tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75899886409968075772024-03-14T03:17:00.743-07:00nonconsensual knit stalkingChristiana Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12913893657246444086noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-9368537428087817712010-05-10T09:28:00.000-07:002010-05-10T09:33:09.464-07:00"Sarah", I said "I don't think the candy boat trip around the world is going to be affordable enough for us after all"<br /><br />In Arts Adventures we made a music video. A girl on a floaty bed in the middle of a pool is suddenly attacked by sharks--(we filmed real sharks of course!) and begins to sing!<br /><br />The scenes change a lot never really resolving the shark attack!Christiana Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12913893657246444086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-59752682440253423932010-05-04T06:51:00.000-07:002010-05-04T07:10:21.567-07:00Apocalypse Dream...<br /><br />I am in a tall building wearing a dress I just gave away. I have some things at a table in a corner. Hurriedly I run up some stairs to the bathroom leaving my things. In the bathroom a motherly woman, wearing the same shade of Maroon as me stops me and gives me a long warm reassuring hug. <br /><br />I am aware that time is running out. It is the familiar song that has just come on. At the end of this song I must be out of this building. I rush downstairs and over to the corner where I grab my things. I hurry out the emergency exit and am making my way down the stairs when the song ends. <br /><br />I see an echo of light coming from outside and hear the first explosion. I make it to the exit at the bottom of the stairs and continue to hurry outside. I walk across the lawn away from the building. Across the water, over the bay I see each tall building get hit and start to burn. Behind me the building is hit again, and this time is completely destroyed. I walk down to the water's edge, near a parking lot. <br /><br />I think that if I had a car I would get in it and desperately drive somewhere, but it wouldn't be necessary--it's not like I would be going somewhere, there's nowhere to go. It would just be a relief to be going fast like these other panicked drivers. <br /><br />I walk past some people in white t-shirts (it's turning to night) who either haven't figured it out yet, or they just don't care. Then I begin to follow a path along the water's edge hoping to get a better view of the destroyed city. I am aware of this all as playing out as it has before. I pass a couple hobo's who seem to have known this would happen. One of them raises a pineapple at me in salute.<br /><br />I don't think of anyone. I just wonder where I will go, and I wonder what value the things I saved have now that the system they are a part of doesn't exist.<br /><br />...Christiana Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12913893657246444086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-89989402983233256302010-05-03T17:54:00.000-07:002010-05-03T18:00:08.741-07:001, 2, 3, 4!I am walking up a hill with some older ladies and David. We're carrying our water. Every once in a while we come across several groups of people: each sharing one long blindfold of a specific color. These groups amble slowly around the field counting out steps and tapping on each others backs "one, two, three, four!" The one person who is blindfolded alone has to tag one of the groups.<br /><br />I get up on David's back and flap my arms while he bounces his legs. We are pretending to be a giant bird.<br /><br />I think we are about to "fly" into David Lynch who is standing nearby.Christiana Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12913893657246444086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-42571010136319856932010-04-09T09:41:00.000-07:002010-04-09T09:44:52.584-07:00Let's just use mine.I'm holding my heart. It's blue. Not blue-body-part blue, but primary blue. I breathe. We breathe. "Why don't we just use <i>my</i> heart?" I inquire lightly. "I think that it would work — I'm healthy, I'm sure my heart is in great shape." I am unsure of who needs it, I've forgotten. <i>Do I need put a heart back in me? Or can I give it to someone else?</i> I inspect the heart, to see how hardy it is. How hearty. How robust. I'm not much surprised that it is blue — but, there seems to be far more fat and mineral build-up than I expected to find. <i>That's what the light coloured stuff inside is, right? I expected it to be leaner, meaner.</i> "I think it's still good —" I trail off while prodding the organ.<br />
<br />
