kara · troglin

For me, it is critical to believe in beauty and critical to love (even if not loved in return). I believe there is something big headed my way, I am ready to tackle its tasks with all my artistry and aesthetic knowledge. There is no one to compare to the incomporable beauty flowing, not on this surface. A half-cracked mask.
For my readers, it is critical to dig deeper than I do in my writing. It is also suggested to listen to haruka nakamura (as well as many other Japanese musicians) on repeat, specifically when reading anything I have written. Oh will the world change then, like I change as the seasons change - each one participating their own act of grace in all four seasons. 

This is my act of grace to the world. Catch it if you can. Catch the seasons if you can.

Finished reading The Writing Life by Annie Dillard and recently started on another one of her famous one's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. I love reading non-fiction, I mean, nothing wrong with fiction it is just that non-fiction offers me this sort of delight I cannot seem to find elsewhere. It offers me the reality of each spectrum of life, the tumbling and the picking up of it all. I relate best with non-fiction and I plan on circulating its honest brillancy throughout my years to come.

Inspiring quotes as of lately:
"The most demanding part of living a lifetime as an artist is the strict discipline of forcing oneself to work steadfastly along the nerve of one's own most intimate sensitivity." - Anne Truitt (sculptor)

"Pursue, keep up with, circle round and round your life.... know your own bone: gnaw at it,  bury at it still." - Thoreau

"It's easy, after all, not to be a writer. Most people aren't writers, and very little harm comes to them." - Julian Barnes, Flaubert's Parrot

Although, you never wanted, did you, a journey as simple as that. straining against flight, doing what she never dreamed (actually, what she often dreamed but never dared.)
the moon is a cold body and I am thinking of planting two oleanders in tubs. When shall I get back to that other world?

I am sure. I am surely in love. 

~~~
Feeling out of place in my own hometown, nobody here nearly on the same path as I am. Craving some Northwest air, culture, people. I am planning on putting all of my energy towards that place so I am there by January. Also, really establishing a writing/reading workspace in the corner of my room. Since I will only be taking one science course this semester and not going full time, I must engage in an accumulation of books, novels, articles, world news... So I will be writing in this journal much more about my findings and thoughts.

Just finished reading Annie Dillard's found poem collection called Mornings Like This. and decided to take up mental hygiene because it is much needed now. 
Wouldn't she like to be a vagabond without responsibilities.

.

I am landlocked, but I've got a heart for the sea. Today a dream was planted..A course of action will be directed towards this end. east tempered winds have left me in this place.
sometimes below me, i feel like i am walking on a rotten sea. how long have i got before this wind sets this body a sail. i hear quarrels of love, there is contagion spiraling into the homes,
 - love, it's a filthy thing sometimes.
sometimes i want nothing to do with it.
            not even its murmurs.
appearing bitter like frigid cold air, but i will sail much smoother on this sea if the clouds are warm and the sun sets with pleasant arms reaching towards my eyes. not a soul in sight. just a sail on shaky waters where love cannot get to me. terribly stranded and satisfied.

the long slender fingers
delegating the palms
orchestrating through the arms
towards the brain.
-hands, they are the premise of the soul. -

thunder is magnificent, how it echoes off the walls of the world. a tall obese world, pregnant & shifting
through space & time.
it's like it is going to just break down
                                    at any moment.
come crumbling crashing down. i am too deep for this body.

How critical it is to sail yourself far, far away from home; reaching revelations. I have got worlds you have yet to see, forming beneath me.
Trembling, as losing oneself in their beloved. Should we be satisfied with the morning dew or should we yearn for the man of noon?
I just wish it was easier for me to tell you what I really want. And I probably never will.

Always hold your secrets to your heart.

and i think i might want it.
but then
there is

everything else to think about. 
& 
everywhere else i could be. 

i want to be somewhere inspiring. lovely, wet, green, lush, sometimes dark, sometimes light, with those gentle hands along the sides. and all this good art in me to get out of my system.
I am not very positive that Chicago can offer me this, it is all cold and blistering, all vacant and business empowered. I want the natural, the laid back grins and friends that can offer me goodness.
But I've heard it said, time again inside myself and from my brother that with the job I want I should be headed towards Chicago, and maybe I should just put up with the few years of blistering winters, and city air.
But I mean...really... it's not all that great.
now, a place like Portland would be.

I just want to run out of this place.