Terminal Irony 365

Redundancy can suck it, et cetera.

2011-01-13T11:27:00.000-08:00

I'm at the Pearson airport in Toronto waiting for my plane to Santiago...again. New York City was pummeled with snow yesterday and so my flight was canceled. I had a nice stay in the airport sheraton...sort of. The pool was closed so...alas, no underwater bikini shots. Yet.

I'm thinking this blog should get a little more personal and rounded out. Granted, it's nearing the "end" of the project that started this thing- but I feel like I'm just beginning to get my groove on, so I am going to keep going with it all after March. This blog I feel should be a nice addendum to the Flickr site- something with arbitrary extras...and shit like that.

A shot of the skyline at the Wisconsin state fare. Unrelated to this post, falling under the "et cetera" part of the title.

So, I've decided that I'm not going to blog ALL my photos here. Since my Flickr stream is so conspicuous on the blogger home-page a repetitive posting of all of them here might kind of suck. And then WhyTF would you even come here? Lets mix it up a little. You'll always be able to find all my photos on Flickr, but WHO KNOWS what you'll find here. Keep that in mind. I would like to find a way to upload photos from my phone directly to this blog. Cell phone photos are not film, I understand this. So, of course, I believe that it is inferior. However, I will say that cell phone photography is SO inferior that it's almost lovable. Like babies that are so ugly they're cute. Or schlitz. Or Jameson. Or...the jewelry store "Icing". Get it?

A few years ago my friend Anne Massoni and I did a year long project dedicated ONLY to cell phone photography and required daily attention. Check it out here.

Anyway, all I'm saying it. I'm an analog devotee, without a freaking doubt. But the truth is...sometimes I want to upload nude photos NOW and not later. In order to do that- I must use an shitty, digital option. When pressed, that choice would fall under cell phone images. They are the hardest to manipulate (I, uh, clearly do not have an iPhone), notoriously grainy and amorphous, and demand narcissism and shamelessness from their executioners. They also look generally tacky and shitty and this I like.

What I'm saying is. Be aware that I may upload cell phone photos occasionally to this blog. And, I will be sure to name them when I do. Unless otherwise stated, you can be sure that all the photos here are film.

I wish they had a polaroid-back for my blackberry.

Get to know your Holga the hard way.

2011-01-11T23:56:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I leave for Chile. I don't arrive until the day after though and then I spend 3 nights alone in Santiago. After that, I meet a bus at the airport and drive 3 hours to a place called
"Canal Om".

Guess what I'm doing there.

I'll be in Chile for two weeks doing mountains of hippy stuff. There will be beautiful scenery though and, no doubt, some quite interesting looking people. I decided that all I'm taking, besides a waterproof disposable film camera (which I will likely only be able to use in a pool), is my Holga. Bare bones, no tripod, no accoutrement- just 120 film, the multi-color, on-camera flash, and it's pretty red lanyard.

I've had some trouble getting to know the 120 thus far, but truth be told- it's kind of my favorite. I haven't gotten a good sense of exposure times for my Holga, and I have a nasty habit of having no freaking idea whether or not I progressed the film or not when I got to take another shot. But...when I accidentally double expose. I love it. When the shot comes out good, it comes out really good. It's square. It leaks light. It's unpredictable. It's perfect.

So, wish me and my plastic companion good luck on our journey to South America. Who knows what variety if Photographic Love awaits us.

Girlfriends

2010-12-26T14:32:00.000-08:00

I like this set, though they are redundant, for two reasons. One, because they are cheap and seedy looking- what with my boots and shadow in the photo. Two, because it's Kodachrome... how great is it to take hot pictures of your girlfriends on the best film on earth, like it ain't no thang?
Three (ok, for three reasons), because of my hot girlfriend.

I sort of enjoy the redundancy of all these photos together. The changes in each frame are subtle- so it kind of adds up. Blah, blah, blaaaaaady da! Hope everyone had a good christmas!!

Many Hotel Nights.

2010-12-26T14:30:00.000-08:00

Geometrees.

2010-12-26T14:27:00.000-08:00

Kodachrome is wear the heart is.

2010-12-10T06:41:00.001-08:00

But really. I've only like...a week to finish up my precious Kodachrome and turn it in to the lab...and then...*sound of funeral music here*.

How can they quit a film like that? It's THE best film ever made. They wrote effing SONGS about it! Ok, well, they wrote one song about it. And by "they" I mean "Paul Simon". Regardless, it's a staggering loss for all film lovers.

I have 5 rolls left. So, I'm just going to put myself in the mind frame that people were in when Kodachrome was abundant and fell from the sky like rain- and just shoot it like i'm a regular person strollling around taking pictures any time in the 74 years before 2009. What will I do for New Years Eve? For my trip to Chile? For...nude pictures of my friends after December? I don't know...I just don't know. Cry probably. Console myself with gratuitous amounts of polaroid film. Stare wistfully at empty Kodachrome boxes while fondling my nude, depressed self. Any of this is possible.

Alright. Well.

Now you know. Updates soon.

MacBook Homicide.

2010-11-30T12:52:00.000-08:00

Hello All,

I have just received an ENORMOUS amount of film back from the lab (from October and November and...other months) and I've also just arrived in Park City, Utah for another round of deep, torturous shamanic apprenticeship. All I REALLY want to do right now is upload blog after blog of analog bliss and take portraits with my Spectra and the Impossible Project's B&W Spectra film in the snowy, gorgeous, beautiful, freezing fucking cold, awesome landscape. And also sleep. I'd like to sleep, too.

But alas, I have an absolutely shite internet connection and a lot of work to do. It's taken me three times to try and upload this blog. But, I persevered A) because I feel energetically kick-ass after fire ceremony, and B) This is a fucking exquisite picture of two snappily dressed goats. Those Wisconsin State Fair goats are prize winning for a REASON.

Stay tuned

Bare Floor.

2010-11-22T12:28:00.000-08:00

Check this out. Ok, so I didn't take it- but this was shot with a analog point-and-shoot years ago at one of my less, uh, professional photo shoots.

I realize this is beyond cheesy, but I love this picture. Besides that you can see my box and all of my now-removed piercings, I'm enjoying the "cinema veritas" vibe of this dude's shitty film camera.

