Monthly Archives: January 2010

pitter patter

what is love?

I was just sitting here staring out this huge window…the sun blinding my vision when my thoughts wandered over to the subject.



I believe love…is neither simple nor definable. I think that love is a feeling, a look, a moment that last longer than a single moment should. love is that breath upon your neck that makes you want to be alive just to experience it. that touch that makes you quiver before a single finger even presses down on your skin. that gloomy day that’s…suddenly bright when you look into their eyes. that short story that takes an hour to tell just because they like to listen to you speak…and listen they do…

because they feel it in their bones.

love….if true, is deep and mutually penetrating….and it shows.

love in it’s raw form will make you new, it will make you whole. and if you let it, it can inspire your soul.

love to me…exists in purity and simplicity. since I was a little girl I’ve been a hopeless romantic. now at 29 I still believe in fairytales. only I’ve stopped chasing love….now I think I’ll sit back enjoy the ride, and for once, let love…chase me.


circles on my arm

So people always wonder what songs are on my arm….

And to answer their/your questions….here they are:

From “Everyday” I have:

“Everyday is a battle between what I wanna know
And what I don’t wanna figure out ”

From “Try” I have:

“All I know
Is everything is not as it’s sold
but the more I grow the less I know
And I have lived so many lives
Though I’m not old
And the more I see, the less I grow
The fewer the seeds the more I sow”

From “Seven Years” I have the entire song because it means that much to me:

“Spinning, laughing, dancing to
her favorite song
A little girl with nothing wrong
Is all alone

Eyes wide open
Always hoping for the sun
And she’ll sing her song to anyone
that comes along

Fragile as a leaf in autumn
Just fallin to the ground
Without a sound

Crooked little smile on her face
Tells a tale of grace
Thats all her own

Spinning, laughing, dancing to her
favorite song
A little girl with nothing wrong
and she’s all alone”


androgyny lollipop

nina ❤


inside out

Its beautiful out…

And I’m still sick. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just sick in the head. Seriously…off my rocker…

Maybe, some days.

Lately, I’ve wondered quite a lot. Not that I ever truly stop wondering…dreaming…

dot dot dot.

It’s been sometime now since I left OH, 6 months actually. Half an entire year. Though why does it feel like just yesterday? Just yesterday I walked hopelessly through streets temporarily on loan until I found my way back home…

Back here?

Who knows anymore…what “home” is. Home, was…with my mother. She no longer inhabits this planet, so…home is now anywhere I am longer than 3 months. Since being home I’ve been doing so well emotionally. OR so it seems if I stay busy long enough not to notice the fucked up shit that is festering in the abyss of my brain. Creatively I did some things I said..I’d do for ages. Felt good to express myself for me…again. And not a paycheck. But I speak too soon, of course, as always my words get ahead of my thoughts. I’ve hit a road bump, in a way. And I’m trying to figure out how to get back on course and salvage my integrity.

What’s next? I know what I’d like to do next…in moments. In others I know what I should be doing. The economy has greatly effected the amount of shoots I’m booking. Not that I really care, but my bank account does. I’d rather spend all day drawing, or sewing, or writing. I’d rather spend all day lying in a field of hay…watching the night reveal itself from day…

I’m not cut out for this dog eat dog, negotiating, hollywood shit.

I never was.

I’m still getting used to the physical responsibility of my old…but new life…somehow..hmm…

This is not easy. Writing this… I feel I’ve been biting my tongue in some of my past alliterations. And honestly, it’s been killing me. Which is so strange. Why does it kill me to not express? I don’t know half of you that read what I write. For years I blogged on myspace about this, that and the other and the release felt so amazing. It didn’t really matter if anyone was following my words or not. I guess in a way I’ve neglected my true thoughts since having this “actual” blog. Or maybe it’s just fear? I can admit that possibility.

I’ve been scared of being myself again.

Why? …is what I should be asking.


I can already sense this is going to be LONG.

And if you make it to the end, well…thanks. ❤

Anyhow, I was talking about hollywood crap. I think. Damn memory. But it's hard… California. I feel so unlike my regular self. And considering the struggle I've had with weight fluctuating the last year it's a wonder I haven't given up entirely. I don't want to whine but(to be followed with total whining) what you look like is such a big deal here. Picture perfect at all moments, every second you're in public practically. God forbid an indecent photograph end up online somewhere that makes you cringe to exist.

In all honesty I think the weight "issue" is somewhat to blame for my increased social anxiety. I'm used to being one of the smaller types, and not that I ever judged anyone who was bigger…but I liked being tiny. Curvy always but tiny nonetheless. I never thought twice about whether an xs or small would fit. There were times I did unhealthy things to stay that way, but the results I couldn't live without. Then fast forward to a personal unravelling in which a city girl found herself lost somewhere in the midwest…resulting in extreme depression and some extra padding. Before I could even realize what had happened it was a few dress sizes too late.


I looked in the mirror and I wanted to die.

