sometimes a girl just doesn't feel like herself until she gets some art out in the streets. :)
CRY HARDER
yarnbomb
corner of Claremont and Forest in Oakland CA
angela simione, 2013
May 15, 2013
May 14, 2013
whatever you do, don't pinch me
at a quarter to 2 in the morning, we pulled the trigger. we bought our tickets to Europe. Becca and i are going to Berlin. 7 weeks to wait.
my mind bends in half at the thought of this. i can't believe i have a ticket with my name on it that will take me all the way to Germany. i am stunned when i think of it. it can't possibly be real but IT IS REAL.
holy shit! hahahahaaaaa!
today i was all in a frenzy: studying and cleaning and filling a box with clothes and objects i no longer want which will be left on the street in front of the house. something has changed in my life and within my being already and i haven't even gone anywhere yet. simply buying the ticket and accepting the massive and beautiful reality that i am finally going to travel to Europe changes so much. my being is a strange mix of such a deep calm and tremendous excitement. i have no clue what to even say! i have no clue what to think! i'm just going to work on a yarn bomb and have a cocktail and watch "Wings of Desire". ha!
my mind bends in half at the thought of this. i can't believe i have a ticket with my name on it that will take me all the way to Germany. i am stunned when i think of it. it can't possibly be real but IT IS REAL.
holy shit! hahahahaaaaa!
today i was all in a frenzy: studying and cleaning and filling a box with clothes and objects i no longer want which will be left on the street in front of the house. something has changed in my life and within my being already and i haven't even gone anywhere yet. simply buying the ticket and accepting the massive and beautiful reality that i am finally going to travel to Europe changes so much. my being is a strange mix of such a deep calm and tremendous excitement. i have no clue what to even say! i have no clue what to think! i'm just going to work on a yarn bomb and have a cocktail and watch "Wings of Desire". ha!
May 13, 2013
May 8, 2013
May 6, 2013
May 5, 2013
back in action!
.
fuck sensible shoes! i've been bound to my bed far too long and in WAY too much pain to give a shit about that kind of tripe. i stomped around oakland in these beauts for a cool 2 hours today. dropped a new yarn bomb and mended another. the passed few days have been absolutely fantastic. each day will get better and better from here on out.
i can't tell you how good it feels to move again. it'll be some weeks still before i can get back to running but my mood is skyrocketing regardless. i am anxious to get back to work, back into the swing of things, back in to life. today marks 3 weeks since this injury stalled my life. all i want to do is be outside and be around people. i've missed the buzz of life. i've missed my long hustle to the train station. i've missed taking pictures of the sky and being able to stand at my huge drawing pinned to my bedroom wall and just work. i've missed the company of others and the jokes that get told in bars. i miss all the late night alcohol-fueled confessions. i've missed my life.
these first few ginger steps back in to the world had to be stylish, had to be brash and bit cavalier. getting a few of the yarn bombs i made up in the city has felt so amazing. doing it in leopard print booties makes it feel even better. exhilarating, actually. :)
there is such a freedom in working on the street like this, in spending hours on a single piece and then giving it to the city itself... giving it away. the photograph becomes an important thing. the document of an act, an artwork, and a sentiment. there's no way to determine how long these pieces will stay in place. my hope, of course, is that they stay stitched tightly around the poles of street signs for years. this is why i maintain them. if they begin to sag after being rained on a few times, i stitch them tighter and straighten them out so they look crisp and clean again. i want the messages of these texts to be as clear as possible. legibility is a factor, as is style. i will not allow the work to fall in to disrepair for as long as i live in this city. i want these bits of poetry to have the best chance of survival possible. i want the impetus to CRY HARDER to reach those who need the encouragement the most.
.
fuck sensible shoes! i've been bound to my bed far too long and in WAY too much pain to give a shit about that kind of tripe. i stomped around oakland in these beauts for a cool 2 hours today. dropped a new yarn bomb and mended another. the passed few days have been absolutely fantastic. each day will get better and better from here on out.
i can't tell you how good it feels to move again. it'll be some weeks still before i can get back to running but my mood is skyrocketing regardless. i am anxious to get back to work, back into the swing of things, back in to life. today marks 3 weeks since this injury stalled my life. all i want to do is be outside and be around people. i've missed the buzz of life. i've missed my long hustle to the train station. i've missed taking pictures of the sky and being able to stand at my huge drawing pinned to my bedroom wall and just work. i've missed the company of others and the jokes that get told in bars. i miss all the late night alcohol-fueled confessions. i've missed my life.
these first few ginger steps back in to the world had to be stylish, had to be brash and bit cavalier. getting a few of the yarn bombs i made up in the city has felt so amazing. doing it in leopard print booties makes it feel even better. exhilarating, actually. :)
there is such a freedom in working on the street like this, in spending hours on a single piece and then giving it to the city itself... giving it away. the photograph becomes an important thing. the document of an act, an artwork, and a sentiment. there's no way to determine how long these pieces will stay in place. my hope, of course, is that they stay stitched tightly around the poles of street signs for years. this is why i maintain them. if they begin to sag after being rained on a few times, i stitch them tighter and straighten them out so they look crisp and clean again. i want the messages of these texts to be as clear as possible. legibility is a factor, as is style. i will not allow the work to fall in to disrepair for as long as i live in this city. i want these bits of poetry to have the best chance of survival possible. i want the impetus to CRY HARDER to reach those who need the encouragement the most.