There appears to be plenty of room for blood to pass through.erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00653998240043328185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-40551269733027801922010-03-22T11:42:00.000-07:002010-03-22T11:42:07.683-07:00Kids! Prove that the winter sun is lower!<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Illustration that was a long-time-coming of a dream from a month or two ago.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> </i></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdeVcihYqRQByh7uqWNKskZNQbzRdlaNpNQU6BQvTj_ypjt8J6QE3LRbW2rb7kxZPfDI3WizQr3no4rWKuFqcaJh0fFNj1xj3pJNd_v9pkBfoWIDYMaE0JxIorLtiA0Ph07DtnFq-tcfg/s1600-h/winter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdeVcihYqRQByh7uqWNKskZNQbzRdlaNpNQU6BQvTj_ypjt8J6QE3LRbW2rb7kxZPfDI3WizQr3no4rWKuFqcaJh0fFNj1xj3pJNd_v9pkBfoWIDYMaE0JxIorLtiA0Ph07DtnFq-tcfg/s400/winter.jpg" width="302" /></a></div>erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00653998240043328185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-45605570313394721912010-03-19T16:02:00.000-07:002010-03-19T16:03:52.108-07:00Worms in the blood. Snake in the grass.<span style="font-size: x-small;">(what happened, is no one is dreaming anymore? what has become of us, have <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/7e/Incubus.jpg">incubi</a> feasted on our imaginations?)</span> <br />
<br />
A friend and I are in a mansion. A haunted mansion. It is daylight, so there is nothing to be afraid of just yet, but we had better figure out how to get out of here — because in the evening it will most certainly fill up with blood, from which white worms will leap and eat your flesh. Down the enormous staircase we go, the floor is stained with the blood that floods the house nightly. Glad we found the door.<br />
<br />
Out we go. We walk hand-in-hand up a rocky slope, it seems to be a dry grassy hill in Colorado. It is a nice day, sunny, little breeze. <i>"Whoa, look at the sidewinders!"</i> I point them out — two enormous snakes some 100ft away squiggling about on a rock. I call them sidewinders, but they are huge like anacondas. I'm fascinated.<br />
<br />
I hear a noise in the grass near our feet. <i>"Don't move,"</i> I say with my breath. It was dumb to come out here with shorts and sandals. I know the sound was another snake, a small snake. Slowly I shift to look behind us, my friend slides out of the way at the exact moment that the snake strikes. It flies through the air, striking my knee and biting. I swat it away in a panic. <i>"Quick! What kind of snake?!"</i> I know we have to identify it so I can get the right anti-venom. It is all black, not large, with a sort of blue-checkered tail. <i>"It's a blue coral snake,"</i> I say confidently. <i>"Go!"</i><br />
<br />
We hit a full-out run, back to the mansion where we can get help — I'm limping slightly.<br />
<br />
Shit, I probably shouldn't run, the venom will spread faster with my racing heart! I'm remaining calm nonetheless.<br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>— another —</i></span></div><br />
I can't stop eating these nuts! But they are metal. They are made for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nut_%28climbing%29">climbing</a>. Still, they are delicious and I must be really hungry. A friend doesn't seem concerned — but I start to worry about how they are going to go through my digestive system. The metal wires will surely make it difficult for my body to get them around the corners in my intestines! Damn, this was a bad idea.<br />
<br />
Huh: now I can see this machine in front of me. It is my digestive system, layed out like clockwork, and made of white plastic and screws and other metal bits. It appears that the climbing stoppers are making it through just fine. That's a relief. I pull one out at the end — it seems unharmed by my digestive processes. I get wet, splashed on. Frustrating.erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00653998240043328185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-84083902445771644002010-02-20T20:28:00.000-08:002010-02-20T20:30:49.378-08:00It's Dark, but in a feel-good movie way.Nothing but ghosts, villains, psychics, and fire raining from the sky lately. But all fun, and always supplemented with little kid hands, candy mountains, and co-op mansions.Christiana Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12913893657246444086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-15532929453541280082010-01-29T16:55:00.001-08:002010-01-29T16:55:57.518-08:00Eating Desert<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirYT64-LQZPbxI7zPoEcCPpWfEvw1PmsHrFF4FKxx-Qs1Kt1LFpee_ZUAiQ62Lk3p8-60oGKDgNQW2355anGWXL62cJg0La8hJgpMHRl41THY3bb7bdmk7O65Szgp2Y8r2Zj0JvEu4SLg/s1600-h/dream.