Category: identity

Self Portrait

I am starting to think of myself as an artist, instead of a worker bee.  I am a good worker bee, I buzz around merrily keeping the honey pot nearly filled with sweet nectar.  The hexagonal home is beautiful in its repation and oh so practical… you see why its appealing.

I am starting to reconsider that the appreciation for beauty does not stop there.  I want to create it.  I want to be more then simply a part of it.  I want to create a beautiful concept and decorated it, let it step out so that its concrete beauty can inspire people.

Maybe I am an artist?  What does that even mean?  Does that even matter? No.  It doesn’t.  I am skipping with Marigold’s steps, relaxing with Marinara.  I am following my creative fingertips, hoping that I will find some magic.

Wish Us Luck!

-Marigold, Marinara, Mari Mari

neon dreams

I want to kiss you in the forest

Where all is dark except we make our own stars.

I twinkle around you

The sparkle in a stolen sentiment.

You can put out a fire with your gaze

Throb a red heart with a pulse in your step.

You have lightening bugs in you fingertips

A tight tune in your hug.

I’m not weird, I’m imaginative

I am nuts, strangers think it and my friends know it.

I don’t try to hide the weird personality that lurks inside me, I embrace it.  I don’t care if people think that I am crazy or eccentric.

I like to embrace the strange and unusual.  This influences other people around me to accentuate their oddities.  Seriously, no matter how hard they try, they are not going to be stranger than how I present myself.  It helps people open up.  Let’s embrace the unusual, let’s explore all the multi-dimensional channels of expression.

Mari Mari

Marigold is making me happy, I like her.  I like having her presence in my life.  She is my escape, she is my figment of confidence.  I look forward to checking in with her, to see how she is doing, to see what she is thinking about.  Marigold is refreshing because she cares mostly about the abstract issues at hand, but nothing concrete.  Ok well to specify, nothing too concrete outside of the world of fanciful plated desserts and the kitchen life that goes along with the artful culinary escapade.  But, to counter, that is actually Marinara’s Realm.  But since Marinara does not have HER own blog, she makes cameo appearances here.

Hope you all are enjoying the show as much as we are!

-Mari Mari

I don’t watch movies either

Seriously like never.  For example: I flew to India from Chicago and back, and got delayed by 6 hours on the way there.  I was on an airplane for 47 hours total for the trip.  I managed to watch 1 movie and 1 stand up comedy act (The Grand Budapest Hotel and Hannibal Burgess) over the grueling 47 hour journey.  That is how dedicated I am to avoiding movies.

I don’t have the patience. I get too bored.

Most of the time is it too unbelievable. Seriously though, get a grip and make your story line mildly believable.  Or else I will be drunk, and miss the plot line because I have to pee so often.

Why does there always have to be a love story? Always.  Seriously I will like a movie more even if it sucks royally if there is no fucking fairy tale fall in love non imaginatation story arch.  But all shitty movies, even the few good one, have a love story.  A Hollywood Perfect Woman with great boobs falls for a  maybe? hot man.  He will NEVER take his shirt off.   I have seen one male butt in Hollywood. I love boobs like everyone else but I also love the male nipples.  Why you gotta hold out Hollywood?  Why you got to be so cold?

Everybody has to be good looking all the time.. nobody can be just like normal.  God forbid undesirable.  Ugly is a thing that is left for villains, that’s it.  It is so unrealistic I can’t do it.  Unless it is complete fantasy like aliens, that’s fine.

The Writer’s Conundrum

I am the worlds worst speller.  I joke that the only word I know how to spell is my first name.  (Although my first name is 8 letters long, it did take me a while to master it in elementary school.)  I would loose at the word loose in a spelling bee.  At first I said thank the Good God for spell check.  Now I say that the Good God for Google.

It is pathetic, my inability to spell.  Not only am I a full-fledged adult who learned cursive in grade school, I  did not have the use of computers throughout high school (everything was hand written, can you imagine!), I went on major in English in college.  I have a BA from a top ten university in a field of study in which I lack a key concept.

The extent to how much spelling affects my life is embarrassingly amazing. My personal conundrum is far beyond my power to control it.  I construct sentences around the spelling of words.  I am writer who cannot spell, I am a poet who must choose words wisely.

There is a good chance that I am dyslexic.  A very good chance that I am very dyslexic.  I read words starting with the end and then ending with the beginning. Then I have to remember to flip it in my head before I read that word. It gets exhausting.  When I write, I have to concentrate on every word to make sure that is comes out properly.  The only way I know how to spell anything is via memorization.  The order, the proper placement of algorithm of letters, are lined up in my memory stacks.

I am hoping that writing more will help me with spelling, and give my the confidence to not let the written word hold me back.  Most of the time it is the hesitation that holds me back.  Marigold is to help me cool my sensitivity and memorize more word blueprints.