[Artemis Rising]'s diary
with the anticipation of moving in ten days, visiting to find the new digs, and trying to complete a website for my client, life has been a little more than business as usual. i miss writing and contemplating for hours the arcs i build in my miniature stories. but i shall paint in the new place.... it is a 1920's cottage (as many of the homes in Laguna Beach are), surrounded by the lushest the greenbelt can offer, and a mere bike ride to the beach. it's like The Secret Garden and Atonement had a wonderful architectural love child.
i'm ready--i entered the boiling air of phoenix yesterday, and my skin immediately rebelled with swollen red marks and a breakout only a true teenager could be proud of... did i mention the skin on my arms began peeling for no reason?
i'm soooo ready to be in Laguna... we found our dream condo, and the man who owns it loves us to death. since we aren't quite at that time in our life, we asked to stay in touch and reapply come April... so we will have our magnificent floor to ceiling windows that face the ocean, while being perched on a sea-side cliff :)
it is all coming together, and i am giddy and tired and anxious and sad and happy and.. overwhelmed.
life is beautiful.
seduced by these valleys, i'll lay in your moorland and wrap myself in your honey brush. these lands were in my blood from birth, and i'm the prodigal son now claiming my birthright.
the last week has been so incredibly hectic.
i am currently looking at houses in laguna and newport beach, california. i'm excited to say i've found quite a few that are affordable with a lease to own option.
soooo much to do!
the rush i get the days prior to shooting keep me from sleeping, eating anything more than coffee and water, and give me the physical sensations akin to a good orgasm.
i get so fantastically excited, that it's hard to contain. i don't sleep, but if i do i have vivid, creative, wacky dreams. i problem solve under the strangest of circumstances, wake up and rush through the motions of everyday life (compared to shooting, brushing my teeth seems like such a time consumer), and continue forward on my path to creative fulfillment.
and then as the camera begins to roll, i call speed, and the words action leave my lips, i am all-consumed by the sensations of that moment, as if time holds still. my breath becomes raggedly loud, i watch the dust rise from the earth, as the feet begin to shuffle, then pound with leaps and bounds. this is my moment. this is when my heart is thumping to the capacity of a steam engine, and i know, deeply deeply know, there is nowhere else, nothing else i belong to so entirely as this set, this camera, and my crew.
be still my beating heart.
lookout world! NPR, and Fox are committing times to interview with myself, my first ad, my camera man, and my pa.
we received interest from Glenn Beck (haha isn't that just great?!), and the delightful Chris Yandek, who i had the pleasure of meeting via phone this week, is going to wrap up our interview series with myself, and my select cast.
Chris has already finished his initial interviews with my producers, and you can find those here: http://paintyo
Written about Wednesday 2010-06-23
Written: (5270 days ago)
you stood there at the edge of reason, knowing that being broken for one another was all that we could have in that moment.
"dear, make sure the sand bags are on the track correctly, or the curtain will catch on it's way up."
it was ironic that she was here, taking about raising curtains. i broke my gaze from yours, as she entered stage left. she wasn't ungracious on the eyes, until she opened her mouth. once upon a time i'm sure your wife had a beautiful smile, and a radiant laugh; now she assumed the position of a paper doll in body and spirit, as everything was in a constantly state of remaining flat. i felt the deep pangs of shame run through to my bones; i felt it on behalf of you, on behalf of me, and despite her.
i wanted to scream, "you could be that girl again! you could light the world up with your intelligence, the youthful frivolity found in the virtue of selfishness. if you could only let him go, and stop demanding his life be yours, and make your own life yours again... you could be his world, the very ecosystem he lived and died to protect, nurture, sustain, and elevate to the elusive state of thriving. HE WANTS YOU TO THRIVE. HE WANTS YOU AND HIM TO THRIVE. HE NEEDS THE BOTH OF YOU TO THRIVE. and he's never imposed a need on you. he isn't going to start now. he'll thrive, and you'll continue to hang onto the edge of his wings, clipping furiously away to have possession of his freedom. you can take his bodily privileges away, but you can't bury his heart, and you can't crack that impenetrable safe which is his mind. i despise you, every part of you--from the unmotivated breaths you take, to the bitter unclear steps of each foot of yours, to the hands that he unwillingly let's touch him. and yet i can't help but feel the most resounding remorse at your willful ignorance. you know, but you don't want to know."
looking up, i caught your wife staring at me. i had been frozen next to the pulley for a solid three minutes, staring at the brick outline of the wall. she didn't seem concerned, merely irritated, as if she could read my mind.
this would have been a problem, had she been in my shoes. she might have felt shame, fear, anger at the transparency of her actions, her thoughts.
in turn, i actually was astonished to feel nothing at all. it didn't matter. she was nothing to me, nothing to you, and barely something to this world.
i felt no shame in our actions, i felt no secrecy in my thoughts. let her hear them, and let me be damned. i would take it all as my own--the hate, the wrath, the entangled mess of fingers dipped into pools of circumstances that you'll never be able to calm the ripples from.
