Leaving without a trace

Leaving without a trace

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What? She did not quite understand. How could it be that she had to go through this dark tunnel to get to her home? Had the life-long journey not been tedious enough? She just wanted to rest her legs and have a hot toddy. That was not to be. She welcomes varied experiences. However, they should not be laced with danger and panic. She knew what she had to do.

She picked up the phone, made arrangements, gathered her clothes from the floor and left without a word. Her mom had also escaped and so would she. No more fear.

I dreamt of leaving and piercing that veil for air

I dreamt of leaving

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As a child, I dreamt of leaving. I did not dream of leaving my family but my environment.My environment was rough and stifling with not much hope in sight for many of those around me. It suffocated me and made me want to pierce that veil for air.

Eventually such a dream led to me leaving my family. I was curious about the world and had a hunger for exploration. I did not necessarily dream of traveling for I do not think that “travel and see the world” concept was really ever mentioned in my environment. That is until the 5th grade when my teacher went to the Scandanavian countries and enlisted my “help” in researching the countries. That started my travel bug but it was a very teeny tiny bug. I only got the full on travel bug once I knew a bit more about who I was.

It is an interesting experience to travel when you are still unsure of yourself. You are somewhat open to the experience but you do not have much of your self to integrate the experience into. Nonetheless, it is important to get traveling as early on in life as possible. Openness to new experiences is a key part of one’s personality that can be molded with exposure to different settings and people.

That is in a way what being an ethnograffitti artist s about.   Experiencing and painting the world simultaneously. Despite not knowing it when I was young, I have always been striving towards that role.

I dreamt of leaving

That I did for clarity

Now I see ahead

The jarring art had graffiti on it: There will be blood

The road trip was endless giving her time to think of the outside world. Where should she go to next? As she rapidly snapped her photos, she caught sight of the land. What does it mean to install art in the middle of nowhere? It is certainly jarring. She pulled over to take a closer look. The jarring art had graffiti on it. Others felt the need to leave their mark. Her stomach burned with an equal need. Should she tag her name? Date her arrival and departure? She knelt on the sand, cutting her knee. There will be blood.

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Nuestros Muertos Seran Semillas: Our dead will be seeds

Nuestros Muertos Seran Semillas: Our dead will be seeds

When children come across street art and graffiti how do they process it?

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How does a six year old process a mural that notes our dead will be seeds? How do we as adults process such a statement and eventual reality?

Art, with its vibrancy, can awaken us to stark realities and it can jar us awake as we sleep walk through our environment.

Do the Dew

Do the Dew

When you see this billboard going cross country or on your way to work, do you get thirsty? Does such a billboard make you want to pull over and immediately find a vending machine? Does such a billboard make you want to go to the grocery store and find the soda pop aisle?

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When I was a young girl at a boarding school where an A- was seen as failure, anything with mega doses with caffeine in it was our friend. Mountain Dew was a staple in our dorm vending machine. Walk into any dorm at 3am and you would find a bleary-eyed student on the floor looking at some random history book while holding dearly to their mega-caffeinated soda.

That was back in the day. Now, I hold onto my venti -triple espresso- latte.

Where have all the used bookstores gone?

Where have all the used bookstores gone?

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During this weekend of historical significance, at least in the US and in Great Britain,  there are some matters of history to ponder.

This morning the first question of the day was “where have all the used bookstores gone”? Honestly, do not know. I suppose the online retailer Amazon made it so that there is less and less need of bookstores. Sadly so. However, is there still not a need for a store that is dusty, run amok with cats that has row upon row of used books that have been earmarked repeatedly holding a whole other layered story onto itself?

 

I remember a decade ago thoroughly enjoying a used books tore, rather warehouse, in the suburbs of Washington, DC.   I remember browsing the dollar racks at The Strand in New York.  The Strand is still there but with its myriad gift items including numerous tote bags bearing its name it has become more about being hip and holding that bag than really combing through old dusty book rows.

 

I recently tried to find an old, old book as a gift and could not really find anyplace that could get it for me.  Forget about used bookstores. Where are the old books going? Surely, it is not the top shelves of local libraries as those are becoming more and more select in their selections while going digital as well. Where are the old books going? Are they being donated to the thrift stores?  Are they being sent to the landfill? Are our dumps being filled not only with garbage, but with words of our past?

 

We are so focused on the here and now that our past is going to the dumps in droves.