are male and a few years younger than me), my nose started running on the way to class, but I was carrying two bags and there was nothing I could do about it, I carried in half a sheath of blank computer paper to a busy eating establishment instead of leaving it in the car, my ballet class got kicked out of the basketball court we were practicing in halfway through a dance because we were in the way of a Phys. Ed. class, and, oh, I can't forget the one about drawing a measurement point on a wooden dowel and having it pointed out to me that my marking looked like a boob. And this was just today. Wow.
This semeseter, I get to experiment with long-term sleep deprivation. Now, this probably doesn't sound like a lot of fun, but to me this is going to be an interesting experience. This won't be in the stressed, fuck-I-have-to-get-this-done-by-eight-in-the-morning kind of sleeplessness, but almost a poetic, reaching into the morning and experiencing sunrise with eyes half open. And I have a seasoned veteran insomniac to help me.

I don't know that I could pick my scariest nightmare, really. The darkness that floods my mind has been reeling out torturous nightmares to interrupt my slumber since late childhood. I've seen riots, wars, epic disasters, torture, all manner of gore and tragedy. But madness... something in the threat of madness still chills me to the core. And that makes one nightmare stand out above the rest. The setting was in black and white, on a road near a railroad track. There was a thick fog, a drizzle, and I could see electric sparks crackle in the air. I was walking alone, there seemed to be no destination. Everything got darker, slightly ominous, then the street lights came on slowly. I kept walking. Up ahead, there was a streetlight that started flickering, and under it was a shadowed figure. As I got closer, I noticed it was a man in a black trench coat. I picked up my pace, determined to pass this man quickly. But, as I was cantering past me, I heard him whisper something: "Pieces of me are left in the grass, and I speak with a voice that cuts like glass..." Then he latched onto my wrist and whirled me around.  I looked straight at his face, expectant. There were deep scars in a diagonal pattern across his cheek, they somehow looked deliberate. His eyes were hollow. His grip tightened on my wrist. He laughed loudly and maniacally. I panicked, wrenched away from him, and ran. Ten or so steps away, I realized he wasn't chasing me. He wasn't even looking at me, but at the railroad tracks. There was a train coming. The roar of the engine was getting louder, almost muffling the sound of his laughter. He held out his arms, stepped forward, waited until the locomotive monster reached his platform, and let the train catch him. I woke up screaming, and didn't sleep the rest of the night. That image still haunts me so fiercely, that I made it the first line of a play I started to write a year ago but never finished, called "Roulette".

I just blogged about my scariest nightmare to enter The Uninvited Scariest Nightmare Contest for 1,000 credits. You can earn free credits too! Brought to you by The Uninvited - In Theaters January 30th.

*Disclaimer: to those of you who would read this post with shock and horror, I am not abusing these products, not do I thumb my nose at the proper use of Beauty-enhancing products. I do still have silly feminine aesthetic needs.*

There are two clauses in the Bohemian Credo that I apply to my everyday dealings: 1) Make something out of nothing, 2) Try to keep as few "something"s on your person as possible.
My art drives me as a human, but my current nomadic existence prevents me from having a huge studio, or really, even a permanent place to do my art. I spread newspapers on the floor to paint in my bedroom. I find my bed to also be my poet's perch. And so it is, as an artist, that I have to find as many uses for the materials I do have. And, it also happens, that, as a woman, the closest materials at my disposal are beauty products. Here is a list of al the artistic and practical uses I have found for the girly accouterments found in my bathroom:

 - Hairspray: Keeps shine off of prop mirrors onstage, fixative for drawings, re-shapes cardstock for masks, makes tracing paper more translucent for overlays, kills bugs, makeshift adhesive for when spray paint flakes off, blow torch (okay, that's actually an abuse of the product, but, hell, it's fun.)
 - Toner: gets ink/paint out of clothes, cleans out calligraphy pens, cleans wounds, hand sanitizer.
 - Nail glue: good adhesive for a collage, makeshift wound closer (when you're working with something wet and can't use a bandaid. Otherwise this use is just silly, and kind of bad for the wound.)
 - Nail Polish Remover: Paint thinner, paint remover
 - Eyeliner: adds smudging effect (which is beautiful when you use blue or green) to a drawing or painting, can blend and cover holes in something already painted (if you finish with hairspray to make it stay)
 - Lotion: good lubricant for casting a mold in clay.
 - Baby oil: adds translucence to thicker papers, if you finish with hairspray, I've used it as a barrier for dying fabric before.
 - Hair dryer: makes paint dry faster, creates cool effects of wind-blending if paint is really wet.
 - Sparkly eyeshadow: I've made sparkle effects with my calligraphy pen by writing out one letter at a time, and dusting with a bit of the powder over the letter before it dried. It looked amazing.

And, oddly enough, I've used art materials to do girly beauty-related things. I've used paint in face decorations that led out from my eye makeup before, I've put designs on clothes with duct tape and spray paint. And, I've fixed jewelery with wire and pliers and I've used heavy duty super glue to fix my shoes. So, what I've learned in these compensations is that what can adorn the beauty of the feminine form can adorn the beauty of art, and vice versa. And I've also learned that I'm poorer than I thought, but that's probably a story for another time.

