Don't look at me like that
I know what I'm saying.
I know how much I'm risking.
but isn't that the best part?
Monday, July 23, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
An Unapologetic Laugh (on your behalf)
And isn't this awkward
for you at least.
I'm doing okay.
Yeah, you rejected me.
Stood up.
Cancelled.
Ignored.
Full out.
Had me sitting by the phone
clicking hopelessly at my empty inbox,
"No, you do not have mail,
your self-worth is deminishing,
have a nice night."
And now, I can see it in your eyes
how uncomfortable this makes you
and my hands are shaking
my pulse is racing
but it's not because
I wish you were into me
as much as I was into you
was being the operative word
but rather
because I have this unreal sense
of self-reflected anger
that I let myself be hurt by you
that I lost sleep
over the sound of your voice
the false need for your touch
and when our hands bumped
I didn't feel butterflies
I felt bats and moths
and the same anger as when
I first saw Salvador Dali's
"the creation of flying things"
And right now
I'm happy
I'm crushing
and feeling butterflies
just thinking about his eyes
his touch
and seeing you
helped me remember who I am.
Resilient.
Beautiful.
Defying.
And most of all.
I am uneffected.
Thanks for the reminder,
and the unapologetic laugh
at your receding hairline.
LUV,
LS
for you at least.
I'm doing okay.
Yeah, you rejected me.
Stood up.
Cancelled.
Ignored.
Full out.
Had me sitting by the phone
clicking hopelessly at my empty inbox,
"No, you do not have mail,
your self-worth is deminishing,
have a nice night."
And now, I can see it in your eyes
how uncomfortable this makes you
and my hands are shaking
my pulse is racing
but it's not because
I wish you were into me
as much as I was into you
was being the operative word
but rather
because I have this unreal sense
of self-reflected anger
that I let myself be hurt by you
that I lost sleep
over the sound of your voice
the false need for your touch
and when our hands bumped
I didn't feel butterflies
I felt bats and moths
and the same anger as when
I first saw Salvador Dali's
"the creation of flying things"
And right now
I'm happy
I'm crushing
and feeling butterflies
just thinking about his eyes
his touch
and seeing you
helped me remember who I am.
Resilient.
Beautiful.
Defying.
And most of all.
I am uneffected.
Thanks for the reminder,
and the unapologetic laugh
at your receding hairline.
LUV,
LS
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Women Under the Influence
I don't feel pretty right now.
or Cute. or Attractive. or Beautiful.
In fact, I feel quite the opposite.
For some reason, and I am not entirely sure why,
I feel dejected.
Unsure of what happens next.
Questioning who I am, what I do or
how I say your name.
And it's not entirely a bad feeling.
Maybe I'm just hungry
for something more.
Ms. R. Jeehye and I had breakfast
at Broadway Cafe.
I forgot to be vegan
and she forgot to be a bad friend
(I don't think she has ever been a bad friend, so easily forgotten,
being vegan was a little less easily misplaced)
and we decided half way through our pancakes
that we wouldn't talk about boys anymore
and instead giggle about
diaries and hashbrowns.
I bought a painting at St Vincent de Paul.
it's yellow and red, with sequins glued to the canvas,
and a big wooden cross hot glued
on top of a wave of sparkles.
It was $5.00.
It makes me feel alive.
I wonder why nobody signed it.
I have big plans of altering it.
Creating some kind of love child
with the previous artist.
In hopes of dropping an atom bomb
of splotchy ink
and irreversible personality flaws
and sign my name
under the black spot of their own.
and we watched the Baby Sitters Club
the TV show, not the movie
and drank cherry soda.
At someone else's house.
And I felt dirty
after applying for a credit card
and desperate for a cause
there is nothing like
being told your self-worth
is greater than your yearly income
and sometimes that's just not enough.
and I don't NEED YOU
TO MAKE ME FEEL BAD ABOUT
THINGS THAT ARE OUT OF MY CONTROL
AND don't come to me
ASKING FOR FORGIVENESS
WHEN THE GUTTER OF MY HEART
IS ALREADY spilling over,
edited and absolute
and I don't know why I care so much
about things that don't really effect
the gravitational pull of my everyday.
and it doesn't even make me feel better
to say that as loudly as I can
because dude, I got a lot of shit going on
and I work 60 hours a week
I have nightmares
and sweat myself to sleep.
while I think about his eyes
and the fool that I so easily became, become,
after hours
long after I should have known better
but didn't think twice.
and just because we're friends
for a long time
doesn't mean that I am who you want me to be.
