oxoxoxoxoxtinaknoxoxoxoxoxo

I READ A BOOK ONCE ABOUT PLAYING THE GUITAR ON THE FLOOR AT CHAPTERS.

PEOPLE WHO READ BOOKS ON THE FLOORS OF BOOKSTORES ARE PRETTY SPECIFIC. I’VE READ A BOOK, COVER OT COVER, ON THE FLOOR OF A BOOK STORE. WHEN I WAS A KID EVEN. WE USED TO GO TO SAVEON. I’D SIT IN THE BOOK DEPARTMENT AND SOMETIMES EVEN READ BOOKS COVER TO COVER WHILE MY MOM GROCERY SHOPPED.

READING MAGAZINES ON THE FLOORS OF BOOK STORES/SECTIONS IS ALSO PRETY SPECIFIC.

PEOPLE WHO READ EXPENSIVE/FASHION MAGAZINES, ESPECIALLY IN BULK SCANS, ON THE FLOORS OF PLACES ARE MORE “MY PEOPLE” THAN A LOT OF OTHER COMMON BONDS. I DON’T FEEL LIKE MYSELF IF I HAVEN’T DONE THAT AT LEAST ONCE A YEAR. THAT HAS NEVER HAPPENED BTW, GOING A FULL YEAR… I’VE TAKEN DAYS OFF WORK TO GO SIT ON THE FLOOR OF A BOOKSTORE AND SCAN A PILE OF MAGAZINES. IT MEANS A LOT TO ME.

I WAS READING A BOOK ON PLAYING THE GUITAR IN A CORNER AT CHAPTERS. LITTLE TO SAY EXCEPT AMONGST THE SUGGESTIONS, PLAYING FOR AT LEAST FIVE MINUTES EVERYDAY WAS STRONGLY RECOMMENDED.

I’M HIGHLY IN FAVOR OF THAT HEADSPACE. I TRY TO DO THINGS I DO EVEN IF ONLY FOR A MINUTE, EVERY DAY. AT LEAST YOU REMAIN PRESENT IN WHAT YOU ARE DOING.

FASTING HAS ITS PLACE. I FASTED FROM DRAWING FOR A WHILE AND CAME BACK INTO IT BETTER AT DRAWING THAN I WAS. THIS WAS BECAUSE I WAS STUCK IN A STYLE.

BEING A VEGETARIAN IS GOOD THIS WAY. I’M AT A POINT WHERE I FEEL MY DIET, IN REGARDS TO VEGETARIANISM, IS PRETTY WELL BALANCED. I CATCH AND STOP MYSELF IF THINGS GET AT ALL STUPID. ON A SUSTAINABLE LEVEL, I’M WELL TRAINED I SUPPOSE. THIS BEING SAID, THERE IS LITTLE BETTER TO DISARM YOU OF YOUR BAD HABITS DIETARILY THAN FOLLOWING A DIET.

I AM ON A DIET RIGHT NOW. IT’S PECULIAR. I DON’T NEED TO LOSE ANY WEIGHT. IT’S NOT THAT STRICT. IT HAS MORE TO DO WITH THE FACT THAT I HATE EATING AT MY PARENTS WHEN I DON’T BUY MY OWN GROCERIES BUT THEY TEND TO GET GOOD PRODUCE. BEING UNEMPLOYED…

I DON’T REALLY “LOVE COOKING” AT THIS TIME. I’M SURE, WITH SOMEONE ELSE TO COOK FOR, I’D BE A RECIPE COLLECTING, FIVE DAY PROCESS LEVEL ENTHUSIAST. I HAVE CERTAINLY BAKED MY OWN BREAD, MADE PIZZA FROM SCRATCH, DONE THINGS THAT TAKE A VERY LONG TIME, FOLLOWED DIRECTIONS TO THE LETTER, IMPROVED RECIPES THROUGH IMPROVISATION.