Ancient Film Photo of the day.

2010-11-18T13:39:00.000-08:00

This was taken about 6 years ago, again with my old out of commission Canon Rebel Eos. It's from a role that I accidentally double exposed- though this one doesn't seem affected. It could be the reason for the awesome, dreamy pink hue though. Seriously, I wish I could get a guarantee that photography accidents would ALWAYS happen.

Instant Attraction: Polaroid Ketchup.

2010-11-16T22:57:00.000-08:00

Ok, so...though I haven't even begun to be caught up on my photo posts, I do want to interject with an impromptu Instant photo shoot I recently did when Tia stopped by to borrow some...stevia. Yeah. For her homemade toothpaste. What a bunch of freaking hippies.

So, I was all:

"hey, will you take of your shirt and put on these goggles?"

and she was all, "Yeah, if I can finger-bang this teddy bear".

Obviously, I agreed. I mean, what a deal, right? Amiright?!

This was last week. ENJOY THE PHENOMENA THAT IS FUJI MINI "HELLO KITTY" INSTAMATIC FILM!

Portrait of a Viking.

Also, this:

Seattle Film...Works?

2010-11-16T22:49:00.000-08:00

Do you remember that whole Seattle Film Works film set up where you mailed your film directly to them? Well, I recently found a VERY old roll of it amongst my things ( I sooooo love when that happens). Old, like, 12 years old. The awesome part is that I shot it with the same camera that I shoot a lot of things with now (or did, until It suddenly refused to fire in Santa Fe)- my Canon Rebel. That was the first camera I ever bought, I used to shoot with it constantly as a teenager. Do the math, and I'll kill you.

Anyway, that shit is impossible to get developed. Or so I thought. I called in the Film Sleuth, Mike Raso, and he- magically- found someone who would do it. I was...VERY happy with the results. I took these on a road trip through middle America when I was 17. Serial Killers, anyone?

(see? Even then I had to shoot the same thing 53 times)

One Drunk Night of Red Lomography Disposable (and a caveman).

2010-11-16T22:35:00.000-08:00

I bought 3 lomography disposable cameras with various colored flashes. One yellow, one green, and one red. This post is the whole of the pictures from the red camera. I can't WAIT to see the other two. Mostly, the camera was used on one night of drunken apartment dancing after a Full Moon Jam drum circle here in Chicago. Yeah. All I remember is a lot of The Door's music, some interpretive dancing, and discussion about Godard's Breathless and...maybe a hat of some kind. Also, there were many a shot of shitty tequila. Or was it vodka?

The last photo was taken in Utah. I don't know how that went down, but the photo is of some Ancient Pictograms-presumably a retelling of a great hunt. A well-rounded combination, I think, this camera. Oh, and Tiana is in a bikini in the second shot. I have zero recollection of taking that.

AND....(drumroll please!)...ANCIENT HISTORY!!!

By the looks of it...we haven't actually come very far.

Utah, s'more.

2010-11-16T22:32:00.000-08:00

Hey. Forgot these.

That ground was so effing hot, I could hardly stand there long enough for the picture!

Goblin Valley, Utah

2010-11-16T22:18:00.000-08:00

This is a brief chronicle of my first trip to Utah. It started out in Salt Lake, then went to Goblin Valley, then I went to my first class with The Four Winds in Park City. Since then I've been all over the place (most recently Joshua Tree National Park)-all caught on film- and at the end of this month I'll be returning to Park City for another week of school. Luckily I took my tripod with me on this particular trip to the formations...otherwise...I mean...how would I take naked photographs of myself? Some of these were actually taken inside of Goblin Valley Park- which is open to the public, rather, frequently visited by them. It was a little tricky. I had to set up the shot, sort out the light meter, run to my spot disrobe and pose before the timer went off. It's not like I could wear my Five Fingers when climbing those rocks for these shots!

Luckily, no children were traumatized during the shots in the buff.

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This is some of the amazing beauty of Kodachrome. Look at those colors! You just can't get that with anything else. Yeesh.

WEATHER.

Dust Devil nest to the highway. Such a treat.

New York Brevity

2010-11-16T22:02:00.000-08:00

I was visiting my friend in New York City-where I lived out my wild and crazy early 20's- and had some small moments to myself in which to exploit the scenery. I know, there's the million pictures of the skyline from my rooftop, but I couldn't help myself. It changes with the light like a bottle of Opus changes with each sip. I am cheesy.

You may not have noticed, but this was actually a portrait of my feet.

I was inside in the spare bedroom at the very top floor- the wind blew in the windows like a hurricane. It was fantastic.

OMG! THE SKYLINE! AGAIN!

Oh...hey... almost forgot.

BOOM! SKYLINE!

The color banana and Sepia Love.

2010-11-16T21:50:00.000-08:00

It's the 1970's!! ( I wish)

This whole set is about what it means to be yellow. I call it "Jaundice of the heart".
(kidding) I used my Nikon for this, but was able to borrow Tiana's sweet-ass portrait lens. That thing give me a huge boner...even if i can't shoot shit in low light.

I know these portraits are incredibly dark...but something about them is wicked gorgeous. In my opinion. But hey, I like stonewashed jeans, too.

Oh, and since we're on a lovely amber streak- lets throw in some yellowy boob, back to my dear, dear wide angle.

Ahhh, Lemon never looked so good.

Black And White: Latex and Film

2010-11-16T21:33:00.000-08:00

I travel (and am also stationary) often with my friend and former roommate Tiana Hunter...who also happens to be a career model. This is very handy as she is not shy or stubborn about taking off her clothes or posing for one of my many cameras. Actually, I think she relishes the opportunity to try and creep me out with her pervy ways at any chance she gets. I can't say this same thing about any of my male friends, which is a shame, since I would gladly photograph them in the nude AND tolerate any lecherousness. I'd photograph anything really...but I have to say I prefer nudity in odd places. I also enjoy funny hats and instant film in combination, as you will shortly see.

I like this set as a triptych:

I'm really digging all the scratches and dust on the image.

I did shoot a little but of color- these are my two favorites. This first one looks like a naughty school girl.

