Education

I like school. This doesn't make me crazy. It just means that I've finished all my core courses. You know, my gen eds? My general education units?

That's right. Two sciences (marine biology and astronomy (astronomy was a bitch)) (note to all students, never do both your sciences in one semester. Not fun.),

one math (college algebra. Best I can figure, the teacher felt bad for me so he gave me a C. It was a 7:10 am class. I slept through many a class. And learned nothing.),

Writing 101 and 102 (the 101 teacher told me I was going places and that I ought to be in honors, and the 102 teacher (of an honors class, thanks very much) held the last class at a bar. unfortunately I was only 20 at the time.),

and two social sciences, Psych 101 and anthropology 112 (basically in psychology we crocheted and watched youtube videos about psychological experiments, and I actually didn't learn anything in "exploring non-western cultures", or ant 112, so I couldn't tell you what it was all about. I will say that I passed, which is what matters.)

And after dealing with all that, I may immerse myself in my major: ART. That means a ceramic class, a sculpture class, a drawing class, a color and composition class, and an advanced writing class (because I like writing too).

There has never been a cooler semester. Regardless of my troubles with men (spawn of satan goth guy) I had an AWESOME academic semester.

Buuuuut all good things must come to an end. And there's nothing messier about coming to an end than doing it with an artistic flair. I have three portfolio presentations in a week, and a large pipe house to grind down the welds on and put together and stake into the ground. the thing is 9 feet tall!! Eight feet across... three feet back.... it's huge. And it's due next week.

PANIC!!

The great divorce

I'm not finished reading it, but it's the most intense short read I've ever read.

The Great Divorce is a book written by C. S. Lewis (think Chronicals of Narnia, you masses of illiterate monsters). It's a story of a trip from hell to heaven, I think.

Hell is a grey city where you live forever, and can have anything and everything that you imagine, materially. People imagine massive, beautiful mansions. They start philosophy clubs and art groups.

And they argue. They always argue. They don't seem interested in peace. Or in heaven. They aren't happy, but it seems like they don't want to be. They just want to complain about their unhappiness or contemplate the existence of joy without actually having any joy of their own. They don't think they need God.

I know that I am probably ruining this as I describe it. Please, please read it. It's a really short book. And the imagery is lovely. You can really see the city. The people in it are easy to see.

In this book hell is a state of mind whilst heaven is the realest of places. Heaven is based on fact and reality, a beautiful reality, while hell is just whatever people can imagine it to be. People there are limited by their own minds.

Here is the paragraph that has made me reflect upon my own life the most:

"Ink and catgut and paint were necessary down there, but they are also dangerous stimulants. Every poet and musician and artist, but for Grace, is drawn away from love of the thing he tells, to love of the telling till, down in Deep Hell, they cannot be interested in God at all but only in what they say about Him. For it doesn't stop at being interested in paint, you know. They sink lower-- become interested in their own personalities and then in nothing but their own reputations."

Scary. Am I there yet? Am I only interested in paint? Or have I sunk to the pride in my own reputation already?

No longer. I will take up showing what I love again. Telling stories for the truths behind them. Painting pictures for the feelings that they shadow. Learning about my God for the need to know him, rather than the image of one who knows Him.

That one guy that gave me sheesha once

Alright, there's this guy that I had a class with once. He was a nice enough human being. He acted like the most flaming gay I've ever met, but believed himself to be completely straight. He has an unnatural fetish for black women. If I was black, I'd be scared of him.

To clash with all of those aspects he is an EXTREMELY conservative Christian.

I invited him to a party once. Unfortunately he thought that was so cool that he decided we were to be friends. Fortunately someone who doesn't have your phone number is very easy to avoid. I just occasionally read his facebook updates. Oh. And as a favor for having invited him to the party, he gave me some delicious smelling sheesha.

His facebook updates are intensely angry and generally sort of bitchy. Oh. And so very, very dramatic. This guy is a drama queen. Sometimes they're the Jesus freak type of updates:

"Praise God for children and puppies! I am so Blessed!"

And then there's the other ones... :

"What the hell is wrong with people? This bitch was so rude to me and that ho needed to be slapped, fool! This world is full of drama queens and their bitches! I don't want no part in your drama, ho!"

Okay. Back to what it is that annoys me about this person the most. His art. SUCKS. And he just keeps doing it! And posting about it! "OMG look at my new drawing!" "Geez guys, I'm stuck! What should I draw next?"

The worst part? He's going to improve while an art prig like me is too full of herself to practice as much as she should. Someday in the far, far future I'll be scratching out a living by advertising stuff in costumes on street corners and living off of potatoes in my half room studio in the basement of the crazy cat lady, being a vain and dramatic misunderstood artist.

He'll have a cheery advertising business where he draws up symbols for big companies and rakes in cash everytime they use them, and he'll be working on his life's art work on the side, writing a comic book or making the next Starry Night.

Ah cruel irony. I think I'll go fight fate now.