Raychie is sleeping on the floor
and a rerun of the newshour
or something
with a woman wearing an out-of-date suit
is playing on TV
and I'm thinking about sending myself postcards
from places I've never been
share secret I've never said outloud
and find true love in a 39 cent stamp.
I am a woman under the influence
of sleep deprivation
of out of state work
of infatuation overload
of future-shock, flashing lights and a song I can't remember the name of
of teenage angst
of miles away
of lack of need
of situation confirmation and an empty inbox.
Love to the 12 degree,
beca.
or Cute. or Attractive. or Beautiful.
In fact, I feel quite the opposite.
For some reason, and I am not entirely sure why,
I feel dejected.
Unsure of what happens next.
Questioning who I am, what I do or
how I say your name.
And it's not entirely a bad feeling.
Maybe I'm just hungry
for something more.
Ms. R. Jeehye and I had breakfast
at Broadway Cafe.
I forgot to be vegan
and she forgot to be a bad friend
(I don't think she has ever been a bad friend, so easily forgotten,
being vegan was a little less easily misplaced)
and we decided half way through our pancakes
that we wouldn't talk about boys anymore
and instead giggle about
diaries and hashbrowns.
I bought a painting at St Vincent de Paul.
it's yellow and red, with sequins glued to the canvas,
and a big wooden cross hot glued
on top of a wave of sparkles.
It was $5.00.
It makes me feel alive.
I wonder why nobody signed it.
I have big plans of altering it.
Creating some kind of love child
with the previous artist.
In hopes of dropping an atom bomb
of splotchy ink
and irreversible personality flaws
and sign my name
under the black spot of their own.
and we watched the Baby Sitters Club
the TV show, not the movie
and drank cherry soda.
At someone else's house.
And I felt dirty
after applying for a credit card
and desperate for a cause
there is nothing like
being told your self-worth
is greater than your yearly income
and sometimes that's just not enough.
and I don't NEED YOU
TO MAKE ME FEEL BAD ABOUT
THINGS THAT ARE OUT OF MY CONTROL
AND don't come to me
ASKING FOR FORGIVENESS
WHEN THE GUTTER OF MY HEART
IS ALREADY spilling over,
edited and absolute
and I don't know why I care so much
about things that don't really effect
the gravitational pull of my everyday.
and it doesn't even make me feel better
to say that as loudly as I can
because dude, I got a lot of shit going on
and I work 60 hours a week
I have nightmares
and sweat myself to sleep.
while I think about his eyes
and the fool that I so easily became, become,
after hours
long after I should have known better
but didn't think twice.
and just because we're friends
for a long time
doesn't mean that I am who you want me to be.
Raychie is sleeping on the floor
and a rerun of the newshour
or something
with a woman wearing an out-of-date suit
is playing on TV
and I'm thinking about sending myself postcards
from places I've never been
share secret I've never said outloud
and find true love in a 39 cent stamp.
I am a woman under the influence
of sleep deprivation
of out of state work
of infatuation overload
of future-shock, flashing lights and a song I can't remember the name of
of teenage angst
of miles away
of lack of need
of situation confirmation and an empty inbox.
Love to the 12 degree,
beca.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Tracks and Trenches
My heart is a trainwreck.
The whistle blowing, screaming, conforming to the illusions of my imagination.
And I met you today & didn't really think much about our future.
I thought about my past.
About my tendency to fall into the canyons
of insecurity
and that sometimes
I forget how many band-aids cover up
the fleshy wounds
across my chest and under my skin.
I wonder if you can forgive
my skepticism.
And I'll call you in a couple of days.
Maybe.
And everytime I start to question my self worth, I peek under my shirt and catch a glance at my shoulder, and my heart fills with an undeniable warmth and I think of "Summertime."
Love ALWAYS,
yeo-dong-saeng!