A Day of fishing and popsicles

2010-08-10T05:44:00.000-07:00

An added bonus of moving to Chicago is being close to my biological father and his parents, my Nana and Poppop. I've inherited quite a bit from that side of the family (sarcasm AND addictive personalities are both genetic! Who knew!) but didn't get to see them very much growing up. It's been nice to be around for holidays (such as Christmas, the Polish Olympics, and The Ross Official Day of Bingo)

It's also been nice to be closer since we found out about Nana's cancer. I'm not going to be all-sad and depressing about it because, frankly, she is the toughest broad I know and her cancer is probably scared shitless right now. I have total confidence that she'll beat its stupid immortal-cell-having ass.

So anyway, we all went to Nana's, ate popsicles and went fishing, mostly to make ourselves feel better about cancer, because Nana feels fine (and thinks we're all being pussies).

Here is some polaroidal evidence that I was not raised by wolfs and that I have an actual family (extended, even).

This is my father. He passed on one and a half dimples to my face.

My Nana and Poppop have been married for over 50 years. He regularly pats her ass in public and she regularly fawns over how good he looks in cardigans. So...unfortunately here is my proof that sometimes it does last forever. Jerks.

My cousin, Matt, accidentally took his Melatonin instead of his morning vitamins. So this is what he did most of the day. He inherited most of the Polish and less of the Cossack/Gypsy.

Poppop definitely can't blame the mailman for his spawn.

These fudgesicles are angering my grandad...and really confusing my Aunt.

Nans doesn't usually have monster-eye. There was some cancer back there that was feeling aggro about some recent Chemotherapy. It got over it (and got smaller).

Later I came home and this was happening:

Santa Fentastic

2010-08-09T05:17:00.000-07:00

Tiana had the opportunity to go to Santa Fe for work...and she also had the opportunity to invite me. I've always wanted to visit there, I've heard amazing things about the energy, the spirituality, and the physical beauty- all of which I found to be true. There are more of these photos on a wayward roll of film, which I will post once I...uh...find it. My Canon Rebel mysteriously quit working when I arrived (altitude? Is that even possible?) and my wide angle lens on my OTHER canon wasn't compatible with Tia's Canon. Stuck in SANTA FE with a friend who's willing to be nude in public, without a wide angle lens OR a camera that I'm familiar with? Oh HELL no.

So, this was a wonderful excuse for my to run around various camera shops in the plaza spending wads of cash on wide angle lenses and a new Nikon. HEH HEHE HE HAAAAAAAa. Aaaaaahhhhhit felt so good. My Rebel started working again when I got home. I'm sure as fuck glad I decided to break for a while in Arizona. Tia has a Lens Baby for her digital Nikon, which worked with mine. I was in heeeaaaaven.

HEAVEN!!

As soon as we possibly could she and I were off in the rental car, getting lost in the mountains, and looking for places to take our shirts off for arts sake. Tia took some beautiful film of me running around nude in the shrubbery, which, with her permission, I'll post as soon as I can. Here are some of my favorites:

This used to be a Polaroid of a fence. Oh, you Impossible Project Silver Shade, whatever will I do with you but stare in wonder.

We stopped at the mineral baths. Well, not this one. For some reason they told us that this one wasn't functional anymore. I don't get it.

Gratuitous mineral bath boob shot.
In all seriousness, the baths are amazing. Hard to believe it comes out of the ground at 100 degrees all by itself magical healing self. It was a day of floating meditation, whimsy, and cloud gazing.

Tia looking beautiful in the sun. We parked the rental car in with a rape-escape distance. After the first pick up truck full of dudes went by during one of our pants down shots- and we had to bolt to the ride with a bundle of clothes in hand-we realized that, having driven an hour into the middle of nowhere, alone, without telling anyone, that we'd kind of set ourselves up for some hardcore CSI Miami shit. We then took the necessary precautions. Seriously. If Tia reached her left hand out in this photo, she’d be able to touch the running economy vehicle.

We felt more comfortable being naked the closer we got to signs of urbanity.... you know, people who could hear us scream. Listen, it didn't help that we saw a government printed sign pointing into the mountains that said "WHO KILLED KAREN" during our drive through the mountains. I mean, wtf?

This two are just both so gorgeous. I couldn't decide. That grass looked EXACTLY like that in the sun. Like molten silver.

Wheeeee!!

Lens Baby!

Tiana Hunter: Photographess, Nerd, Supermodel.

This is what cow pictures would look like if the people who photographed them were the same people who photographed airplane food in the 70's.

Picture of you taking a picture of me! It HASN'T gotten old yet!

This is a picture of my muppet face. Muppety.

And on that note...What NOT to do OR "What the W?"

2010-07-10T07:59:00.000-07:00

Instead of trying to sum up the 3 day excursion to Atlanta that I went on THE DAY i came back from Peru- I will let the photos from my FujiFilm Instax mini (which I bought at gift shop at the W, where we were staying) tell the story. Well, most of it.

Let me reiterate first that I arrived in Chicago FROM Peru the same day I flew to Atlanta. Meaning I had been flying overnight (there was a 8 hour layover in Lima) and had, for all intents and purposes, JUST crawled out of the jungle. The Amazon jungle. After having spent 10 days there meditating, walking around the rainforest, staring at hippies, reflecting on heavy cosmic shit with a Peruvian shaman, and tripping my face off. Yeah.

I immediately took a cab home from Midway, unpacked my linen pants and five-fingers, repacked 3 cocktail dresses and 2 pairs of 5-inch heels...and went directly back to the airport. It goes without saying that my brains and face melted. Instantly. Upon touchdown in Atlanta.

Oh, and, after all that time I spent coody-less in Peru, I came back to the states and, without delay, contracted hot tub rash from the pool at the W. How effing gross is THAT shit? You're welcome.

There are so many things going on here. Whatever you imagine will probably
be more fun than what was really going on. Maybe. Nah.

This photo is award winning...or at least should be.

She went on to show me her tits. As usual.

This is my love-making face.

Tiana in her famous censorship-star bikini.

myself. Right before face-melting.

I hang around and make people feel uncomfortable while they try and be professional. It's usually Tia's job, but since she was the one being professional this day, I thought I'd take up the slack.