I ALWAYS ASSUME THAT I’LL BREED MEN AND BE ONE OF THOSE WOMEN WHO IS AMONGST MEN AND MAKES THEM FOOD BUT LARGELY EATS STEAMED VEGETABLES WHILE COOKING AND MAKES SURE EVERYONE FEELS WELL TAKEN CARE OF WHILE THEY EAT. THAT ELEMENT OF THE FEMALE GENDER ROLE SEEMS REALLY SUITED TO MY PERSONALITY.

I HATE PRE-MADE FOOD. THE ONLY EXCEPTIONS TO THIS ARE DR. OLDECKER’S THIN CRUST SPINICH PIZZA AND THE NAAM BRAND BOTTLED MISO GRAVY. THE FORMER IS A GOOD PIZZA OPTION. IT’S LOW CHEESE, LOW WHEAT, LOTS OF SPINICH. THE LATER, I SHOULD TRY TO EMULATE AS IT’S FUCKING EXPENSIVE.

I HATE PRE-MADE SAUCES. INDIAN HAS IT’S PLACE. I’M NOT GREAT WITH INDIAN COOKING BUT I NEAR LIVED OFF IT FOR A FEW YEARS. WHY? BECAUSE IT IS ACTUALLY GOOD.

I ATE SOME PASTA I MADE, I FOOLISHLY DECIDED TO USE THE PREPARED SUNDRIED TOMATO PESTO IN THE FRIDGE. FUCK, WHAT A BAD IDEA. I LIKE SUNDRIED TOMATOES, YES, AND I LIKE PESTO, DON’T EVEN MIND THE STUFF IN THE TUBE (THOUGH I RARELY TO NEVER OWN A TUBE OF IT), THIS BEING SAID, PREPARED SAUCE IS GROSS AND I HAD A STOMACH ACHE SO MAJOR ALL I’VE EATEN TODAY IS FRUIT. THAT IS GOOD, FRUIT ALL DAY, OF COURSE, BUT IT’S THE PRINCIPAL OF THE MATTER.

I THINK, AMONGST THE REASONS HELLA IS LIKE A SISTER TO ME IS THAT OUR MOMS ARE BOTH “GOOD COOKS” WITH THEIR OWN PAELLA RECIPE.  WHEN MY MOM “ACTUALLY COOKS” IT’S PRETTY AMAZING. SHE RAN HER OWN CATERING COMPANY IN THE EARLY 80S AND ACTUALLY HAD REPEAT CUSTOMERS. SHE USED TO GET PAID, AT THIS ONE HOUSE, TO GO AND SNEAK IN AND MAKE EGGS BENEDICT IN THE MORNINGS ON SPECIAL OCCASIONS, FOR EXAMPLE.

I’M NOT SO MUCH ON THAT KICK. I’M THANKFUL FOR HER RECIPES AND HAVE A LOT OF MY OWN EVEN, BUT MY TASTE IN FOOD TENDS TO BE VERY DIFFERENT THAN HERS. ALMOST EVERYTHING I COOK IS VEGAN FOR ONE THING. I WILL, LIKELY, LEARN TO MAKE AN AMAZING ROAST BEEF AT SOME POINT IN MY LIFE AS I FIND IT ONE OF THE MOST DELICIOUS FOODS ON EARTH (I REALLY AM PART ENGLISH I GUESS, AS PER MY GRANDPA, ON HIS SIDE, THIS IS THE TRUTH. I DON’T “KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT THAT” BUT ROAST BEEF KICKS HAGGIS’ ASS, THAT’S FOR SURE (I HATE ALL SAUSAGE ON PRINCIPAL).

