It's Strange how we get trapped in the past

I've been noticing lately, my tendency to dream about lost times. Moments that in many respects I'm glad are over, still seem to repeat on me. I imaging myself in them with this longing, which is hard to explain. Why would I want to relive pain? Is it the subtle beauty that exists inside of it, or just fear of moving on and finding less faulted beauties to languish in.

Privacy is a state of mind

According to Jan Yoors, insider gypsy anthropologist, the Rom(gypsies) consider privacy to be a state of mind. Something which involves giving other people space, not prying and not discussing unsavory things which might offend others. This statement attests to the idea that people who share tiny spaces, like campsites and wagons, or train cars and the great outdoors, an be constantly together yet comfortably alone. While, I've noticed that people who share houses or in this city sidewalks and roads, can feel continuously irritated by the presence of meddling others. There are always those people who do not observe borders, almost unconscious of there existence these people have a tendency to be intrusive. Surrounded by such space invaders many of us develop the belief that we must hole up in private places, rooms with locks on the doors, deserted beaches in order to find this truly alone sense of quiet and peace. However, why can't we, when in Rom, do as the gypsies do and find inner solace, by creating space around us by respecting the boundaries of ourselves and others?

Cyberspace

This is one of the dresses that I have recently made. Check out more on www.inkblotkelly.etsy.com I've been talking a lot with people who are physically present in the same space as me, about the craziness that is cyber relations. How, people meet online and these friendships, translate into hang out in reality(not virtual) friends, to bar dates, jobs, and sublets. the down side to this is that internet rejections burn ya just as much as to your face ones. Still we learn on places like facebook that pictures are omnipotent. Thus even old fashioned phone calls are pushed farther to the back of the bus- they start to feel too personal,"intimate" if you will, when they break the silence of pictures and text(messaging). unless they're the types of phone calls that proceed as follows: 'Press 1 to make a new booking, press 2 to make changes on an already existing booking, Press 3 to hear these options again, press 4 to go back to the main menu. Do not hang up and call again, it will not increase your wait time.' Is it variable overload or celebration worthy modernity?

Why leave the house at all

In the technology saturated land which is these great states, I have noticed that there is little need left to ever leave the house. Everything you need will come to you. As I listen to the birds waking up, a morning ritual that I've loved since my meditation days, its 4am and I'm contemplating going to sleep just before it becomes light. I want to somehow trick my body into respecting the rules of nature, rather than making up its own precepts. It wants to create new codes, based on dive bars and buses that don't come, roof top parties and dares to talk to someone who doesn't know someone you know. I definitely have a desire to leave the house often and I do, yet I've noticed how those who don't can get on. We can do business on line: make money from home, order groceries for delivery, books, movies, every commodity comes through the net or mail or phone, people have sex without touching all the time, meet dates, and friends, whole social networks exist remotely. When did we become this afraid of fresh air?

Flea Market

The phrase is not one which English as a second language speakers often know. Its etymological origin is not clear and it can only be described to them as slang for some kind of a market.

I've always loved them filled with random scores and bargaining from a dollar down to 50 cents. However, I go about every day generally considering myself to be weird, but the odd-balls one finds at flea markets outdo me hands down. The collectors of candles from the seventies, miniature ceramic boots and of course ancient coins and stamps. The sellers of 2 dollar shoes by the dozen, made in china, socks and electrical tape, the hamburger vendor and fresh lemonade Italian ice.

Everybody loves a street fair but only freaks (and vintage buyers) love flea markets.

Meditation

Become very still and listen-I prefer power yoga with music and sweat-but there are birds-not racing to become something-nicely stumble across a park rose petal morning-coffee square absorbing the sun-submit, apply, impress get press 'any press is good press'-get dizzy from staying up too late not drinking enough water I'm that fragile I don't need help to decay-the hammock is calling waiting for an accepted invitation into relax-run on a machine don't go no where seek shades of people past-shine charming bastard shyness can only protect so far.

Travel from home in the rain

It doesn't rain like this in Melbourne, for days, all night, without stopping. It shocks me now no longer used to constancy. I travel through cyberspace, picking up messages leaving questions.