Yeah. I mean, seriously. Have I mentioned the melting that was going on in the brain? Jungle Vs. Cocktail dress = mental instability + fun+ ridiculous amount of money spending.

We have landed.

And then on to a gallery opening at New Wave like nothing at all has happened.

Shortly after this photo I returned home and slept for 18 days.

Peru; Goldenly.

2010-06-21T05:14:00.000-07:00

From the time I returned from Peru, until now- all has been a blur. Even though I feel like I slept for two weeks upon my arrival home, I still have a hard time singling out events and specific, disparate moments. Everything is moving - It's all been a wash. A brilliant, purgative, evolutionary wash of color, energy, and light. And sometimes horned and tailed darkness.

It's been almost two months since I came home from the Amazon. There's a bit of a delay on my entries, mostly because we have to wait for the film AND for the inspiration to sit down and write. As always, I hesitate to try and really put down what I'm feeling or thinking...or in recent cases, knowing. I've been to Atlanta, Sante Fe, New York, and Utah since flying back from Puerto Maldonado. Each trip further expanding one my experiences in the jungle. My journey with the plant medicines only just began in Peru and, as I was hoping, my life's journey was fast tracked as a result.

When I arrived at Chimbre, I didn't really know what to expect- and this was good, since I had been trying quite hard NOT to expect anything at all. I knew I'd be facing fears there and when I decided to go to Peru, only a few weeks before, I was launched immediately into new and nastier anxiety than ever before. I'm good at anxiety on my own, without help. My fear was of losing the self, a thing that I've latched onto and dug my roots into very firmly since...well, childhood. Ayahuasca (and her various relatives) notoriously brings you away from the "self". The false self. It can show you origins, the shimmering, iridescent worlds of your true ancestry or secret, magical, angelic realms. It can make you joyously forget your humanity, taking you to the core of the universe where there is no longer an "I". Of course, the medicine can also show you horrifying, psychedelic hell as you purge your darkest and most shameful faults and desires. It's the Mother, the Grandmother, the Judge. Sometimes- it's both beautiful and terrifying, simultaneously. Either way, you give the control up to the divine, you can have no idea what you're going to get. None. All you can do is surrender to it.

Yep. Pretty much my fucking worst nightmare. No knowing, no control.

Sandy, Scott, and I catching a ride back from Yacumama (the local pool public pool) from one of the very kind locals.

Anthony had a lot of those balloons. It pretty much made my universe.

So...you know, naturally I've got to leap in head first. What fresh, hadean idea is this? Lets do it! Two weeks prior I was hanging from 18 gauge fishooks which pierced the flesh over my heart chakra...and a little vacation in the rainforest- a place I've dreamed about since I was 7 years old- was in danger of causing me to panic-shit myself.

Admittedly, physical pain is somewhat of an enjoying challenge and even a little old-hat for me. Emotional pain? Yeah. Lets just say that I've got a Masters degree in avoiding that shite.

I'm not going to like saying any of these things- but in order for you to understand maybe a LITTLE bit more about what a complete freakshow I am, I've got to give you a little background.

I was born weird. As soon as I can remember my conscious thought, I remember thinking it wasn't what a baby should be thinking about. As I grew up, my sense of people and things was beyond my years. I think I came into the world a little jaded even. I tried my hand at seduction on the first-grade playground, I would breakdown privately about the state of the world when I was 6, I wanted, desperately, to reject the technologies of the world and live "of the land" when I was a little girl. I would force my friends to leave their plastic toys at home and make them weave baskets with me. Nothing felt better to me than the woods. When I was 10 I came home and announced that I would no longer be eating meat or wearing leather because factory farming was destroying our rainforests- didn't eat any meat at all for the next decade. My obsessions with the jungle, the animals, and creatures of "myth", like fairies and nature spirits was all consuming. i would cry at night over my perceived loss of these things. Convinced I could speak to the plants and animals, I would rely on nature to give me signs about what to do about my feelings of displacement. I couldn't understand or move on from a powerful feeling of homesickness which haunted me well into my 20's. To make matters more unusual- I had more than one encounter with other "beings". On top of my bizarre sleep experiences-which included somnambulance and sleep-paralysis- I would occasionally wake up to the presence of sentinel-like giants in my room with me, who appeared as towering white shadows.

This is Joey. Through and through.

Nice people take drugs.

As I moved into my teens- my feeling of being trapped in a body that wasn't mine and the feeling of homesickness became more unbearable. I developed and eating disorder and started cutting myself- thinking that if I was as thin as stained-glass than the light could shine through me. I was really fucking upset about being caged in the flesh. I came to secretly identify with angelics and felt in my heart that, for some reason I couldn't remember now, I'd chosen to be human... I knew would have some kind of job to do. I started reading and searching even more. I had past-life readings, went back to the woods to listen. I was a clandestine warrior masquerading as an earthly body. Yep.

Oh, being 15. So light-hearted and fun and totally not fucking weird.

In high_school, I began to get migraines with Aura (Aura being a floating blindspot called a scotoma that comes before the migraine itself) and after my first one, the colors I already saw around people became more pronounced. Later I learned that these were personal energy fields. The more I understood the things I saw and the more I learned about the cosmos, the more I could direct and intuit...and also, sometimes, interact with entities. But it was all clumsy, hormone-affected shit. I was definitely no fucking Merlin or Buddha.

On our way somewhere.

Luiz, one of the workers at Chimbre, and his adorable little princess.

I didn't TELL anyone about any of this, save a few people here and there, I generally don't even now. Mostly because it's fucking insane.

All of this became overwhelming around my early 20's. My outlet and release for the energy, the confusion, and for my powerful sexuality slowly became BDSM. I moved to New York- leaving a man who I sometimes now still consider the love of my life. I was so driven by the dissociation from my body, by the vague memories of an undetermined past existence that romantic love was at once frightening, coveted, but secondary. Pain was my first experimentation with altered-states...and I surely found them. Additionally, I wanted to FEEL human-to understand it- and naturally, for me, that compulsion translated as extreme-but very human- behavior. I was my own guinea pig. I was drawn to the most bizarre and shadowed circles, always the observer, even of myself. I tried everything there was to try out on my physical form- substance, discomfort, pain, D/s, sleep deprivation- and I wrote about it and researched it with the thrill and excitement of someone reading an adventure novel. My natural intuition and awareness of energies put me in the most absurd and fantastical situations and, thankfully, kept me from hurting myself beyond repair. I mean, obviously, I picked up some bad habits along the way. What I learned and the people I met in NYC I reinforced some negative beliefs...all things I still sometimes struggle to work through- some things I was afraid to face in Peru.