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 363px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirYT64-LQZPbxI7zPoEcCPpWfEvw1PmsHrFF4FKxx-Qs1Kt1LFpee_ZUAiQ62Lk3p8-60oGKDgNQW2355anGWXL62cJg0La8hJgpMHRl41THY3bb7bdmk7O65Szgp2Y8r2Zj0JvEu4SLg/s400/dream.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432330168245887810" border="0" /></a>Christiana Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12913893657246444086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-36818174515019894412010-01-25T13:01:00.000-08:002010-01-25T13:21:50.773-08:00Alien BugsChristy, Tricia, Maggie and I are at some type of AmeriCorps event with Mike Callas. It is mostly women and our time there is ending. We are in the desert. We start to sneak off and end up close the building when someone yells for us and we start to sing our goodbye. We are dancing and singing across the sand to the crowd. I step on something crunchy and brown and realize I have stepped into a pile of bugs and they are bitting me. The bugs are small, brown with black spots and have a hard outer shell. I jump out of the pile, but the bugs have covered by feet like shoes. I try to brush them off my feet, but it is really painful. They do not crawl up my body but simply stay on my feet. An old man comes over to me and says, "All they want to do is die." I stop trying to brush them off and we all head inside. Tricia shows up with Charles and they leave in search of information about these bugs and Maggie and Christy disappear. I start to peel off the dead bugs. They come off my feet like one sheet of metal but leave behind spikes like a cactus. Samuel appears and gets out his knife/tweezers and starts to pull the spikes out of my feet. Soon, Tricia appears on the TV and tells us that it seems as if the bugs are from another planet. The bugs however do not crawl on you but will attach to your body if you come in contact with them. Bugs start to appear below the door and come into the building. Some of them have become long worms and are on Samuel's clothes, but he brushes them off. (We are both sitting on tall stools and are not touching the ground) My dress falls pass my feet into a large pile of bugs. I need to get out of the dress, but cannot put it over my head due to the bugs below. Samuel and I are desperately trying to find a way for me get the dress off through the top of it.....I wake up!granersthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08481634512170272825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-45522512735706735912010-01-14T11:46:00.000-08:002011-08-16T02:22:45.574-07:00bitsThere is a high school below a few small extinct volcanos. Found myself atop this historic roof, it seemed odd that the volcanos had been paved over with black road top. It must have been for drainage?
<br />
<br />----
<br />
<br />Taking pictures in ABQ with my camera... oh wait, where did this come from? Did someone send it back to me and I just don't remember opening it? Great! Miracle tour comes through again!
<br />
<br />----
<br />
<br />I'm walking around water and it's warm.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-24106964247689186612010-01-02T10:00:00.001-08:002010-01-02T10:31:24.208-08:00The Time Travel Game.The scene is set:<br /><br />A woman in pink comes out onto the steps of the Library, or maybe, City Hall. She has a blow-up car (it's inflatable) and is all set to go on her honey moon with Archie Andrews. But look, there's Veronica Lodge and Betty (woman in pink) sees a ring gleaming on her finger! (It seems she and Archie somehow got married instead)<br /><br />The towns mission is proposed:<br /><br />A person smiles at the crowd of townspeople, "who will wear this wig, and chase her (veronica) down?" The person holds up a curly orange wig still smiling. A tall blond man who is apparently someones brother tries it on. "Oh that's so funny" everyone thinks, "that won't work." A few others try on the wig.<br /><br />Then the game is explained to me by someone who knows I'm watching and that I don't know what's going on. "Your going to have to go back in time to fix the problem." The problem being that Archie accidentally married Veronica.<br /><br />The Game:<br /><br />Everyone goes back in time. I'm doing yoga in a kiddie pool, kind of hanging out and learning how to do something I have trouble with when I'm awake, when I see a bunch of people in the shadows. A spotlight shines on them. They're all teenagers making out in the dark. I'm aware that the spotlight is coming from someone who traveled back in time.