I WOULD RATHER GO WITHOUT THAN EAT CHEAP MEAT. IN POINTS WHERE I WOKE UP, IT WAS TOO LATE TO MAKE BREAKFAST, THE LINE AT STARBUCKS WAS TOO LONG TO GET TO WORK, I WAS AT WORK, I HADN’T EATEN, IT WAS SATURDAY, THERE WAS NO CAFETERIA AND ALL I COULD GET TO WAS MCDONALDS OR THE VENDING MACHINE, I WOULDN’T ORDER ANYTHING BUT A YOGURT PARFAIT FOR EXAMPLE. HAVING EATEN CHEAP YOGURT “PLAIN” AND TASTED THE DISGUSTINGNESS OF IT, IT WASN’T HAPPY FOR ME.

I CONSIDER DAIRY GROSSER THAN MEAT. I LIKE CHEESE BUT YOU THINK ABOUT CHEESE AND YOU’RE, LIKE, “WOW, SOMEONE THOUGHT OF THAT, WHAT A PERVERT”. MEAT, I MEAN, FUCK, MANY ANIMALS EAT THE FLESH OF THEIR PREY.

AS A WOMAN, THERE IS JUST SOMETHING SO FUCKING NEGATIVE ABOUT CONSUMING THE MILK OF ANOTHER WOMAN, FROM ANOTHER SPECIES, FROM WHOM IT IS BEING TAPPED EXTRANEOUS TO FEEDING HER YOUNG. I THINK THAT IS ONE OF THE MOST TWISTED IDEAS IF YOU JUST THINK ABOUT IT HARD.

“WOW, PREY, LET’S KILL IT” —- “WOW, PREY, LET’S ENSLAVE IT IN WEIRD, ARGUABLY SEXUALIZED ROLES”

I DIDN’T EAT DAIRY PRODUCTS FOR MOST OF MY CHILDHOOD. I AM A BIT OF AN ALIEN DUE TO THIS. PEOPLE HAVE A WEIRD ENERGY DUE TO HAVING BEEN REARED OFF DAIRY PRODUCTS. I CHOSE TO EAT DAIRY, BECAUSE IT MAKES OTHER PEOPLE MORE TOLERABLE. I AVOID IT BY AND LARGE THOUGH. BEYOND DELICACY, WHICH IS OFTEN KIND OF PERVERTED ANYWAY, IT’S KIND OF NOT MY SCENE.

Your relations with others will be of prime importance; but some differences of views may provoke dissensions; try to dominate your impatience. Without wanting it expressly, you’ll this time give out the impression of being easy-going and dilettante. However, this will be nothing but an appearance for you’ll lack neither drive nor optimism! This will be the moment to buckle down to a project that requires energy and daring, but you must succeed in curbing your aggressiveness, otherwise the situation may get out of hand.

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Yesterday

i wrote one of the best blogs i’ve ever written last night. some weird crash issue. word press didn’t save along as it usually does and my connection went as i was submitting. lost… maybe that’s better.

i am wearing a black slip with a black rayon jersey crop top on top of that. birkenstocks. an XXL hoodie that zips up the back with a black and white striped inner hood lining.

***

it’s strange, having a piece i just made gone. i have a few within the vein - i have a art nouveau style cloak/maxi coat done with tiny dots in red/green;yellow/purple; blue/orange. it’s probably “better painting” even, but not the same some how. i started a new one at tahina’s yesterday just to see what’d happen if i tried to redo the piece with all the practice the first one was also…

it’s still strange. my little poster of crammed together circles, gone. sold luckily, not destroyed or covered or anything, sold, which is good, but gone, none the less…

tahina got some oil painting going yesterday. today, i might join her on that. i started a painting. i mixed a pink i’d describe as pale neon. basdically, white down neon pink and deepen the undercoat with magenta. now i will collage on it or something. i can’t tell. it’ll be very much about the fact that acrylic paint looks like plastic. i’m not so interested in acrylic paint and how it looks like plastic to tell you the truth. i felt so “off” until i went back to the penetrative watercolors.

this being said, i want to make something that look kind of gnarly. on a canvas. pinks and glitters and build up. i’ve put a bunch of coarse glitter on the piece, i’ll do some stuff that commands some technical ability. i’ll continue to make it look like ballet pink throw up though… and maybe what informed that. good times.