I was so wrapped up in…everything and nothing at the same time…I neglected myself. In more ways than one. So to say it's been a struggle and a half shedding this unfamiliar shell…would be an understatement.

Now halfway back to me…physically at least… I still want to die some days…when I see my reflection. I'm almost back to who I once was, but some how it's not good enough. Not small enough. Not "perfect" enough. I seek perfection for a living. Why should I not abide by the same standard I expect from my subjects.

Though…it's a wonder I find the most beauty in the imperfect hiding behind the perfect.

The shadow of a day…

The insecurity hiding behind a set of dentistry magic…

The gleam of light casting off of her skin in the moonlight…


I’m getting ahead of myself. I got lost in my head for a second…or two.

I enjoy that place…losing myself…

dot dot dot.

I wish…I could lose myself in…


Perhaps for a lifetime?

Where has my train of thought gone? Some one please find it for me.

I guess it seems that’s where my mind wants to wander, so I might as well let it have it’s way. I promised I’d set my fingers on the computers keyboard and just let. it. flow.

So I’m letting it flow.

It also seems I have flowed into a love affair that is…one sided…maybe…possibly. I don’t really know. I’m not even sure I want to know. For fear that everything that has commenced thus far will disappear into the abyss and the future will become obsolete. Some people scare easily. And the vast continent of my heart can be quite alarming to the meek…and/or romantically malnourished.

But what do you do when you want to let it all out…and the “who” keeps it all in? What if you don’t even inhabit the…in… that is within them? And you’re just visiting…

I don’t know what to want anymore.

I do know I’d rather have the friendship with “extras” rather than nothing at all. But…”more”…on a technical plain with loyalty claimed as “mine”…would be nice.


I’m having one of those fearful moments again in which I stare at my fingers on the keys and pause word after word… unsure whether or not to let my insides out.

Fearful she’ll know too much…and I will be undone.

Are you reading now? Can you see through me?

::staring at computer screen::

Oh my god…love is torcherous.

I’m too old to feel this way…childishly withholding.

How do I even feel?


It’s all…

one very long daydream…


I’m in that sort of mood

These songs are really really old but they suit my mood…so I’m going to post them…because I can. It’s my blog so there!

I’ve been a huge fan of this song bird since I first heard an old friend play her back in 2003 or 2004….well…back then darn it. Some time before 2005. And she’s come a long way from her acoustic sets on the third st. promenade. But still the same beautiful voice.

sometimes I pretend I’m her

This morning I woke up singing the same line over and over and over from this song! I could not shake it.

“hey lover I’m in limbo
I can still feel your touch”

Why fight it if I woke up with it, right? So I thought I’d share.

I’ve been a huge fan of theirs for a little while now…ever since a very smart friend sent some wonderful songs for me to preview. I instantly fell in love and swallowed everything I could find of theirs until I’d have the chance to see them live. And those that do not know….they do the damn thing on stage.


They’ve been known for years to be one of the dopest live bands around, energy and sound wise.



The following song, released awhile ago, is another favorite of mine. It makes me think of someone very dear to me actually.

I can’t really say enough about how absolutely fantastic they are, and how inspirational Shoniwa is.


If I could be her when I grow up it would be just swell. 😛

sound particles

So…I’ve been trying to figure out where the hell to begin in terms of learning to play an instrument….

Many of my close friends play 2, 3, even fucking more than 3 of something! And I’m tired of hearing melodies in my head and singing them into “nothingness.” Well, not that I’m much of an actual singer either…but let’s just pretend for the sake of my ego that I’m half decent at carrying a tune. And at some point in the long list of my life “to-do” thingys I will do something about it and what it means to me…music…words and sound….


Like I should just be able to pick up a guitar and play. Why can’t I? I should be able to just sit down and start slamming on some piano keys. Why can’t I?

I’m trying to think back to when I first experienced what it was like to hold a pen and paper in my hand and how easy that felt…even as a kid it felt so natural to let words fly into a new atmosphere…even then I imagined the words would be read by many and wrote as such, preparing for a audience…thinking when I die..they might need to collect these young recollections….what 8 year old thinks as such??? Then sketching..the ridiculous attire I would design and what made since in my childhood day this will walk down a runway. Making my fingers bleed because I had to master sewing before I was 10. Like a little mad scientist I scribbled and wrote, and drew and dreamed.

It was never forced.

So it made sense that when…I decided…or wondered why would Jen and I need to hire a photographer for our preview collection back in 02? Why..when I know what looks good..I’ll just do it! I “played” with photography in highschool and continued for a short while in college..but never took it serious…AT ALL…trust me. But it came easy…visually I just knew what I wanted and made it happen. Some how or another it found me and I am now a “photographer” go figure….above all…over all of these childhood fascinations I make a living doing the one thing I didn’t “train” for in “fantasy bootcamp le taschka.”