<br /><br />A man and a woman who are making out in one of the darkest corners get the light shown on them. Suddenly the man realizes that the woman is a dog-spirit (which is a thing) and he gets scared and runs away. I know that this is going to change the future.<br /><br />A girl floating in a pool is surprised when buttons suddenly fall out of the sky into her lap. I don't know who dropped them, but I'm sure it's part of the game and it's going to change the future.<br /><br />Betty is inflating her brightly colored blow up car, I hear her start the engine, I can't believe that car works. It's getting closer to show time. <br /><br />There is a dark green bar. There is a lot of sexual tension. Crazy characters keep dropping in from the future all the time. I wake up before the puzzle is solved.Christiana Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12913893657246444086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-55909717767315709972010-01-02T00:39:00.000-08:002010-01-02T00:40:59.257-08:00Maglev train to the Underairport<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">[I laid down in my truck, just for a moment, tired, comfy, más o menos. Oh sleep —]</span></i><br />
<br />
We board the metro in Denver, the space-age maglev train, that goes down into the earth. Of course. On our way to the airport — somehow housed underground. We reach a stop where a friend disembarks from the train, and I realize it too late! <i>Oh no!</i> I leap to my feet and go for the doors, which shut just before I can slip off. <i>Hey! Hey open!</i> I pound on the doors. No good — oh but, how did that fellow just get on? It was as though he walked through the wall of the train... an optical illusion? Hidden doorway?<i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>How are we going to catch up with Xx?</i> As the train lifts into the magnetic air, it swoops up and around, turning in an odd way. I recognize now that this is not the stop we were supposed to get off at, this is not the end of the line. It is a relief that I didn't miss my stop.<br />
<br />
But now the loudspeakers declare a sort of state of emergency. The metro is being evacuated, <i>the entire system, no exceptions!</i> says the voice. Mary and I look at each other, <i>"The <b>entire</b> system, that's gotta be impossible!"</i> our eyebrows seem to query. The train is now hovering up and up toward the ground level, light, with haste and with many others flying nearby in a sort of enormous sloping hall, lit like a scene from the lastest Star Trek movie.<br />
<br />
The voice now tells us again, <i>"No exceptions!</i> <i>The only arrests that will be made will be for the murder of other passengers attempting to evacuate."</i> This is stated as though it is a calming reassurance. Oh thanks, Voice.erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00653998240043328185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-46759848328382334852009-12-29T11:23:00.000-08:002009-12-29T11:44:39.702-08:00Dreamed Davie and the RaccoonsDear Dream Drob,<br />I was asleep and dreamed these things:<br /><br />Christy and David on a bus going somewhere, I'm in the seat in front of David, he's sitting next to a woman we both know. We're all making up a song together, but David keeps giving the woman hugs, like they're best pals. I think he's trying to butter her up.<br /><br />We arrive at a mossy bus stop, with walls made out of bricks and wooden drawers. I take my gum out of my mouth. I start pulling the gum apart and notice it's getting bigger and bigger. I think it's because I'm getting more air bubbles into it. Now I have a huge ball of gum that I can throw. I throw it somewhere! It's evening in a park, lawns and lamps, and some stretches of sidewalk.<br /><br />David and I follow it and he throws it into the bushes! <a href="http://www.anime-planet.com/images/anime/screenshots/pompoko1.jpg">A Miyazaki raccoon</a> emerges from the plants with the huge gum in it's mouth. He's an old man raccoon next to another younger one. <span style="font-style: italic;">Oh! No! That raccoon could die if it eats the gum</span>, I think! So, loudly, in my best dog trainer voice I say, "Drop it!" The raccoon drops it. Then I say, "Stay... stay..." and pick up the ball. I throw it away in a trash can thinking maybe I saved it's life.Christiana Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12913893657246444086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-57167906119169562472009-12-21T23:15:00.000-08:002009-12-22T15:55:59.413-08:00Spaceship thunder magic bauble laughter *clikpop*<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;">[Proffering my brainbody to science, I dozed off many times (despite the </span></i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;">buzzhumtaktak</span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;"> of the machine) while I was supposed to be completing puzzle tasks. Each of these dreams(?) happened in just a few seconds before I was beeped at and awoken for missing an answer.]</span></i><br />