The whistle blowing, screaming, conforming to the illusions of my imagination.
And I met you today & didn't really think much about our future.
I thought about my past.
About my tendency to fall into the canyons
of insecurity
and that sometimes
I forget how many band-aids cover up
the fleshy wounds
across my chest and under my skin.
I wonder if you can forgive
my skepticism.
And I'll call you in a couple of days.
Maybe.
And everytime I start to question my self worth, I peek under my shirt and catch a glance at my shoulder, and my heart fills with an undeniable warmth and I think of "Summertime."
Love ALWAYS,
yeo-dong-saeng!
Thursday, May 31, 2007
The Critics and Their Suffering
UA screens BFA films at the Loft
2007-05-17
Shipherd Reed
The year was 1984. A group of Chicano cub reporters at the LA Times pushed to provide a new perspective on California’s Latino population – something more than the poverty, gangs, and crime that the newspaper usually covered. Their reporting won the Pulitzer Prize for Public Service that year. That’s the engaging and affecting story told in Roberto Gudino’s short documentary “Below The Fold” as part of the UA Media Arts annual BFA program screening that goes by the name “I Dream In Widescreen.” Gudino’s film was one of the highlights of the screening this past Friday at the Loft Cinema.
Over the past year, an impressive crop of talented home-grown filmmakers and performers have sprouted in Tucson. And last year at the same UA Media Arts event I saw Jonathan Pulley’s astonishing short “Move Me” which made it to Sundance, and Nate Buchik’s irresistible “On Call Teddy” which just won the year-end grand prize for the Loft’s First Friday Shorts contest. So it was with high expectations that I sat down to watch this year’s “I Dream In Widescreen.” Alas, this year’s screening did not quite meet my hopes.
The screening kicked off with “Stuck” by director Elias Benavidez in which a lovely zaftig young Latina suffers a stuck zipper on the back of her dress as she prepares to go out for a night on the town. The film offered strong camera work from Kelli Dickinson and snappy editing, but it never built much dramatic tension and the twist at the end lacked bite – sweet but never sharp.
Next in line came “Sight” directed by Christafer Suddarth. Suddarth told the story of a shy teenage boy who meets an odd homeless woman under a bridge and she gives him a strange form of “sight.” Imagine being able to see people glow with auras of colored light, then combine that with special effects that look like the wispy spooks in “Ghostbusters,” and you have some idea. The effects were impressive, but the story never grabbed me.
“Below The Fold,” Gudino’s doc about Chicano journalists at the LA Times newspaper, followed. Gudino interviews the original reporters and conveys not only the dramatic tension inherent in their efforts to change reporting on the Latino community, and the courage required to push for that change, but also the profound validation the group felt when they won the Pulitzer Prize – a strong film.
The fourth film of the evening, “Hubris” by director Alex Lau, felt gimmicky. An entry in the well-worn genre of office drone fantasy, an average guy who works a ho-hum desk job saves a pretty woman from a mugger, and she gives him a thankful kiss. This experience proves so gratifying that he tries to do the same thing again by hiring a mugger so he can save the same woman. He ends up in the clink. Solid execution, but again it never hooked or surprised me.
The spirit award might go to the next film, “123 Smile” by Rebecca Skeels about a Latino brother and sister who cause mischievous mayhem at school on the day of the “school photo.” Playful camera work and plenty of color set this film apart even though the story never achieved much momentum or bite.
Another documentary, “We Don’t Eat Like Everyone Else,” followed. Directed by Cecilia Sewell, the film examines two vegetarian sisters and how their family members perceive their dietary restriction. There were a few funny moments, and much heartfelt commentary, but nothing unexpected.
Then we all watched “Lulee,” the tale of a pretty yet alienated college student who writes wise yet funny comments on Post-It notes that she leaves for strangers. Directed by Rachel Jeehye Thomas, the protagonist Lulee sports a black page-boy haircut, not unlike the enchanting Amelie in the charming French film of the same name. Lulee fields phone calls from her Japanese father and French mother and rejects the advances of a cute and savvy British boy as she scribbles her Post-Its. At last, when Brit boy sticks Lulee with a Post-It, she comes to her senses and agrees to a date. The film had a whimsical charm, but the polyglot Lulee felt more jaded than lovelorn and I never empathized with her plight.