These things no matter how muffled do not lie dormant. they’re festering daily. Constantly tugging at my being. It’s the same with music which might sound surprising. But I think, or I feel it has a great deal to do with my heart, and my blood. It’s in me…the same as I am my mother’s daughter..watching her with messy charcoal covered hands smearing away at her easel. Her incessant tapping away at her computer at 5am because she had to get a chapter to a novel out before she forgot. I am so like her.

But I remember as a child also fighting her about learning how to play an instrument. “No, I won’t” I’d tell her. “I don’t want to play anything. I’m happy the way I am with my books and my pictures!” For years she tried and tried to let me choose something to start with. Finally I was tricked into piano lessons with the most cruel instructor on the planet. The pain she put my fingers through was unbearable and I quit. The day I came home and told my mother I wasn’t going back she cried, then calmed down. “Any civilized respectable lady can play something” I remember her saying. “If you want to go on being uncivilized than have it your way.”

A very Charlotte statement I might add, some of you know, if you had the pleasure of knowing my mother…and her ways.

I was in third grade possibly when that happened. I think. My memory fails me as far as exact dates..times..years.

But what I do know…deep down I didn’t want to have anything to do with using my body, my mouth, my hands, and/or fingers to create sound. I liked singing in choir, music group what have you..but an instrument…no way. You see I felt it would make me like my father. My biological father that is. And I felt his life and career were part of why I never met him or had him in my life. A man who lived, slept, ate, and inhaled music. How could I partake in such a reality and forgive myself. But part of me knew this is exactly why my mother wanted me to have it in my life.

She left it alone. And I excelled in visual aspects for years to follow, and never looked back. I never really thought much about any of it until after she died…she was one of the only people I wasn’t afraid to sing in front of. I remember actually a few days after she passed away sitting on the living room floor of my apt I shared with my then GF. I was looking up at our huge collection of art and fashion books, and colorful walls with bright bold art by some of my favorite painters.

I stared at the colors and brush strokes along the hip of this Olivia painting and got transfixed for a while then my eyes found there way to the curve of my GFs guitar. And I wondered why did she need three of them? Or two bass guitars as well? But the curves were pretty and I wanted to touch them so I crawled over…(because I was too emotional to stand for long) and I picked up the red acoustic one and sat it on my chest and laid flat on my back. I closed my eyes and traced along it’s edges….then I picked up the shiny cream fender I bought her for her birthday( I had good taste, lol) and laid it against me the same as I had the other. This went on for at least 30-40 minutes until I moved over to the drum set and laid my head under the snare. I pushed the little pedal to the bass drum with my palm, over and over for absolutely no reason other than it calmed me in this chaotic time.

By the time my GF came home from whatever she was doing I think I was on the couch staring into space. I didn’t mention touching her instruments because I didn’t want to explain the insanity of stroking the curves on a fender…I mean really? Not to mention she was touchy about people touching..her babies..even me.

But today…I revisited that emotion. It started with one of those nifty FB reminder/status something other. And poof I was on a roller coaster of online stalking my Dad again. But this time I found even more. And Youtube videos of his band that had been there online since 07! Was I an idiot or just not interested to look hard enough before? But I had been feeling some things about my mother the last few days I wanted to do something about, and seeing my biological father actually move…which I never had before made me feel not so afraid. And I think for the first time I understood fully what she wanted me to see all those years ago. That as I am a part of her, I am also a part of him. And what is in his soul lives within me…in some ways. I asked a friend earlier today, is it possible to feel or have something inside that you did not grow up around?

It was a very different scenario than seeing my mom create her “art” and write her poetry and fiction first hand. I didn’t get the pleasure of seeing this brilliance of sound magic up close and personal. But I feel it. I always have. My friend reminded me of twins separated at birth or siblings that have similar likes, dislikes..mannerisms even though they never met….or having dreams the other had and/or similar careers. And the same with parents and children that never met. Blood….and the little organisms that make us who we are have a special way of connecting the dots. And I am connected to something bigger than I know…

Like I said, today I revisited that secret day all those years ago. Some of the same guitars, a couple new ones. Same drum set, same keyboard. Now the owner is just one of my best friends, no longer a GF. But these instruments stare at me whenever I am here and they were taunting me today. Telling me to come to them. I was like wtf… am I hearing things. Did the bass just say my name aloud? Craaaazyyyy. So I gave in and layed for a little while with them all. But today, for a change, I sat down at the keyboard on the stool. Not lazily and in a daze crawling around on the floor reaching up to the keys. I sat. I cracked my wrist and tried to remember the “correct” way my fingers should be and then gave up on that and just started pretending. The sound was awful…fucking absolutely horrible, but it didn’t feel so strange. I tried to think if the songs I wrote would make sense to this sound and I liked the idea.

I more than liked it. And…

I want to experience this.

For her, for me.

I’ve decided to take piano lessons. Maybe this time around it will stick. If I let it.

R.I.P. Charlotte…crazy beautiful mother of mine. I love you.