<br />
A sweltering hot desert, low shrubbery, dry, baked earth, high sun. Yellow. Agony, pain and shouting. "I" <i>(looking like a hollywood movie star)</i> drop to my knees, tears streaming. Dust and mud are caked to my body. Drying blood. I scoop into my arms the body of someone very dear to me. My child? Love? Mortally wounded? "Nnnooo!" I choke and gasp. "No noo!" The deafening noise of an enormous jet engine rises above and behind me. The heat and light from the spaceship/sled distorts the landscape in ripples of energy as it blasts off over my head and into the air. Rumbles that shake the earth! Screaming noise! "It can't be!"<br />
<br />
"They still have my range rover!" (...the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkWrI8J1HQYUjHQhBcsqtozbQUeIq6gZ4HQFMPAf46y9asGDgGd0dir2jmSv8VDNFZ4HA5egecNYu-tHMWd8VHfiLI4l_GtkzCJBxq-EX9khZMeuvO3qRCz9nzCSbVFWf1X6CujZIfwZI/s1600-h/Photo+23.jpg">spaceship</a>...?)<br />
<div style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</div><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">*bbeeep!<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">*</span></span></b> </span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;">oh, gah. Near, the ball is near! Far. Far. Pause. Near. Pause.</span></i><br />
<br />
A woman, running. Stumbling in fear and panic. I can't see clearly, everything is shaking; maybe I'm running, too. It's night. She is being chased by a person that wants something she is carrying. She comes up against the rail of the bridge, overlooking a vast, calm river below. Dark; street lamps reflected in the water. In the same motion with which she collides into the rail, she casts the sought-for object out and down. The precious thing (a ring? bejeweled and bewitched trinket?) It tumbles through space, slowly. I watch it fall, thinking:<br />
<br />
"But, how will she retrieve it? What power does she possess that will allow her to get it back?! Because: she <i>must</i>!"<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><b><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">*</span></span></b></span><b style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">bbooop!*</span></b> <i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;">wut? Ak! Far! Near. Click. Pause. Near. Near. Pause.</span></i><br />
<br />
Christy, sitting on the hardwood floor of her room, looking up at me with a pout-frown. Full sunlight pours through some window, saturated colors. She says in a false whine, "I'm not stupid!" I had teased her. We hold our expressions for a moment before laughing deliriously. The bed is yellow. Her eyes are blue blue. She lets her head fall sideways in mirth.<br />
<br />
<b style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">*beeepp!</b><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">*</span></span></b></span> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Jeez! Near. Near. Near. Pause. Blink.</i></span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></i>erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00653998240043328185noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-48482197001690958572009-12-19T02:10:00.000-08:002011-08-16T02:24:19.039-07:00atmospheric jigglesYup, that's exactly what they were. I walked outside of the garage where we were playing music (the lady did not appreciate it bleeding through her walls). It was at the edge of the city, the east side, but not with all the stigma surrounding the social/economic status of the east side, it was just a place where you could look down on the city and the volcanos.
<br />
<br />The sun was setting just to the north and above the volcanos which it never does or ever will...
<br />
<br />So the sky was this fantastic warm color, but there were these outrageous and specific forms in the sky, kind of like wispy clouds but not clouds at all. Instead of gas they were light.... wavey grids of rainbows. All the people were in the streets looking at the site. I was trying to call my friends, distracted by being unsure of who it would be appropriate to call.