Believe it or not, this is the truncated version.

None of the crazy shit I did or said ever shook the hand of God from my core. It was there, but I was angry about my lifelong feeling of separateness and was, at the time, unwilling to take responsibility for it. The nagging reminder of my lost connection with my soul came in an out of my life in various ways. People I'd meet, life's "road signs"- despite my hedonistic life, it was all synchronicity and psychics to me. A man came into my life and I recklessly married him. He was a connection to God and a way i thought I could redeem myself...in my own eyes. I returned to church with a different understanding than the one I had as a young girl forced to go to bible study. There was many a night spent in prayer-trances and I found I was able to let divine energy come through me in the form of tongues and discernment. The experience itself, and all our time together was supernatural. It was full of encounters with other realms, channeling, and prayer manifested. I made a connection on our honeymoon to the desert which has never left me. Needless to say, the marriage was brief, but it was, for a moment- despite the shade and gloom it temporarily brought at it's end, beautiful and perfect. The quick light it gave off as it went down in fast-burning flames was enough to ground me, eventually, back in effulgence. I call my marriage "God's Cosmic Frying Pan". You know, to the head.

I watched these many carry a giant septic tank down miles of muddy trails.

So, blah, blah- journey, etc. A few years ago, by "coincidence" two very important people in my life turned me onto what I found to be, essentially, Quantum Theory. Well, shit. That was the ammunition I needed for my already fucking enormous guns. The last 2 years have been wave upon wave of growth, ass-calling, manifesting, and more generally weird-ass shit. I still feel like the sea crammed in a paper cup and I still sometimes feel the phantom spread of my ghost wings. I still, like, don't talk about it. I struggle with my own human bullshit, as a woman and otherwise, I fuck up and have to make right- just like everyone else. But part of me has always been, and probably always will be- play-acting this life.

Meet Dimitri. This photo sums up our general feelings for each other. Also, Dimitri is one of the coolest people on the face of the planet. He's one selfless motherfucker. You can find out some amazing things about him and his work here: http://ibogavisions.com/

And then the plants found me.

They say that you can't force Ayahuasca into your life or someone else's-that it finds you when you're ready. When I made the decision to fly to Peru-everything fell into place. I began having dreams about the plants. Dreams like I've never had before. They helped me to feel more at ease, and I know that the spirit of this ancient medicine was with me before I arrived.

This is what I imagine football in 1970's Puerto Maldonado looked like.

The winning team.

I faced many fears in the jungle. Not just giant, fluorescent insects with 8 million legs and people-teeth. Not just anacondas, strip-mining, the rape of our natural resources, or the destruction of nature's plant-hospital. I faced more than human idiocy, unrelenting humidity, and the inability, for many reasons, to leap upon and sexually assault one of the many, shirtless and handsome, foreign men wandering the compound. I confronted deep-seated, personal, PRIMORDIAL issues.

A few of the many, shirtless, young men in Chimbre's employ. Definitely not distracting in ANY way. ESPECIALLY not the foreigns. Nope.

I agree, Declan, I agree.

I thought I got off easy at first. Yes, my ceremonies with Ayahuasca and San Pedro were profound, a little scary, full of scared geometry and insight- but all in all, I remained lucid. I wasn't catapulted into hell OR heaven, like some were which was probably due to my unfortunate skill at holding onto that false sense of self- which I've honed over many years. I created my own sense of "human"ity, manipulating is as I needed, so it's not strange that because of that I can control and hold onto it better than most.

5:30 am over the rainforest canopy.

Dan EagleSpirit greeting the day and recharging his spiritual battery-which operates solely on solar energy.

At my first ceremony, I was chastised by the Aya for letting negative imagery into my life via movies or media - then was briefly shown the white light of death and powerful, universal love (a rebirth). I was told I was only allowed a little taste that night and then the vision was abruptly over. During a later vision, at a 2nd ceremony, tiny little beings came into my tent and performed what can best be described as "surgery". Laughing and taunting the entire time- they used their steampunk-eque machines to pull dead, stagnant energy and pain from my stomach, eyes, heart, and...uh...lady parts. At one point, they took from my guts an entire dead and festering bovine, hooves and all, and tossed it to the side, pointing and giggling at my primitive way of living. I haven't had a savory chunk of beef since. When it was all over I felt renewed and energetic and slightly amused- thinking that my hallucination was beneficial but not far-reaching.

Awash in rain and spirits.

But the medicine doesn't work the way you think. It's not a one time thing. It gets in you and changes your core being, and for some people, myself one of them, this happens slowly. The day after that ceremony, I got a scorching fever that lasted two days- a number of people told me that this was indicative of the beginning of a Kundalini experience (which involves the sleeping life-energy coiled at the base of your spine becoming active, working it's way through your body, and eventually busting through the crown of your head-reuniting you with the heavens). I found this a little difficult to believe. However, over the last month and a half I've had to work through emotional blocks and physical ailments, each of which occurred in one of the places the little beings worked on that night in the jungle. I came out the other end of each struggle stronger and healthier than before and having had made remarkable self-realizations. The "Kundalini" has already made it's way to somewhere around my third eye and it waits for me to take the steps to bring it further. I've begun taking classes and lessons that I've always wanted to take. I finished my first book and have already found a publisher. Taking the medicine has helped me more than years of therapy have-it stays with you and you continue to purge, emotionally, energetically- psychically- for months after. And by doing so, you draw to you- if you stay focused- even more people and events to help you on your path and in your growing. By being opened up by the plants I found people and places that have brought me even further than I ever expected I could go. I feel honored and humbled by Ayahausca's (and now, Somahuasca's) appearance in my life. It has refined and multiplied my sense of duty, my intuition, my ability to be honest with myself by hundreds of times. It has made the want to serve others, in some way, impossible to ignore. We're all in this together and it's bigger and more mind-bending than any of us can comprehend.