i am quite happy that tahina is living really near by and that we’re both amped to make art all summer. as you get older, your parents continue to accommodate you, mine at least, but the extent of it… when i was younger i had the spare bedroom for my overstock. then it become my mom’s office. then i had ample garage space, then my mom bought a little black sports car which meant that our garage (only two car) was 50% limited shelving/storage and my dad’s gardening stuff. basically, everything i own is in this bedroom. the exceptions are,

i) my bike is in the garage

ii) i have a couple boxes of kitchen stuff i haven’t used in years in the garage,

iii) there might be another box down there, i can’t remember, probably one more little box of random doodads i don’t care about.

iv) there are maybe 20 of my books in my mother’s office closet.

v) my piano is in the dining room.

vi) i leave a couple things that my mom wouldn’t want me to throw out, clothing wise, in her closet.

vii) i have two pairs of shoes and a couple jackets in the hallway closet.

otherwise, everything i own is in this bedroom. everything i own is a few hundred books/records. some clothes, some art supplies, a guitar, a stereo, a keyboard and fm tone geneator, cheerleader elmo (i have no idea), some swarovski figurines that sit with my crystals… i dunno. i’ve moved too much over the years to be that big a pack rat. i’m a pat rat in that i sill have a lot of the photocopied essays/texts from school in a tupperware. i keep books and records. i still own the union of uranus/immortal squad split 7 inch i bought in 1995 at 5 Arlington in Ottawa, for example (to be totally random here). i still own a phaidon book ot political graphics i got off the bargain shelf at chapters when i was 21… i keep the vintage that is “vintage”, sometimes. i still have the bright pink if anything too big for me 1960s knee length wool coat i’ve had since i was 19, for example, but do i have the one that was a touch smaller than i’d like, no.

***

i’ve been considering a move away from staying up till dawn. i needed to last night. i was so fucking stiff from painting on the floor for so many hours. i’m usually pretty good that way, stretching and what not. i got a bit done but not a ton. there are two forces at work,

i) it is very comfortable hanging out with someone i’ve known since i was 20. that’s 9 years. that meeting me with a “big black bob” totally shell shocked because i can’t war dressy vintage and 1 hour hair/makeup to “art school”. that was a very different christina than the christina today. that christina had never moved out of her parents house, that christina wore daytime heels sometimes, that christina had never gone on vacation alone or had a job beyond working at le chateau in the late 90s for 12 hours a week, that christina was very young… subsequent to this, there are a lot of gaps that dont’ need to be explained.

ii) anytime i hang out with someone i haven’t in ages, it’s a bit of a shell shock. lots happens. you get to know people better, slowly. that’s healthy.

iii) my life is kind of a shell shock right now.

***

my life is kind of a shell shock right now. i haven’t worked in over three months beyond those waitressing shifts. my basic thought is to further reduce my expenses and avoid it. i don’t really want to accumulate anything right now, obviously. clothes come and go, but otherwise… i actually want to leave town this fall and do that pretty effectively. it’s less “get out of vancouver” and more make vancouver where i’m “based” rather than “stuck”. i like vancouver. it is chill and pretty and clean and interesting. it is also very demoralizing to be making art here wit the thoughts of selling it. since i actually want to sell my work and put enough time and effort into it that this seems completely reasonable it is evident that staying in vancouver without leaving a lot is a bad idea.

i’m not lazy. i can hang with just sitting around in bits and pieces but i get kind of uncomfortable with it. i don’t think i could be unemployed for these long stints if i weren’t self motivated.

it’s really healthy to be hanging out with someone who has been traveling heavily, doing such within an “artworld” context and doing well at it. i feel like it’s a win/win because i am probably more productive in my art making, more at home working on pieces for 8 hours a day, which is the task at hand.