In “Missing,” the next film to screen, director Kelli Dickinson focuses on a mother whose son very abruptly goes missing. Mom and a neighbor search desperately for the boy, and when at last they spot him, mom comes to her senses – in a mental hospital. It was all in her head. Dramatic thrillers are not easy to pull off without seeming forced, especially in such a short format. So while the directing was solid, the mother’s desperation did not pull me in. The ninth film of the evening, a film-noir ode to Philip K. Dick called “The Electric Sleep” by Matt Brailey, boasted some cool lighting and camera angles. A haggard Private Eye hero gets into some scrapes with some hard cases, pulls a gun, beds the femme fatale, and then finds out that he’s an android. More bewildering than twisty, although I give Brailey points for visual style.
Following Brailey’s shadowy thriller, Ben Slamka’s short film “Tympanic,” was hard to watch, or hear, and that’s how Slamka wanted it. Using a restrained visual style, and brutal sonic dexterity (painfully effective sound design by Brandon Clay), the film brings us into a large grimy cell in an unknown institution with a straight-jacketed prisoner who has big white devices, presumably amplified speakers, on his ears. Every sound – especially that of a buzzing fly – is amplified for the prisoner to the level of torture, and the audience is occasionally treated to the uber-audio that the prisoner hears. Ouch. The guy ends up bleeding from the ears and dying. Not much story, and grim as it gets, but both visually and sonically memorable.
The final film of the evening, “Revolution TV” directed by Dan Hart, and written and acted by Hart and his buddy Adam Zolnierczyk, was funny. The film offered crass, rapid fire sketch comedy barely strung together by the idea of two rabble-rousers who hit the bar after they are fired from their public access TV show. Hart and Zolnierczyk have a giddy approach to mocking American popular culture, a sensibility closer to Will Farrell than Sacha Baron Cohen, and their humor sometimes hits the mark. They should bring their brand of comedy to the Loft’s First Friday Shorts and I hope they keep making shorts with their “Monkies United” production company.
There was no audience award, but the biggest cheers from the crowd went to “Lulee” and “The Electric Sleep.” Also, I have to chide the Loft because, just like last year, it was sweltering in the filled-to-capacity theater. Was the air conditioning simply overwhelmed? Congratulations to all the BFA filmmakers for their hard work and creativity, and best wishes in their future creative endeavors!
2007-05-17
Shipherd Reed
The year was 1984. A group of Chicano cub reporters at the LA Times pushed to provide a new perspective on California’s Latino population – something more than the poverty, gangs, and crime that the newspaper usually covered. Their reporting won the Pulitzer Prize for Public Service that year. That’s the engaging and affecting story told in Roberto Gudino’s short documentary “Below The Fold” as part of the UA Media Arts annual BFA program screening that goes by the name “I Dream In Widescreen.” Gudino’s film was one of the highlights of the screening this past Friday at the Loft Cinema.
Over the past year, an impressive crop of talented home-grown filmmakers and performers have sprouted in Tucson. And last year at the same UA Media Arts event I saw Jonathan Pulley’s astonishing short “Move Me” which made it to Sundance, and Nate Buchik’s irresistible “On Call Teddy” which just won the year-end grand prize for the Loft’s First Friday Shorts contest. So it was with high expectations that I sat down to watch this year’s “I Dream In Widescreen.” Alas, this year’s screening did not quite meet my hopes.
The screening kicked off with “Stuck” by director Elias Benavidez in which a lovely zaftig young Latina suffers a stuck zipper on the back of her dress as she prepares to go out for a night on the town. The film offered strong camera work from Kelli Dickinson and snappy editing, but it never built much dramatic tension and the twist at the end lacked bite – sweet but never sharp.
Next in line came “Sight” directed by Christafer Suddarth. Suddarth told the story of a shy teenage boy who meets an odd homeless woman under a bridge and she gives him a strange form of “sight.” Imagine being able to see people glow with auras of colored light, then combine that with special effects that look like the wispy spooks in “Ghostbusters,” and you have some idea. The effects were impressive, but the story never grabbed me.