The universe is unflagging in it's demand for our evolution- and it will not leave us in the lurch when we put forward the effort. We're children of god and god is ever present. All you have to do is show the Divine your willingness to grow and it's energy will flow through you as naturally as a river into it's bed. The Earth itself is an abundant resource aiding our progress. From the literal dirt, answers spring forth. The keys to unlock the secrets of time and space, of our spirit, grow at our feet! We're given all the tools we need here in the form of one another and the plants growing around us. Simply knock and the doors shall be opened.

Oh. And I got to pick and eat psilocybin mushrooms in a Peruvian cow field with Dennis freaking Mckenna.

Judo Chop!

Habit of Mind

2010-05-26T20:39:00.000-07:00

Beauty is the Mistress...

The gardener her slave.

___________________ WEEDS:

in a room of bodies breathing heat
none of which was yours... I slowly withered too.
in a room where I stand close enough
so that another might exhaust into my open mouth... I acquiesced.
They bend and genuflect like maiden grass
and the air around them seethes
the sweet and boring masses on which I solemnly feed
here I am stifled blue vervain
a northern girl that cannot bloom
not in such austral air nor
in soil so blood stained
The sticky dew from some strangers tongue
creeps down my half cocked pistil
it gives me enough, gives me a touch of distilled life
so that I might stay ashamed of living
at least the way I do
of needing one good screw
of making my sex the nightly gin mill
but still desiring only you
and whatever's left of gods will
every would be blossom festers and degrades
for one seedy lay in the earthy bed of a nameless noxious weed
Fuck, just poison me please

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

What have I been up to, you ask?

This is a digital photo taken by Fakir Musafar on April 10th, 2010, at one of his Spirit + Flesh Workshops in San Francisco. Attending one of these works shops has been a dream of mine for the last decade. It was an honor to be pierced by Fakir, who's work I've admired for so long. The purpose of this workshop is, in a very small nutshell, to take a very personal, spiritual journey and to reach ecstatic states. Specific Chakras are opened, quite suddenly, and many emotional and energetic blocks are released. Some travel out of body. Whatever happens, it's an encounter with the divine within (and without) all of us. I planned it a week before my trip to Peru. An initiation before my initiation. It's a bit too intimate for me to discuss online without a rubber.

Braving my own unedited nudity for the sake of shutter speed education.

I could have used a tan.

Miami for fun in the sun with Ms. Tiana and various mysterious companions. Many of these photos were not safe for the Internet. Not...for the people viewing them, but for the people in the photos. *Mysterious music here*

Trying to capture my vanity on film.

My vanity being foiled by the beauty of light.

Here are my very first experiments with the new Polaroid-friendly film from The Impossible Project. The first one I used the PX Silver Shade and the 2nd the TZ Artistic. I, uh, immediately took a tutorial on how to use it. The results have gotten...interesting. More to come.

Synchronistically, I found this roll of film in a box of junk in my apartment right before going to San Francisco this April. I had no idea at the time that it was a roll of black and white from years before during a different, equally as profound moment in time, when I also IN San Fran. That first time I used this film- I was in the Coast Guard and stationed in San Diego, so a few of the shots include Southern California. Also, I must have shot this same roll in New Hampshire when visiting home at some point. I'm not sure how many times I've exposed this film, accidentally, since I've moved to Chicago... I used it once since I've been here- the evidence of that being the inclusion of my rats. Though it seems that I need to start taking Ginko for my senility, I find the results to be absolutely beautiful. I'm inspired to attempt to recreate similar effects.

These are pictures of my general, every day life around Easter time.

This photo is terrible. More terrible than other terrible photos in this set. However, it happens to be fucking hilarious. Please take a moment to imagine the circumstances under which you might find yourself using this button.

I finally am beginning to understand the appeal of competitive, professional sports to the male population. It's caveman shit. You yell and beat your chest in hopes that your preferred team of well-conditioned athletes will kick the opposing team's well-conditioned athlete's asses. You get to do shit-talking and become shit-faced. Lots of good "shit".

On our way to sports times.

The only time you will EVER see me in this sort of headwear is when a cute boy buys one for me at a sporting event...especially when it will facilitate in my getting laid (by said cute boy).

Woooooooooooo! YEAH! (that's not what it sounded like though, because the Bulls got pummled).

Later, after I was intoxicated, I still insisted on taking photos on my way out of the arena.

Whoops. Always remember to push the little button down on the bottom of your camera before you rewind it.

Last but not least some stragglers from the last entry. These were also from the roll of film that I effed over (see above). I like these. I like effed over photos. Mostly because I think that maybe, just MAYBE, they aren't as effed as we think.

Evidence of Angelic presence hovering over my bed cats.

Tia's big, fat power field.

Obvious other-worldy, energetic influence.

Ta-Da.

Cliché’ that you love me.

2010-04-26T19:25:00.000-07:00

I couldn’t sleep wondering if you were going to come into my room. Now, I couldn’t sleep knowing that you weren’t.

It was 6:17 am. Truth is, I couldn’t sleep before I had the opportunity to wonder about you. I hadn’t slept all night. Anxiety. World-induced anxiety. Love of the Earth we’re bending over a barrel, love of my connection to it, love of you and your issues (equal to mine), love of my lifestyle, love, love, love which is alchemized by my backward brain- and magically turned into ANXIETY. I was naked on a bean-bag in my living room, having migrated there from my bed, which was, apparently, soaked with scary, metaphysical, intangible, voodoo juice. Juice that caused very heinous and terrible dreams. That or I was just afraid to be alone. I mean…like…in all of life.
Afraid to be alone?

I prefer to believe someone slipped PCP into my tea.

Hours before, as soon as I’d retired to my bedroom, my heart began to pound and race and kick me in the ribs while I attempted to sleep. It shot skeet and played Bacci ball with my guts. When I did sleep, I woke up every twenty minutes, sweating, disoriented, and fucking terrified of whatever had just happened during the most recent twisted and fucked chunk of slumberous hallucination. These dreams seemed real. More real than being awake. By nature, they themselves did not have terrifying content, but produced terrifying sensations in my body…or lack thereof. Sometimes I wasn’t in it and woke up that way- only to be sucked back into the flesh by pulsing dread and panic.