First part of this post will be antics from my artistic endeavors.
#1: A couple of days ago, I was writing a poem, and got stuck, so I started drawing on my arm to get the creative... something, flowing. It worked, and I took a picture as kind of a souvenir.

Photo #2: Cleaning out my calligraphy pens yesterday left a really amazing pattern in the sink, so I decided to capture it all artsy-like, by turning off the lights, turning on the flash on my camera phone, and turning the entire thing at an odd perspective.

Photo #3: A drawing I did on my marker-board, that has some sort of sentimental value for me because I haven't touched it or erased it in three months.
 
The rest of the photos are just for fun.
Photo # 4: My one entire day as a brunette. (Long story, involved cheap purple kool-aid and a field of flowers.)

Photo #5: the remnants of the beer altar that used to be La Casa del A-Framo.

Photo #6: Ian and I came out of the Techionery one night in September after rehearsal, and saw the sky split in two (really it was the changing of the seasons, and a front was just blowing through) and it was so awe-inspiring and vaguely terrifying that we had to get a picture.

Photo #7: And, last, but sort of least, The world's Smallest Violin!

I read Post Secret, pretty much religiously, every Sunday Afternoon. As someone who is a fairly private person, it would seem odd for me to be so addicted to established entities that are dedicated to revealing personal secrets. And, technically, I'm not addicted to that part of the process. It's the anonymity that I love. The secret is let out, the pressure is released, without the personhood being compromised. And so, about six months ago, I let out a tester secret, something that was true but that when things were worked out more wouldn't need to be a secret for long. And the secret grew two more secrets, and now I'm posting them, just as a way to bring them closer to the light.

Private Side of A Man-Whore, One Month Later.

Posted by angelwingfive on 6/22/2008 3:33:00 PM
What happened since then? I moved back to town for school, and we've only been together once in the past three weeks. But we talk every couple of days online still. Last week He tried to get in contact with me three times in one day but missed me by just minutes each time and got impatient and logged off before I could message him back, and when I asked a friend if this meant he had something important to say, their reply was "Whoa, I thought it was a turn-off to girls when a guy loses control". The kicker: this happened just a day after making plans with me and then blowing them off. I don't understand this at all. All I know is I have to keep my guard up because feelings other than concern and sexual passion in this situation are absolutely emotional suicide.

I came to the theatre department as the resident playwright, gifted with words, beats, emotions. I have become a sought-after technical designer, as well. Four years working my ass off and all I want to do is be an actor. But this is an impossibility, even though I audition for almost every show. And opening night, standing backstage while everyone waits for their cue, I get so jealous I can't stand it. I feel like some selfish diva.

New/Old writing endeavor: keep short poems organized in envelopes. I used to do this when I was in high school, but when I started burning writing I was dissatisfied with, old drafts and such, it didn't seem practical to do things this way, since the poor poems were bound to be yanked out of their homes, re-read, and destroyed every time a fit of pyromania struck. But, artistically, I am trying this whole discipline thing, and so I will strive to be more productive and have a more healthy attitude towards my art, no matter how much it pains me. Actually, today and yesterday's sessions were rather relaxing, just meditating for a bit, and writing the first words that came to mind. This post signifies this new attitude. About a year ago, I started making one envelope into a work of art itself, and I have chosen it to be the first to be filled with poetry and poetic thought (still with the same rules as before: keep an odd number, up to 69, I can work on more than one envelope at a time, but the poems I create are solely for those envelopes, and cannot be used for any other literary endeavor). This is the back of the envelope:

Unfortunately, when I edited the scan, I didn't darken the pic enough to be able to pick up the variations in colors among the blue spotlight angles.
The following is a translation of the poem swirled in the blue lights:

Everything converges in the pale blue light
All things swirl in the reflection of night
Spirits slowly perish in oppression's flight
Malcontent emerges in my true love's slight
Everything converges in the pale blue light.
Wondrous is training in the gravity of might
Something makes me cautious cause I'm never right
Time stands still in waiting for the edge of night
Everything converges in the pale blue light.
Silver stars are turning at the speed of sight
Thoughts quickly scatter at the threat of blight
Answer, you must answer for the widespread plight
Everything converges in the pale blue light
Cellos whisper thunder on the stage so bright (must have been listening to Apocalyptica then)
Thousands of painted strokes get lost amidst the fight
I'm leaving you a message and I'm fleeing for tonight
Everything converges in the pale blue light.
Some strive for the lonely and some strive for the right
Never take for granted all the things exposed to light
They let them serenade you as their weary souls take flight
Everything converges in the pale blue light.
Underestimated charming keep themselves closed in your sight
Make amends to injuries that were caused by all the slight
Everything converges in the pale blue light.
Surveillance shows unfounded rumors of approaching might
I've been searched by all the experts that feel I'm causing plight
However fully trusting that this time they might be right
(And it should have ended with "Everything converges in the pale blue light" but instead, there wasn't enough room, and ended with a line from a song I wrote: "Don't leave me out there in the night" which, while a clever cover, throws everything out of whack, so I'm ending this the right way)
Everything converges in the pale blue light.