<br />
<br />We knew we were witnessing something that had never happened before or again.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-25127961814059796872009-12-15T10:34:00.000-08:002009-12-17T13:33:05.812-08:00Ocean depth to mountain highWe're filming a movie. I think. <i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: #999999;">Maybe I'm an actor, or maybe I'm just working on set.</span></i><span style="color: black;"> I'm in a large hall, like a dinning hall, in the dark — I see a shadow move and realize that someone else just entered the room so I try to hide next to a column. They cross the hall but look back and can see me in the ambient light from the hallway</span>, so they turn on the lights. Dangit. <i>"Oh, Eric, let's go — hey we need these set-up! You didn't put these 1,200 tables and chairs away did you? Ha, of course not."</i> It's Vanessa, with a co-worker now. <span style="color: #999999; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>(Or maybe Neotha... with Anna? Megan?)</i></span> I follow them.<br />
<div style="color: #e69138;">...<br />
</div>This is a boat. A huge boat? I'm in the water... or in a tiny boat, a life boat. Something falls into the ocean and sinks. I feel the vastness and enormous depth of the water. Are we filming?<br />
<div style="color: #e69138;">...<br />
</div>At some point, I visit the home of someone I work with on the set. I meet her girlfriend, who is grumpy when we arrive. They must have just moved here, there are loads of things peeking out of boxes on the porch.<br />
<div style="color: #e69138;">...<br />
</div>Leaving (the set?). I pull away on my scooter, my father is passenger. We laugh at the line of more than a dozen scooters that are rolling out next to us, linked to one another as if a train, and towed by a very small car. We pass them; a couple of cars pass us. We are heading down a winding road through the mountains, could be Colorado, could be northern New Mexico. The sun has set, the world is darkening. We come to a curve on which the stripes suggest that the road goes right, but I think I see a truck going left up ahead — I choose <span style="color: #073763;">right</span>. I chose <span style="color: #073763;">wrong</span>. Luckily I stop before I edge of the dirt lot that the road became. Phew. Oh no, here comes the scooter train behind us... there is no way they'll figure it out. Sure enough, they come flying into the dirt lot, narrowly avoiding us, but also able to stop. We are angry, <i>"what the fuck were they thinking when they painted those lines?!"</i> We continue down a couple of miles, and go to a building. Wooden. Hanging out with unnameable friends. Find out that someone's girlfriend works at a pizza place (maybe the same couple from before); she'll bring me vegan <a href="http://www.pjchmiel.com/photo/food/karynscooked-pizza.jpg">pizza</a>. <i>Just what I need. </i>She arrives with a bag of a dozen gourmet slices. I want nothing else in the world right now. Plenty of laughter and friendliness.erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00653998240043328185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-11207781782200308822009-12-07T08:22:00.000-08:002009-12-07T16:09:23.859-08:00PortholesI am the next one up at the poetry slam. My whole class of girl poets is performing. Not a problem I think, I'll just go through the poems I have memorized and choose one. I can't think of a single poem. I start getting a little worried and my waking brain kicks in, "maybe my 'poems' are songs" I guess that I could poet a song, but I keep trying to think of something else, I tell my fifth grade teacher Mrs. Vanderlip that I have to go into nature to collect my thoughts, then I hike up into the dark wood behind the stage.<br /><br />I come to a lake surrounded by black rocks. There is path of rocks out into the water that lead to a boulder. I walk out the island and look into the lake. There is a man with no legs swimming in the water below me. He looks happy. His red flannel shirt tails float around nothing. I wonder how he's swimming so well.<br /><br />Somehow I know that he is not alive. He is a ghost of someone who lost his legs in the lake. Then I am aware that he is with another ghost, but she is invisible because she died in the lake. I think that I could probably write this down and make a poem out of it. More tourists come up the boulder and I leave, but I get freaked out when I touch the water because it's had dead people in it.<br /><br />I return to my impending poetry performance. It's over, and my teacher tells me I'll have to perform in tomorrow's show. I am relieved and disappointed.<br /><br />Later I am attending a writing workshop we're reading a poetry example from the Wilderness Charter School (where I went to high school) The poem is mine. It's very Lorca-esque with references to animals and the color green and some nice little surreal moments. I remember I wrote in in another dark wood by a little stream.<br /><br />I realize I am watching a film of the writing workshop. It's of my college class. In it I am soliloquizing some important idea and I get a good reaction from the class for showing my solidarity with whatever it is. Then the cameraman leaves the room, and so do I and a bunch of my friends because we're still in the video. We come to a door labeled "Campbell Club" and "Cooks." All of my friends are either members of the Campbell Club or have the name Cook. We go in. It's a bathroom. Cool.<br /><br />We leave and I ask my friend what he thought of the poetry example in class. I can't hear what he says but I think he didn't like it that much, I dig out the paper and look at the back. My copy is the original and has the rough draft on the back. I read it. It's so bad, so ridiculous that I don't want him to see it, I hide the worst parts with my hands. He falls asleep at the table and because I'm in a movie from the past I kiss him and tell him I love him.<br /><br />The End.Christiana Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12913893657246444086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-72641396934822830332009-11-26T11:17:00.001-08:002011-08-16T02:25:09.649-07:00TEETH!Last night I purposely and accidentally cracked one of my molars. It was coming out in pieces and i was holding them in my hand hoping a dentist could put them back together. I was horrified.
