Supermarket in California

A Supermarket in California

by Allen Ginsberg

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for

I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache

self-conscious looking at the full moon.

In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went

into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!

What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families

shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the

avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what

were you doing down by the watermelons?

I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,

poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery

boys.

I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the

pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?

I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans

following you, and followed in my imagination by the store

detective.

We strode down the open corridors together in our

solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen

delicacy, and never passing the cashier.

Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in

an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?

(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the

supermarket and feel absurd.)

Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The

trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be

lonely.

Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love

past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?

Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher,

what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and

you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat

disappear on the black waters of Lethe?

Berkeley, 1955

Cried, and then cried some more...

Atonement.

I don't know what possessed me to watch it.  Without a doubt it is the most depressing movie I have ever seen.  I've seen my fair share, but this one...it's indescribable. 

I warn you, the only moderately happy part of this film is the first three minutes.  

*spoilers*

When Briony is an old woman, talking about her novel in a interview, she tells of Robbie and Cecilia's death.  "Robbie Turner died of septicemia at Bray Dunes on the first of June 1940, the last day of the evacuation." "She was killed on the 15th of October, 1940."  A bomb struck London and lead to the flooding of a subway station.  

You then see Robbie's blank face, and Cecilia drifting dead in the water. By that point, I was bawling.  I know, I know it's just a movie.  If you've seen it though, you probably know what I'm feeling.  

Wheat Free Granola & Oysters

I came home from school today ravenous with hunger!!  Being a person sadly burdened with food allergies, I have to pick and chose what I eat carefully.  There was yogurt, no good...I'm lactose in tolerant.  There was cereal, no good...I'm "sensitive" to wheat products.  I continued my quest and ended up rummaging through the pantry.  Success! I found wheat free granola!  It's interesting, but kinda dull, stale, and loaded with calories.  Literally, half a cup is 300 calories.  My stomach was making animal sounds, and I needed food a.s.a.p.  I ended up having the calorie loaded cereal.  It was nasty, to say the least. I continued my search for food, and this time I found oysters!  Woot! Perfect, loaded with protein, and Omega-3s....or so I thought.  It was a disaster.  They tasted like ash.  My stomach was left unsatisfied.  

In the end, I toughed it out until dinner then gorged myself on Chinese take-out!  Eggplant with garlic sauce, yumm...

 

My intense dislike...

I really, really, really hate major clothing corporations.    

Any stores like Hollister, Abercrombie, American Eagle...*cringe.*

First off, the clothing is horribly made, the quality is shit.  Not to mention, everything is made in oppressive factories of Cambodia where harsh labor laws are enforced.  Who are these designers trying to please anyway, teenagers focused on looking like tramps?? 

Have you ever walked into Abercrombie? (Not Abercrombie and Fitch)  Giant poster sized pictures of 12 year old boys, shirtless, surround you!!  

I could go on a long endless lecture about the many problems I have with America's apparel...but I'll hold back for now.

One more thing:

Here's a jaw dropper: The clothing made for Old Navy is made in the same exact factory as Gap. The fabric is the same yet, Gap charges an average of $3o more. Hmmmm...  

   

As for me, I shop at thrift/secondhand stores.  I guess I refuse to directly feed into "the man."

In times of despair

If you're ever horribly upset...

And like foreign films...

And Audrey Tautou...

And French culture...

Watch Amelie!  It's endearing, and uplifting.  The score by Yann Tiersen is quirky, and compliments the movie perfectly. 

  

HUMIDITY

It's here.

Everything seems sticky, and muggy.  My hair has reached maximum levels of frizzz.  I kinda resemble those girls from the Garnier Fructise commercials.  Ya know? The ones with really sleak shiny hair until...they stand in a greenhouse and everything goes haywire.  

*Sigh* the many wonders of summer...

Mazzy Star

"Rhymes of an Hour"

By Mazzy Star 

Cannot hear what you're saying

Could I tell you so

And I can't believe my troubles

And I'm going home

Lie and Sleep

Under Deep

You Know

While the cold winter waiting

While it's turning cold

All these things we were searching

Now we just don't know

Lie and sleep 

Under Deep

I think you Know

For the rhymes of an hour

Now I'm going home

And I can't believe I'm nothing

'Cause I'm coming down 

Lie and sleep 

Under Deep

Do you know..?

Joseph Fiennes

Happy Birthday!

My inability to rely on my own perspective...

This semester I'm taking Art Foundations. It's a class focused on the basic techniques of art. I didn't mind it for awhile but, now I dread the arrival of 7th period...