“Below The Fold,” Gudino’s doc about Chicano journalists at the LA Times newspaper, followed. Gudino interviews the original reporters and conveys not only the dramatic tension inherent in their efforts to change reporting on the Latino community, and the courage required to push for that change, but also the profound validation the group felt when they won the Pulitzer Prize – a strong film.
The fourth film of the evening, “Hubris” by director Alex Lau, felt gimmicky. An entry in the well-worn genre of office drone fantasy, an average guy who works a ho-hum desk job saves a pretty woman from a mugger, and she gives him a thankful kiss. This experience proves so gratifying that he tries to do the same thing again by hiring a mugger so he can save the same woman. He ends up in the clink. Solid execution, but again it never hooked or surprised me.
The spirit award might go to the next film, “123 Smile” by Rebecca Skeels about a Latino brother and sister who cause mischievous mayhem at school on the day of the “school photo.” Playful camera work and plenty of color set this film apart even though the story never achieved much momentum or bite.
Another documentary, “We Don’t Eat Like Everyone Else,” followed. Directed by Cecilia Sewell, the film examines two vegetarian sisters and how their family members perceive their dietary restriction. There were a few funny moments, and much heartfelt commentary, but nothing unexpected.
Then we all watched “Lulee,” the tale of a pretty yet alienated college student who writes wise yet funny comments on Post-It notes that she leaves for strangers. Directed by Rachel Jeehye Thomas, the protagonist Lulee sports a black page-boy haircut, not unlike the enchanting Amelie in the charming French film of the same name. Lulee fields phone calls from her Japanese father and French mother and rejects the advances of a cute and savvy British boy as she scribbles her Post-Its. At last, when Brit boy sticks Lulee with a Post-It, she comes to her senses and agrees to a date. The film had a whimsical charm, but the polyglot Lulee felt more jaded than lovelorn and I never empathized with her plight.
In “Missing,” the next film to screen, director Kelli Dickinson focuses on a mother whose son very abruptly goes missing. Mom and a neighbor search desperately for the boy, and when at last they spot him, mom comes to her senses – in a mental hospital. It was all in her head. Dramatic thrillers are not easy to pull off without seeming forced, especially in such a short format. So while the directing was solid, the mother’s desperation did not pull me in. The ninth film of the evening, a film-noir ode to Philip K. Dick called “The Electric Sleep” by Matt Brailey, boasted some cool lighting and camera angles. A haggard Private Eye hero gets into some scrapes with some hard cases, pulls a gun, beds the femme fatale, and then finds out that he’s an android. More bewildering than twisty, although I give Brailey points for visual style.
Following Brailey’s shadowy thriller, Ben Slamka’s short film “Tympanic,” was hard to watch, or hear, and that’s how Slamka wanted it. Using a restrained visual style, and brutal sonic dexterity (painfully effective sound design by Brandon Clay), the film brings us into a large grimy cell in an unknown institution with a straight-jacketed prisoner who has big white devices, presumably amplified speakers, on his ears. Every sound – especially that of a buzzing fly – is amplified for the prisoner to the level of torture, and the audience is occasionally treated to the uber-audio that the prisoner hears. Ouch. The guy ends up bleeding from the ears and dying. Not much story, and grim as it gets, but both visually and sonically memorable.
The final film of the evening, “Revolution TV” directed by Dan Hart, and written and acted by Hart and his buddy Adam Zolnierczyk, was funny. The film offered crass, rapid fire sketch comedy barely strung together by the idea of two rabble-rousers who hit the bar after they are fired from their public access TV show. Hart and Zolnierczyk have a giddy approach to mocking American popular culture, a sensibility closer to Will Farrell than Sacha Baron Cohen, and their humor sometimes hits the mark. They should bring their brand of comedy to the Loft’s First Friday Shorts and I hope they keep making shorts with their “Monkies United” production company.
There was no audience award, but the biggest cheers from the crowd went to “Lulee” and “The Electric Sleep.” Also, I have to chide the Loft because, just like last year, it was sweltering in the filled-to-capacity theater. Was the air conditioning simply overwhelmed? Congratulations to all the BFA filmmakers for their hard work and creativity, and best wishes in their future creative endeavors!
Monday, May 28, 2007
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)