Agna

seen: across the street from the vortex theatre at central + buena vista, abq, nm

damn. she sure picked a fugly photo of me to plaster all over campus. the boys came back one afternoon, howling and falling all over themselves; i had to smack them a couple of times before one of them managed to spit out a complete sentence. then i had to go see it for myself. yeah, i admit- at first glance, i look like i've given up on life- huddled up in a corner, sitting on my tail, by the apartment's one and only heater vent. (i tell you, purgatory is real, and it is university student apartments). but-- that look in my eye? that's me plotting to get the hell out of there for good. and woman, please: if you gonna be wallpapering this town with flyers of my freezing, suffering ass, at least get the measurements right. "1 foot tall, 1 foot long"? i ain't no fuckin' rubix cube! i've slimmed down, too; i shed the late-night-domino's-hot wings-lickin'-tipped-over-beer-bottles weight when i got back on the street. and by the way-- "Agna"? there is no "Agna". i gots no name; pigs don't fuckin' name their kids, we too busy tryin to stay off the chopping block. naming is for folks who don't gotta worry about being eaten and shit. the human named me after a town in italy next to where she did her semester abroad. no one knew what it meant until she looked up "Agna" on a baby name website and found it meant "pure, holy". which i think is fuckin' hilarious because hello, i'm a pig, we aren't exactly dainty about our hygiene. i'm done with being owned by humans. ima ball 'till the day i fall, motherfuckers.

OOJ: Cargotecture!

courtesy of google images

today's OOJ comes courtesy of my new friend josh, whom i met on my flight back to abq from la. he is obsessed with the mindblowing world of cargotecture, where ppl (happily) make their homes inside of giant corrugated steel cargo containers. but wait, there's more: you can pimp out not just one, but multiple cargo containers, to create a multi-story cargotecture complex! the possibilities are staggering. if i lived in my own storage container, i could literally truck my home anywhere accessible by road or sea. no more need for moving boxes; i'd just leave everything inside of my container (maybe strap down the furniture). tempting. for those of you who've always reamed about living in your very own duplo block house, i give you... cargotecture!

http://urban-review.com/cargotecture

Block

there were days when she was certain she could create something beautiful. no delusions about a literary masterpiece or a mona lisa (damned if she knew what was so special about that portrait anyway)- simply a piece that would prove that she had something worth saying. days became years, and still this work never materialized; it remained a vague, gray-blue cloud lazily bumping against the walls of her intestines, unknown to anyone but herself. there were many times when she put pen to paper, paintbrush to canvas- and then her hand froze. what was it exactly that she was trying to say? something profound about love, life, inequality, or the pointlessness of human existence and struggle? hadn't everything worth saying already been said? unable to break out of this paralysis, she put down the pen and paintbrush.  tomorrow it will come, she told herself, and turned on the tv. 

over time, she paid less attention to the gray-blue cloud in her gut. attempts to appease it (or fulfill it?) always turned out disappointing and dissatisfying, and so she preferred to mostly ignore it altogether. it was easier to live without pondering the whys and hows of living, to just go through the motions alongside everyone else, who presumably were also just going through the motions of life: working, eating, paying bills, going out, raising children, feeding pets.

then came a time when she met someone who, seemingly overnight, came to occupy all of her mental and metaphysical energy. this was an unexpected event; she was under the impression that she knew pretty much all life had to offer her, and had not been expecting any surprises. she found that her previously good-enough life routines now turned flat and colorless when this someone was not present. it was more than unpleasant. 

at this time, the gray-blue cloud inside of her began to vibrate. she had the idea that she could create something so beautiful that it would seize this person's attention. she would make something so powerfully compelling that this person, upon seeing it, would recognize the beauty that lived within her, and would hunger to be near her beauty. art, rather than a means of making vague comments about the human condition, would now be a message encoded for exactly one person.

so, once again, she picked up her pen, her paintbrush, ready to make beauty and change the course of her life. and, once again, nothing came. what could she possibly say that would stand out from what already existed in the world? there was nothing unique about her predicament; the radio was constantly blaring overproduced pleas for love and attention, not many of which were especially beautiful. why add more noise to an already deafening world? and what if this person did not see beauty in what she created, in this piece that had been specifically created for him? what would happen if she exposed her soul on canvas and this person did not recognize it? she put down her pen, put away her paintbrush. the risk was overwhelming.   

Postcard From L.A.

ah, L.A. such a great city to visit, so much food that's "good good eat", from

japantown ramen to culver city korean bbq to indonesian nasi bungku. 

not to mention great deals on sea cucumber and parking signs that read like a logic puzzle.

L.A. Street Art

from chihuahuas to knitted covers for bike racks (how do they do that?),

there was a lot that caught my eye in the silver lake neighborhood.

Back in the Big City

LAX- 25 min. wait for luggage; 18 min. wait for budget rent-a-car shuttle; then another 20 min. waiting in line at budget. nothing like long lines to make me appreciate little abq.

When the Ground Eats You Alive

sinkhole, 2010, Guatemala City, Guatemala (www.cnn.com)

**WARNING**

this post is not for those of us already prone to insomnia and catastrophizing

this past sunday, i read the following in the ABQ Journal:

"SEFFNER, Fla.- The effort to find the body of a Florida man who was swallowed by a sinkhole under his Florida home was called off on Saturday... Bush, 37, was in his bedroom Thursday night... when the earth opened and took him and everything in his room. Five others in the house were unharmed."

...whaaa??? cnn.com had more heartbreaking details: the guy's brother heard him scream, but by the time he ran to his room, there was nothing left but rubble. they still haven't found the body.

this story hit me in my gut. the death of someone you love is often already complicated and disorienting enough as it is. but for the cause of death to be a spontaneous hole in the ground that sucks your brother down out of his bedroom, along with his dresser, bed, and tv- how can one possibly process that information?

this bizarre tragedy aside, i find myself drawn to the sinkhole as metaphor. what is life, if not a series of sinkholes- events that can unexpectedly knock the wind out of you, like falling in love and stage 4 cancer. as much as i plan how i'll respond in these situations and other un/natural disasters, there is no way to really prepare myself for what happens next.

OOJ: Luscious Dumplings

luscious dumplings

i can't wait for my trip to L.A.! my plan: eat, see friends, see ocean.

i get 7 meals in L.A. (not counting breakfast cuz i'm not ever gonna wake up before noon); 

i already know what i'm going to eat for most of them:

the luscious dumplings restaurant in san gabriel; ramen downtown;

korean bbq in koreatown; beef noodle soup in monterey park;

burmese in west la