The teacher, Mrs. Salinger, treats favoritism like a religion. You're either the kid who tries, sucks at art, kisses the teacher's ass, and somehow manage a good grade. Or, you're me: you have minimal artistic talent, and don't kiss the teachers ass, and therefore barely manage a C.

A while ago, we were assigned a project. The goal was to make a contour line drawing of a shoe, any shoe. Some chose point shoes, work boots, Converse, whatever. I, however, made the horrid mistake of picking an old very small baby shoe. Cute right? My initial thought was, "Sweet, I don't have to do as much drawing." Think again. When I say old I mean decades, this shoe was cracked/mangled/dried out/faded/you name it. I don't do art like that, I'm expressive, not descriptive with my drawings. I don't want to focus on the tiny edges of each crack. Of course, I still tried. What a sad attempt it was...the shoe looked a ping pong mallet with laces. So, in steps my art teacher. She looks at my pathetic shoe and says, "Well, okay...I can help you with this, do you mind if I just sit," she motions towards my chair which I gladly give up. For the next ten minutes she draws very lightly each crack, and wrinkle exactly where it should be! Hurray! My problems are solved. I simply darken her lines, and my drawing looks decent. So, for the next couple projects I had a certain routine:

1st- Attempt to draw the object, fail miserably

2nd- Kind of complain/wine about it to the teacher

3rd- Allow the teacher to budge in and help

It worked for awhile, until about two weeks ago. Our final project of the year was to create a still life at home, and complete a contour/textural rendering. I decided to include a rubber ducky sitting on a sneaker, with sunglasses propped up against the shoe. It seemed cool. Then I came to realization that had to draw this design by myself. Dun, dun dunnn...

I managed to draw the shoe okay, but that god-for-saken-rubber ducky was impossible! Them, of course, I seeked the help of my teacher. I showed her a picture of my design, and she "helped" me draw the rubber ducky...I proceeded to fill in the lines that she put for me, and all was good.

Unfortunately, not for long. Now I have to fill in the the contour line drawing with "textural patterns." In other words, I have to make cool looking doodles all over the drawing that actually creates unity amongst the rendering. I'm working on it...but failing miserably. I kinda want to ask the teacher how the hell I'm supposed to create such "harmonious patterns."

Moral of the story:

Either, stay clear of art classes, (if you know you're not an independent worker), or become an independent worker, and trust your artistic perspective!

The Many Wonders of May

It's that lovely time of year when the misery of humidity and mosquitos hasn't hit (yet).  The flowers look gorgeous, the grass is still green, and I can sleep comfortably.  However, to many high school students, such as myself, it seems like a tease.  We're blessed with nice weather, but we cannot enjoy it.  Instead, we must sit and listen to droning lectures from our teachers.  By this time of month I often find myself day dreaming.  I can't help it, that breath of fresh air is beckoning me...

Finals are just around the corner.  Honestly, those lengthy tests are the last thing on my mind.  I'm going to a new school next year, and the anticipation of leaving my horribly boring town is overwhelming.   

Envision lots of colonial houses.  They're all white- black- shuttered- homes, with hedges surrounding the front.  As you walk down the sidewalk you see either an old married couple out for a walk with their ridiculously small rat dog, or a another old married couple in church attire.  On especially awesome days you may even see someone within the ages of 20-30, it's unlikely though.  

Nevertheless, the town is beautiful, and yes...there are some decently nice people.   

A pretty exceptional movie

To those of you who haven't seen Across the Universe, I highly recommend it!  

Julie Taymor is brilliant.  It certainly did the Beatle's 

 justice, and the filmography is exquisite!  

So it begins

Today I read Emily Gould's article, "Blog Post Confidential" (here's a link) in the New York Times Magazine.  She writes about her somewhat confusing life on the web.  In a way, she set a warning sign to future bloggers. Clearly, I didn't follow... 

My "Rhymes of an Hour" are now on display.  I'll tell you about my monotonous life in New England, and my other life: California, (northern mostly) where I spend my summers.  Some call me a "hippie", others say I'm "bohemian," one thing's for sure, I'm not that average New Englander.  I don't live for days at the country club, in fact I strive off of insulting people who do.  I enjoy embarrassing myself, speaking my mind, and somehow I avoid confrontation at all costs.    I don't like being with girls as much as guys.  That may be do to the fact that I grew up with an older brother, and many crazy uncles/cousins.  Guys seem to be more fun, care free! Ya know? 

Enjoy...

"What a piece of work is man!"