I texted you a few minutes before I knew your alarm was set to go off. I’m not so big a douche that I would try to wake you up before that. Across the hall, every weekday at 5:30 in the morning, you lurch out of bed, smash your FM radio, pull on your Carharts, and go to work. Tonight, it was oddly painful to be awake while I knew this was going on. All of the night I’d thought that if I could just be next to your long, sleeping body as it rested at solar temperatures, if I could just be crushed by your violent, indifferent, limb-thrashing in the middle of the night, if you could just rest your elbow on my face while you slept, if I could JUST hear the muted sounds of ear-plug-impeded snoring…I would be able to sleep and to not be scared. Scared of every bump and creak in my fucking bigmouthed apartment. I could feel safe and not think about anxious things. But I didn’t want to be a bother or a typical broad…so I could not test my theory.

Finally awake, you texted me back expressing concern that I hadn’t slept. I waited and paced and ate a billion pieces of Ezekiel toast (in an attempt to put myself in a bread coma), jumping even higher at every could-be-you noise. I stared, burnt toast in hand, into the black hallway at the other side of my black living room. The deck door was open. Would you walk through it? Would you sneak in to say goodbye and squeeze the hamstery, nervous life out of me? Would you think I’m being stupid and dramatic? Should I put on pants? I heard the front door of your apartment open and shut, followed by the sound of booted feet jogging down the stairs.

I couldn’t sleep wondering if you were going to come into my room. Now, I couldn’t sleep knowing that you weren’t.

The past few weeks have been interesting. I went to California, Miami, and was, for the most part, quite social. I’ll be writing about those things soon…I may even have something interesting to say. At the very least there’s a picture of me with a spear through my face. Stand by for that.

The outside of me has been partying and indulging and gardening and living the fucking Good Life. Because that’s what I do, I live the Good Life. When people talk about “The Good Life”, they’re talking about one that looks and feels like mine. And I love it, it’s not wasted on me, by any stretch of the imagination. However, when I decided to start living this particular version of Good Life, I had a set of beliefs about myself that I held on to like grim death. I don’t really want to get into it but I will say that it involved an element of immodesty and another of wealth…and one of, uh, nonattachment.

-These were my balls. Once, they hung from my truck. Recently, someone stole them off my tow hitch. Cosmic Symbolism?

I’m OBVIOUSLY not trying to sound deep and intellectual here- so bear with me; essentially, all I think about is dimensional and collective-conscious shifts, The Mayans, Jesus, my Higher-Self…and sour candies. Sour candies have become representative of my thoughts about love relationships. Mostly because, well, I have an uncontrollable taste for them-I’m a sour candy connoisseur…a certain person has noticed this and taken the appropriate action. By that I mean he keeps a bag of them in the cabinet next to his cat treats. When I am there, I get to eat them. Chelsy treats. So. It’s Pavlovian. Sour Candy equals boy. I’m doing phenomenal things for the women’s movement here, aren’t I?

Anyway, It seems silly in comparison right? PHENOMENAL COSMIC POWER! Itty, bitty sour candies. I’ll give a dollar to anyone who gets that reference. I’ll give you another dollar if you tell me in private so that I may be spared from embarrassment. What I’m saying is that there is a fucking huge battle going on in my universe. It’s a battle between the little things, which I’ve always loved-including some new little things which I never believed I wanted (like love and a life-partner, and someone to help me grow my tomatoes, blah, blah)-and the eternal ebb and flow of life energy. A battle of The possibilities of a future “Apocalypse” Vs. the possibilities of a future baby daddy. My spiritual evolution and hand in the shift of human existence, the coming changes to our earth and galaxy, a undeniable pull towards my purpose as one of God’s warriors… Vs. dinner and a movie!

Mad Max Vs. SnuggleRabbit!

-Rabbits!

Additionally, there is a sub-battle. On the sidelines, my wildly independent, Anais Nin/MacGyver-on-various opiates-and-whole-foods Good Life is in a bitch fight with my Nancy Drew/June Cleaver-breakfast cooking -“what do you think about this, honey?” Good Life. I know, you’d think to put your money on Anais, but truth be told, Nancy and June carry brass knuckles and mace, respectively. They also Ball-punch.

I’ve started taking more “artisting” and experimental photos lately…none of which you see here. Next time. I’m taking 2 Polaroid cameras to Peru along with some slide film. I’ve cut my teeth by just taking pictures of…well…fucking everything, so now I will start getting cozy…deliberate…weird. Hopefully everyone will be uncomfortable.

There are ass loads of things going on right now. For instance…I left for Peru 5 days ago. I’m went to the Amazon to have my brain melted. But it’s OK because a Shaman is doing it. Yep. Because of this, I’m not going to blog the rest of everything, I’m just going to post these photos with brief descriptions of what the hell is going on in them. Can’t you see how deep and intellectual I am?

The following pictures are from Freakeasy. A fucking amazing monthly party full of burners and nerds and people that like to hug and be hugged by non-lecherous strangers. Most of these pictures were taken with the point-and-wave-your-disposable-camera-around-in-the-air method.

Yes, that is a see-saw.

Aw.

And they serve hot snacks for everyone.

More Aw.

If you haven’t been. You ought to go. But only if you’re awesome…and can do the hugging thing.

The next set is…um…from a 40’s party we went to at Danny’s. That fedora was not originally a part of my outfit, OK? I fucking swear. It belongs to the pin-stripey fellow. Seriously. I wouldn’t do that.

…Aaaand I’m drunk.

Pictures of my gardening efforts. I talk about this shit like it’s my kid or dog or some other thing that no one else cares about but me. Get used to it.

This is a photo of the dirt I picked out of my nails that day. For real.

A very shitty picture of the beginnings of the deck garden. They get better.

The back of my truck at any given moment.

Here is some random shit that sums up many aver
age days in my life:

That is not my Cubs blanket.

It’s a popular bag.

I’m vomiting.

More vomiting.

Carharts.

the story of my year begins

2010-04-11T10:35:00.000-07:00

This is, apparently, the way the story of my year begins.

"All electronic devices need to be turned off, Ma'am". The flight attendrix had paused at my seat to look at me with eyes that said gently: "I know you heard the announcement, you horrible time-wasting douche".