.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 26, 2013
please put on this gown...
.
yep. pushed myself a little too hard a little too soon by walking to the store the other day. yesterday, i tried to make the same walk for a second time and failed miserably. i had to turn around after getting only a block away from my house. i spent the rest of the afternoon and evening laying on an ice pack and feeling sorry for myself. i felt SO sorry for myself, in fact, that i didn't write at all yesterday. i curled up in to my own sadness and i stayed there. i couldn't stop myself from thinking: i'm supposed to be in New York right now.
at 11 o'clock, i sent my sweet friend Jose a text that i was sad and trying very hard not to get lost in self-pity. he called me and talked me up for a solid hour. he reminded me that new york isn't going anywhere and this is truly just a minor setback, a short delay in the plan which may even prove to be a valuable event. it makes me hungrier for my goals and dreams, that's for sure.
but the real issue was that i was back to hobbling around as if no progress had been made. and when it comes to me and my life right now, progress needs to be made. i woke up early and went to Urgent Care. the doctor complimented me on having diagnosed myself correctly as well as having prescribed myself the correct treatment. "Just keep doing more of the same," he said, "but here's some Vicodin too. If your not better in a week, we may have to explore other options but I'm hopeful that since you went so many years without re-injury, you'll heal just fine." i hope so too and the way he said these things gave me confidence that maybe, if i just relax and stop focusing on the many negatives of this situation and attempt to see this as a learning opportunity, that i will be back to normal in no time flat.
my beautiful friend Trish came by after work today and took me to the store to pick up fish and vegetables to eat for the next few days. i plan to pretty much keep myself incapacitated with painkillers so that i move as little as possible. i may or may not get any blogging done after posting this. maybe i'll just let myself be a netflix-addicted mess for the next 3 days and see how that aids my recovery? i need to get back to work. i need to get back in to the swing and hum of existence. i need to feel undaunted and assured and trust that, now, it really is only a matter of time before i can step confidently back in to the rhythm of my life.
the upside is that i've actually managed to get some reading done. i read Freud's "Mourning and Melancholia" again. it's been no less than 5 years since i last read it and it happened to be laying at the top of one of the boxes i brought home from my storage unit. in addition to that, several essays in Kris Kraus's "Video Green". i think her book is quickly becoming one of my favorite volumes of collected essays of all time. where else can one find such a beautiful stew of art theory, LA living, and personal reflections upon one's exploration of S/m? it's amazing! i think i'll actually enjoy one more essay and a cocktail before getting zonked out on meds and movies and crochet.
Apr 25, 2013
"...this machine will not communicate these thoughts and the strain i am under..."
.
the tightening in my chest. the ache that finds my angles, all my spectacular corners, so pink, so unexpectedly soft. in my private moments i like to give these spaces a name and i name them Ugly. i name them Inept. i name them Not Good Enough.
my friend wants to slap my face for speaking this way and so i cough up all my vain confessions. i pour the vodka in to the empty pocket where my heartache has bored a hole. i look at my face in the mirror and try to see yours.
i look at my face and wish i was looking at yours.
and maybe i'm not trying to build anything lasting, after all? maybe it's just all this hunger we've been taught to hold, taught to cultivate, when really my exaltation is as dependent upon my destruction as it is these rare moments of pleasure in which my spirit soars, in which my spirit is reborn...
in so much spit! in so much sweat! and the man screams "immerse your soul in love!" if this is not religion, i do not know what is. if this is not religion, let all religions fall.
.
the tightening in my chest. the ache that finds my angles, all my spectacular corners, so pink, so unexpectedly soft. in my private moments i like to give these spaces a name and i name them Ugly. i name them Inept. i name them Not Good Enough.
my friend wants to slap my face for speaking this way and so i cough up all my vain confessions. i pour the vodka in to the empty pocket where my heartache has bored a hole. i look at my face in the mirror and try to see yours.
i look at my face and wish i was looking at yours.
and maybe i'm not trying to build anything lasting, after all? maybe it's just all this hunger we've been taught to hold, taught to cultivate, when really my exaltation is as dependent upon my destruction as it is these rare moments of pleasure in which my spirit soars, in which my spirit is reborn...
in so much spit! in so much sweat! and the man screams "immerse your soul in love!" if this is not religion, i do not know what is. if this is not religion, let all religions fall.
.
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