"cee," her lips curled up into a flat grin, looking like a vampiric caricature, her voice dipping into a false attempt of being femininely jovial "i believe you and i should have lunch together this afternoon, just us girls."
looking up, your eyes were hooded with warnings. i saw the sinews of your arms stand out, as you froze for an imperceptible moment, holding a sand bag at your knees. not surprisingly, she didn't catch it. only i would have the microscopic intentions zeroed in--i wanted every part of you, and she wanted to destroy any part of you she could grasp.
"deanna, i believe cee has an appointment this afternoon." you were trying to protect me, but from what did we need protection?
"no no hudson. i can cancel--deanna and i should indeed have some ladies time." i smiled genuinely, relishing the thought of having a moment with her, in pure honesty. at the back of my mind i knew i would be unbearably astonished at her inability to understand my intentions, the message i would lay out for her like a child, the truth whose solidarity could drive nails through a board.
bright jade green met me head on, staring at me and through my words.
"oh cee, this is going to be such fun!" she was still trying to smile, but it was beginning to look more and more like a grimace.
turning, she walked up the aisles of the stage, deliberately taking her time, making it visible that she was deep in thought.
"and cee..." she didn't turn her head.
"yes deanna?"
"don't forget to polish up--us ladies should always make keeping our appearances a priority. we wouldn't want to be seen like to birds from separate flocks." your words were supposed to be daggers, but they fell on my ears like limp noodles.
"of course deanna... we wouldn't want our differences revealed." indifferently, i strode backstage.
i crack myself up.
days began to blur together, as if sitting on the edge of a merry-go-round at a carnival, spinning faster and faster. if they had been separate colors of paint, they would have created layers of mixed hues, each representing a new elation, building up to the inevitable moment. the moment it would all end; the carnival would have to close, the merry go round would eventually stop, leaving nothing but a crude circle of un-relatable patterns.
only the heartbroken would be able to discern and translate what were once happy memories. only the heartbroken could read this broken story. only the heartbroken could read the bones of hope.
i watched you in your sleep, memorizing the curve of your eyelashes and the pride of your brow. this, at least, would always be mine--they could break our dreams, tear us apart, leave me in the collected heartbroken club, but they couldn't steal this image, burning like the hottest summer morning into my memory. the moment you were truly at peace, sleeping, with my deathly white skin pressed firmly to your unmistakably living chest.
the english version: http://www.oem
i could not be happier with myself than right now :)
speak with NPR, FOX, MTV, and TMZ soon enough... stay tuned :)
come monday, my name shall be splashed upon the most prestigious and circulated spanish written news publication world wide. woot me for having values that my actions can follow :)
the two of you are coming to an end, and you aren’t ready to accept it. neither am I, despite the emotional eruptions, physical abuse, tangible tension. we lie in denial ridden wait, gasping for the air we so desperately need in this gas-thick situation.
there is nothing more terrifying to me, than the thought of you rescuing yourself when it’s too late. you’ve always been my hero, sub-human, extraordinaire
you’ll always be my indestructible father.
it was mild this morning, as the sun slowly rose over the flat alien land that is Phoenix. i did not sleep, and it was as if I saw you grappling with yourself, approaching her room timidly, knocking softly, sitting on the edge of her bed, and looking at the pictures she has taken down and placed in the corner of the room; our pictures—you, me, her.
“are you going to leave while I am gone?”
“no. we have at least 3 months left at the house before it forecloses—I don’t want to spend the money to rent yet.”
“oh. please stay until I come back. you can move the furniture.”
no one will ever know how significant that is—that infinitesimal gesture of compromise. no one will understand the bruises, missing hair, scars from scratches, because of lint lying on the laundry dryer for a moment to long.
no one will understand the hateful spew over specs of dust inside the rim of a china bowl, the raised voices, tears, shaking of the body in a moment of adrenaline fueled anger. no one will understand how worse it became when you had your heart surgery, controlling every space you could, as if it could change the futility of our mortality, the fear of your death, the hate of your body, the paranoia of letting go.
the meaning behind those words is so poignant. it is the breaking of barriers.
it is the surrender of stubborn ideals, and morally wrong configurations of chase lounges, exercise machines, rugs, a big screen television. those glaring demands for her to give you the attention that you refused to speak aloud.
it was the silent plea for her to stay with you for just one more night.
the unclear apology for your shortcomings.
the universal confession of your humanity.