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<br />Also last week or so it was prom that night, and I had to find a date and a dress. I didn't like any of my options. I was dreading the whole thing.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-87305369975765661912009-11-25T15:52:00.000-08:002009-12-30T19:38:50.217-08:00In the capital and the forestI was driving around Washington DC in a bus at night, with my sister and Cassie. The bus driver was one of my professors, and we were supposed to go on a date after he finished his route. It became very late, and I had to decide whether to stay overnight with him in DC or to take the last train back to Baltimore with the girls. First I decided that I would stay, and then I changed my mind and decided to return home. As soon as I knew that I was going to leave, the spell was broken and I had no idea why I had been tempted to spend time with my professor in the first place.<br /><br />Then I was driving with David through a redwood forest, along the edge of a mountain. We pulled over next to a very long, steep dirt road leading down into the trees. David got out of the car, walked over to the road, sat down, pushed himself off and slid down through the trees so fast that he was quickly out of view. I followed, thinking as I sped down how difficult it would be to climb back up later. At the bottom of the road was a narrow beach, and I slid right past a fat black seal into the water. We were in a small, sunny cove, with a high stone wall about fifty feet out that prevented us from seeing the ocean beyond.sophiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823886366736491887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-8026680967479318162009-11-18T09:26:00.000-08:002009-11-18T10:07:36.771-08:00StoriesStef and I are sitting in one room-- I with my new jumbo notebook (about 5 ft by 2ft) Stef on her bean bag. The whole room tinted green. In the hall (is it green? blue? sunset?) people go by talking on an on about monkeys but the word that they're using for monkey sounds like 'vagina' so we keep cracking up. One man comes in the room and says "you like my diagram of the vagina? We laugh and laugh.<br /><br />A friend from elementary school appears in the room and tells me she's growing her hair down to her feet.<br /><br />There is an illustrated story of how monkeys got on Noah's ark in groups. The groups were called: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quark">up, down, beautiful, strange, brother, and sister</a>. We joke about how Coco and Juju didn't get on the boat because they forgot about the group called 'horsey.'<br /><br />I woke up laughing.Christiana Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12913893657246444086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-47547575093452147312009-11-15T09:25:00.001-08:002009-12-30T19:39:11.724-08:00GangsterI was on the upper west side of Manhattan, driving a futon with David and one of my painting students. David was driving, but I took over to parallel park in between two car-sized bowls of oatmeal. After trying and failing to park, I got out of the futon and my student got into the driver's seat. I asked her, and then told her, to let me drive, since it was my futon. She was offended by this and got out and and walked away. David and I left her and went into a big, old house, where we found my sister and another friend in the attic. We all rolled our own joints out of dollar bills and sat smoking them sprawled out on the attic floor.sophiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823886366736491887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-84226945453371297152009-11-11T20:55:00.000-08:002009-11-11T21:09:19.596-08:00PoetryI am in the South Valley: trees, farms, horses, dirt roads. It looks like my work but I feel good about being there. The sun illuminates beautiful meadows, I sit in the shaded dirt road. The shade is pitch-black. Chiarascuro.<br /><br />I look out on everything wishing more than ever that I could write poetry. I try, maybe coming up with something good but I recall nothing after waking.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00173687104078252451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-60030090408057184892009-11-07T03:15:00.000-08:002011-08-16T02:27:09.908-07:00mostly disgustingI can smell my sweat. and my feet are cold and hot at the same time. Mostly dry. The tips of my fingers have little cuts that have been sore for over a week. I have to pee and my heart has been beating fast for hours, but not fast it just feels fast. It's more a breathing issue. Or a consumption issue. I think it's narcissism. And I'm thinking of you reading this. Exactly! I don't think the scarf I wore to bed is helping all of this. Lets address this issue. I'm wondering what Steve Barry was thinking. I'm going to follow up with him. Ewww there is sweat where the scarf was. I'm too lazy to get dressed let alone take off my clothes, which lends itself to itself. But it becomes a dermatological issue because I live in a desert and I wash my hands often. I'm not too lazy to wash my hands, but I am too lazy to put on lotion. Now I have eczema. Right, and it's not that my heart is beating fast, it's that I can feel it extra loud in my body. And i'm concerned about this fear of flying that it might severely impede my future life. or maybe I'll just have to make my work around that. Like build a bridge out of cardboard to Venice for the Biennial that my work gets into... you know. right? gross.