"Oh, it's film, it's OK" I said smiling, and, to illustrate my camera's benign nature, I decided to wave the little point-and-shoot Olympus around in the air in front of me like it was a glowstick and I was at a rave exclusively for sufferer's of Parkinson's disease.

There was a long moment of silence as the lovely, blond, pucker-lipped stewardess stared at me blankly.

"what?" said she.

"film!" I answered, thrusting my StylusEpic at her, "you know, film. This has batteries...well, I mean, ugh, it's not electronic so..." More camera jiggling. I noted that her mouth looked very akin to a dog's asshole.

She waited there, watching me. She processed what I was trying to tell her for about 7 seconds, holding her hands in front of her in resemblance of a posing Easter bunny. Her hips turned towards the pilot cabin, as she was ready to walk away.

"Please turn of and stow all electronic devices, OK, ma'am?" She said finally, nodded in agreement with herself, then squeezed the last dagger from her eye and walked away, silently cursing me for saying a bunch of crazy shit to her. I cradled my camera in my lap dejectedly. I couldn't really turn it "off" aside from closing the slidey door..."click". Sad face.

The woman sharing my row with me was about an billion years old. Probably the sweetest woman that ever lived, also. As we waited to take off, I stared, creepily, at her ancient, bony fingers which were...beautiful. Beautiful and knarled and bent into a million angles and shapes pointing every which way...ways hands aren't supposed to point. Not even when they're pointing. Spiderwebs of veins and wrinkled gloved her skin. At the tips of her weird, pointy door handle fingers were layers of perfectly administered sparkly pink nail polish. She clutched a book, which fit into her knobby joints like a lego piece, and stared out the window into the sun.

I was fucking dying to take a picture of her. I imagined very obviously leaning in-unnecessarily close-asking her to hold still, and photographing her without explanation or consent. Then grinning like a psychopath. I imagined it not ending well. I looked around for the evil blond flight lady.

Instead of doing it, though, I kept staring. Wondering how something that was, for all intents and purposes, "ugly" could be so effing phenomenal to look at. I didn't want her hands for my own, but they were incredible and I knew...I would, eventually have them regardless of all my ridiculous moisturizing regimens. Blast.

For the most part, the Western world thinks of beauty as something you fuck. I mean, people see something attractive, they want to fuck it, and that's beauty- I realize I'm not saying anything profound right now, just so you know-Even if it's a house or a city or shoes... or your friend's dad...or for some people it's high-school students or stuffed animals or a giant pile of snow-white cocaine. Beauty measured by how much you want to have penetrative intercourse (spiritually, metaphorically, or physically) tends to be the way the world operates. There's always an exception, of course, I'm being general, obviously, but...yeah. If it gives you a boner, it's beautiful. If it doesn't, then it's probably a trailer home or Philadelphia or a pair of Crocs...or a Republican politician. Get what I'm sayin? You know? Ugly stuff doesn't make you want to look at it?

Anyway...

This old lady was almost a potato. A shriveled little Q-tip with pink nail polish on her rotten-apple-doll hands and she was beautiful. I did not want to fuck her. So...? Why was I getting all misty over the way she was holding her fucking Jodi Picoult book? What is so BEAUTIFUL about this? Why can't I take a picture of that? What would I say? I'm going to tell her that her hands are beautiful? That I'd like to share them with the world via the internet? Yep. Yep. All of that would be soooo normal and non-scary for this visor-wearing elderly person.

Exploding Pinata Head. I get exploding pinata head on airplanes almost every time. I get off on it though, it's like mainlining epiphany. instead of waiting for the sky to open up (like writers always say it does) and shitting inspiration on to me while I have my feet firmly planted on the ground- I get in a plane and bash myself into god-and everything he wants to tell me- with a Boeing 737. I'm impatient, what can I say. I also like the drink tickets Southwest gives me. During the flight I have nowhere to run, nothing to distract myself from all the answers I already have but won't listen to, and so they blitzkrieg my brains after take-off. I figure it all out in the sky. When I land I remember....very little. Somehow though it's purgative.

When I de-planed I stopped and freshened myself up in the head. Made sure I looked professional but also "beautiful". I walked out of the baggage claim area and into the familiar black Audi. The driver nodded at me from next to his cell-phone, smiled, and kept on with his conversation. For the entire 45 minute drive. I smiled and smiled...and smiled...I waited with very obvious patience. I schmoozed without even freaking saying anything. I tended to my cleavage and lip gloss. I suddenly felt incredibly empathic towards the live accessories of people like Paris Hilton. You know, those little fucking dogs. All cute and bejeweled and part of the superstar "look", riding around in cars and armpits, just being a dog-in-a-bag. Not being expected to actually behave like a real dog at all. I recalled that on the plane I'd told myself that I'd better get my book published immediately.

So my whole point is that I'm starting a new project. It's called Chelsy365 and pretty much I'll be acting like a real dog, uncensored, in full view of the public. Yeah. Well, sometimes I'll still be a dog-in-a-bag- it's a part of who I am. I'm to take pictures of everything all the time, even the ugly, un-fuckable parts, using various (some vintage) film cameras, for an entire year. No digital. Over the course of the year (probably every week) I'll be posting them online-flickr, facebook, and the coming website- along with blogs. Probably scattered, vague, emo blogs like these, so I apologize in advance.

Hey! There was a time when a lot of people read my livejournal! I swear! So suck it!

I just put up the first day of shooting- when my good friend Mike Raso (The guy who's brainchild this is) came to Chicago to show me all my new toys and get everything started. We went to the Bean and ate popcorn before picking up Tia and trying to get Tetanus under some train tracks.

Just so you can rest easy- the people having sex under the Metra are using condoms. There is physical evidence of this.

I've been shooting all over the place since then...much to everyone's discomfort. Sometimes I'm even nude. You know I can't resist taking pictures of myself. I mean, seriously, you know. You've all seen it. Some of you for, like, years. I won't be able to post the crazier, naked-type shit on facebook so keep an eye on flickr. Well, I'll be all in your face about it anyway.

It's late I'm going to bed now. Once I clear all these freaking spring cleaning boxes off it. Shizzzz.