“you can move the furniture."
no one but i could understand what this meant. "i'll let you control it all--i'll let you eat away at the very thing i have based my life on, the control i so desperately need, the way i compensate for everything i can't and everything i'm not. let me be the pictures in the corner of this room, so long as you are in the room with me. i will remain even the smallest part of your life, surrender it all, so long as it is your life i remain in."
and I wept at the sheer obviousness of your procrastinatio
but mostly, i wept for you.
Written about Thursday 2010-06-17
Written: (5276 days ago)
sometimes the only person in this world who can express my mind is gabriel faure.
Barcolle for Piano Number 10.
if i could portray spitting via typing, you'd be covered in lemon-water scented goo right now. i cannot describe the frustration and anger that get inside my head regarding the incompetence of the sanctioned willfully ignorant.
i am taking a stand. let's see you dodge a bullet this time.
awoke to day 2 of my great grandmother being dead. immediately played Suite Bergamasque, for Piano, L. 75: IV. Passepied .
i'm at peace, just wish everyone else was too. for God's sake, she was 94. it wasn't like it was before her time. she wrote a book, she travelled the world, she housed celebrities and owned a renowned ranch... she used to tell me that knitting with red yarn was too sexy :)
Written about Tuesday 2010-06-15
Written: (5278 days ago)
"there are two reasons why i want to throw up. first: cous-cose" B
"why do you keep calling it cous-cose? it's pronounced couscous." C
"cous-kiss. whatever. middle easterners screw up everything. i mean, look at nine eleven, they didn't even hit all five targets. now. second: everything that just went on just now." B
"just remember dad has a turtle tongue and they do this." C sticking tongue out like a worm
"OH GOD. LALALALALALA" B
twenty minutes later.
"you are the most disgusting human beings in the world." B as he takes a magazine and his phone into the bathroom.
an average conversation with my little brother.
Written about Monday 2010-06-14
Written: (5279 days ago)
the grass felt like nettles pushing into my back, as you hovered over me, catching every breath i made. i know this is is a broken task, but it is so exquisitely beautiful, i cannot stand to let it go, to get up, to tell you to stop brushing your lips on my collar bone, or down the spindly valley of ribs between my breasts.
i should feel hallow, and alone, like a traitor rightfully feels. i should feel desolate, and dirty, like mud stuck in the grooves of a thickly built tire, traveling down the beach to this spot we've found. i should feel exploited and ruined, the camera taking every inch of my ghostly skin, and your softly-rough beard buried deep within it.
instead...i feel whole, i feel alive. we're blocking out a love scene for the next film we will create, you and i. this is the most exhilarating feeling in the world--making me feel like goddess earth, mother of nature and her abundance, that whom belongs to the tangled kelp on the salt land underneath my spine and the icy water that matches my touch.
you're staring intently at my eyes, and i'm hoping you'll break every barrier and suck every last illusion from my non-stop mind. your lips reach mine, and they burn, oh they burn, and i take every heated stroke as if midnight were coming with the tide.
gathering up my inoperable arms you crush me to your chest--i smell everything i've ever desired, in your skin.
"tell me in this moment, what you wouldn't say out loud" you're begging, you're ordering... you're making love to me for the first time.
"i am home."
the words simply won't come out. for once i am exhausted--muc
finished up with a hefty client today, get the check tomorrow... my computer's fan is going out, so i am scrambling to get the cash and get my dream macbook pro. and tomorrow is the day :)
although i make a pretty penny and rarely want, you have to understand that i am a disciplined money wench who pinches every red cent like its the last hot coal on earth. this is a big step for me...
and dare i venture out with the idea of both a macbook and a mid level ipad?.... oh my goodness i've quite spoken out of turn :)
(when i get past the initial guilt, i'll cave because having both are important.. macbook for every day conquering and ipad to impress and travel... it makes sense to get the ipad anyways, since last month i spent a grand total of 9 days at home in my own bed :))
on days like these i feel like a helpless puppet, and you hold the strings. i sit on your stage, go through the motions of your day, and then sleep every night in your cage. it is terrifying to think that you can leave me for as long as you wish, or keep me in a bag at your side. what would happen of you clipped these strings? would i fall to me knees never to return, or get up and fly like the wind out of your marionette theater?