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<br />please accept my insomnia.
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<br />i love you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-2772814942665236032009-10-31T15:36:00.000-07:002009-11-15T09:43:34.571-08:00Scary hotel III was a teaching assistant for a summer class, living in a dormitory/hotel. One night I was standing in the hallway talking to another TA through his half open door about how disappointed we were with the faculty, who were shirking obligations and leaving us with too much work. He leaned towards me and said darkly, "You have to do something about this." I responded that I would do what I could, but I had no more power than he did to change things. He took my hand in his and as he stared into my eyes, he squeezed until he was crushing my fingers. I managed to pull my hand away, and said to him slowly, "If you hurt me on my body, I promise that I will hurt you back even more." My words turned into a handwritten, signed note that slid under his now-closed door, and as I walked down the hallway back to my room, I regretted that he now had evidence to blame me, if any physical misfortune did happen to befall him.<br /><br />When I opened the door to my room it was dark inside but moonlight was coming in brightly through the window, illuminating two thick streams of water pouring down from the ceiling. I looked up and saw a black stain on the ceiling where the water was coming from, and in the center of the dark wet mark, a nest of snakes was shining in the white light from the moon as they slithered in and out of their mating mass.sophiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823886366736491887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7589988640996807577.post-8337588079748476032009-10-30T06:42:00.000-07:002009-11-02T17:43:38.388-08:00Flowers as I wait.I wash myself in shallow natural pools, inside the condo, getting ready.<br /><br />I look outside to the backyard and see the sunflowers have huge flowers looking up at the sky, but it's night and freezing. What will we do with the sunflowers? Make a documentary about them and how they grew from little nothings. I set about getting my camera and filming my friends. I get a clip of a stranger opening their mouth then shaking their head, wildly. I also interview Sonya about the sunflowers and the whole time I'm standing in the shallow pools. I'm planning on giving the red school jackets that the sunflowers are wearing away to people as prizes: but the sunflowers actually don't have the jackets yet.<br /><br />I wonder if we can give the sunflower heads away as food.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC9lPaogb3wUur-EK_runi3R78kqrQh5xFYuLU4hoeHEfhVXpqWGNSxvQWH1ixGaaXBNDF5iTsGnjl_p9L64LiIAGiplZ1sTlAJ-vmeumLIQ-UzrThNb6iWq6OJXIuCAVplC6TMBMOI6M/s1600-h/IMG_1287.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC9lPaogb3wUur-EK_runi3R78kqrQh5xFYuLU4hoeHEfhVXpqWGNSxvQWH1ixGaaXBNDF5iTsGnjl_p9L64LiIAGiplZ1sTlAJ-vmeumLIQ-UzrThNb6iWq6OJXIuCAVplC6TMBMOI6M/s400/IMG_1287.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399686957755745810" border="0" /></a>Christiana Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12913893657246444086noreply@blogger.com0