***

i don’t know how i feel about living with my parents at this time. i clearly need a lot of distance from home. i usually have a lot of distance from home, if i live here. i’m only home and around when they are asleep. i work, go to school and have a social life in the city. things like that. right now, i’m creating that, and defining things. this is the best idea if i wish to travel. further to this, the social life i gain as a result of living in the city is usually pretty destructive. i “know everyone” and am introduced to who i don’t on my own schedule, living in the city just makes things kind of a drag in vancouver. there’s little worth paying rent here for, city specific, if you have an alternative.

***

i am wearing,

aqua lululemon wrap dress,

leggings,

birkenstocks.

my feet were  bit sore from an epic night in heels. why?! why?!

***

i think the next six months of my life may be devoted to the rolling stones, in musical terms. again? jesus. talk about an epic band.

***

i am making nutritional yeast pasta, soon i will go make art at tahina’s. good times.

-driving home in my car wearing black jeans (faded), off white on the grey side boots that hella’s mom originated (nursehella, the only person i know who actually came out of the womb listening to the ramones ps), some random band t shirt from my old highschool that i got at a thrift store, whatever… the radio is unbearable. i resort to a tape. ministry? no. the klf? nah. tori amos? are you kidding. i go with the clear one. i’m dating i “22″, earlier probably - company flo live on new york radio in 200? including “check out this hip hop and soul night in brooklyn” dj overdub, ludus, this heat, that one glass candy song i like (the troubleman mixed tape cut of night nurses. i fucking hate italians do it better bands. i’m “pro” glass candy only because i once saw them get showered in money (the door profits) while covering roxy music (remake remodel) at a festival (pdx tpx) where friends forever and a bunch of cool noise and one of the dudes from teh get hustle on the piano and stuff played. americans do that better sometimes.), and this cut of night nurses. go right back to metal gods and brittle women, i can’t hand. this cut. fuzzed out, poorly recorded, bass driven schlock with ida no wailing “so easy to live it up” that sounded a bit in the background. if i were to emulate it, i’d use a mic that i could record from a feet away with, then pump it higher with gain so it sounded far away. i don’t produce though. it’s a good track. i am “pro” that song.

-i was considering dissecting emotional processes in written form. things like noting the ego. an honest glance into my actual stream of conscious. maybe that’s off blog. just wrote it here to remember it.

_nee how, i’m stoked. my piece was the first to sell in that show tonight. sure, it all went to a cause and i didn’t make a penny but i just couldn’t bother to have another piece go hidden in a corner, possibly destroyed and certainly ignored. so i let my friend’s movie take the profits and got rid of the sucker without there being an exchange of money absent from the process. i want more than that but selling art period in vancouver has a certain something to it. who the fuck buys are? i’ve bought art. not often, but it’s happened.

***

dear blank,

you are, like, totally hot. i’m so glad we made out. you’re, like, totally fuckable. seriously. i don’t have to, but i could without wanting to (literally) puke. good on you. men being excellent is, like, way inspirational to me. the energy of having chosen the actually fuckable door at a point of many (or several) doors was life affirming. that doesn’t mean anything beyond that, which is, in and of itself, a miracle. i feel cured. maybe you’re magic. maybe i am. maybe there’s some back and forthing. maybe not. whatever. contrary to the person the dramaqueens have constructed me as, i don’t construct people or expectations beyond what is there. i’m kind of stuck in a level of existentialism. it’s empowering, anguish notwithstanding and the anguish passes, you learn to cope. existentialism and sex is a doozy. luckily, so long as you aren’t driving your emotions into bias, sex is also and it all harmonizes.

anyway. this is supposed to be the lead up to a bit of a joke grounded in some truth but whatever man, i’ll get there…

anyway. “wow, i could fuck you and not want to kill myself.”. i need more of that. don’t ever need to fuck that given “you”, but in spiritual terms, admitting why i couldn’t with a lot of attractive/popular/interesting/amazing suiters and how fucking harsh that is made the clarity of quantifying the matter of being able to…. yeah…  positive. life affirmingly positive. that’s a reward for my own personal growth/work as much as a great fluke. and beyond that, nothing but the ether i suppose.

i want more in life than to make out with someone who then vanished with no real feeling of a future within my outlook. if nothing else, i’m too pent up and in need of months and months of a good stiff dickin to get my headspace (and butt muscles) where i deserve them to be. however, in baby steps we begin a journey and it’s, like, just totally happy that i finally got some action that didn’t depress me in retrospect. i guess it’s the cruel irony of singular encounters. you can’t give your all. i’m a staunch advocate that if a man expects to ejaculate in my company, it’s gonna take him three dates. it’s not popular on the pick up set, especially since i love sucking dick and have that whole venus in aries, ok, let’s fuck, hooray fucking headspace filtered through that heavy truth that is being a taurus.

anyway. in your case - dude, you just didn’t get my best tits. i’ve been on this bra kick and while men seem to no, i have no real illusion that my bra is getting me attention from men, i always get attention from men. liking my hair helps, with my part in things, the suspension of the hellish regret and annoyance of my image conscious qualities against my pretentious will to do wahtever the fuck it is i got up to when i wasn’t a “hair girl” to any visible degree… if you’ve ever had a sculpture on your head on a regular basis, you understand that you can’t turn back… anyway… yeah, bummer you didn’t get my tits at their best. i prefer my tits at their best. and i know that my recent habit of bra wearing is a part of that. while that is perhaps the price you pay for getting to lie in a bed with me naked while i have no real sense of security and nor the deeper appreciation i so crave, i dont want to do that to any more men. as such, i am formally resigning my bra except for outfits that absolutely need it once again, and carrying on with my hippy ways. thanks. way to help me keep it real man.

xoxtinaknoxoxox

***

i was bummed classic rock radio started to suck around 3am tonight. it’s, like, totally my thing.

***

ran into three separate people at some point capable of near veto suspension on eBay accounts under the term “unacceptable fraud risk” and “unsustainable business model” (whatever the fuck that may mean) in 24 hours. (lol)

***

the birds are chriping. time to strip off this royal blue rayoney polyester jumpsuit tahina gave me. it’s rad. totally late 80s or something. i dunno. it’s fun. sometimes fun is good.

Yesterday

that i can draw is a bit of a secret. can i make a sweet fucking design type image with one hand tied behind my back? yeah, either hand if you give me a week to get my right hand back to cursive writing and line drawing ambidexterity in fact… but draw…

you could find a lot of people who would argue my drawing talents. i’m the classic ADD case. put me in a drawing class doing something irrelevant, i’ll remember all the instructions, and apply them, if there’s ever a need, but there’s at least a 75% chance my drawing will be sucky. i dunno. i have a bad attitude. luckily i can put it aside when purpose calls for it. like how i got Cs pretty consistently from 10th grade on but managed to get all my university grades acceptable… etcetera. the etcetera is massive here. my goal in life is for everything to be within that etcetera and my captain slackerpants possibility to be a vague memory of the torment that is school. but whatever… this isn’t that. this isn’t an essay about ADD, nor that i prefer to care.

it’s about drawing.

my mom just came in in relative shock to a 50/50 drawing i threw together while waiting for paint to dry. it’s a modification on a brian jones photograph from the late sixties. i just kind of did it to throw to timmy as something he could sell really cheap in his show as there’ll probably be someone there who just wants to throw down 10 bucks or whatever to support the cause and why not give them a quickie art project.

i think, with me, my biggest issue with drawing well is that i rarely have anything to say. when i came into things i had to say in two dimensional, non photographic images, it kind of fucked me up. i quit my job within a month. fuck it man. seriously. fuck it.

applying for jobs. applying for things like extra work. i dunno. at least it’s contract style duration.