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]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/16641836/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/16641836/ Wed, 30 Jan 2008 10:36:54 PST Read at the Burnt Toast in Boulder, Colorado on January 30, 2008

The black suffering in this country was defined by the color of skin, the construction of race created by the hands of white aristocrats. Today is their suffering still defined as so? In many ways yes, because white America is still in debt to them, they still haven't paid the price and perhaps never will, America is still racist, there is still discrimination and there is segregation of communities- black, white, hispanic, indian, native american, chinese, etc. In Modernism people defined themselves as the New Negro, the New Woman, the New Artist, the New dramatist, but now there are so many subdivisions that this type of definition is irrelevant. These identities needed to be found out of Victorianism, they needed to be defined, because they were simply being ignored. Now they need to be redefined again, because there are babies who are African, Irish, Philippine, and Japanese. Where is there genre? What is there culture? What is there music? Where are they defined in society?
How do we identify ourselves? How do the privileged define their suffering, those whose grandparents weren't discriminated against in this meaningless construct of race? For me an Anglo-Saxon- but just defining that, what does that even mean- it doesn't have meaning for me like an African American who is proud they survived racial discrimination, in touch with the history of suffering their family was engulfed, or a Jew whose grandparents survived the greatest genocide in history, or a Mexican who jumped the fence into this country to make a better life. What is my culture? What is my suffering?
Is it that I'm a woman and have many times felt the effects of that? Is it that my mother's family were coal miners, drenched in sweat and fumes to buy food at the mining store in which they received rations? Is it that my great grandmother was half Cherokee, an illegitimate child, born to be hidden? Is it that I grew up hating myself for the way I always wanted to be a boy? Is it that I've been fed a religion in which I've never believed, but am forced to hide this from the people I love? Is it that my sister had a baby that she won't ever talk about? Is it that I might kill myself if I stop taking a medication that others regularly abuse, and I may be abusing as well? Is it that I'm white and christian and privileged and I hate that? Yeah.
This is my identity, because these are my experiences, these are my sufferings, this is my history, my culture. I've always wanted another one- I've always wanted the sufferings of an American indian or a black or a latino, because I want the pride that comes with it, the history, the culture. I've realized that the human experience is unique to each individual person. A black man from London, that grew up there, ancestors live there- wouldn't have the same pride as a black man from New Orleans, but he should have equal pride because he is unique and his sufferings are unique to his family and to him.
This is post-modernism. Destroying the constructs of race, gender, height, weight, while keeping culture alive in the hearts of millions whose experiences radically differ. This is post-modernism. Redefining the human experience.
Modernism broke free from Victorianism- the complete control of white males over wealth, class, and power. Post-Moderism will break free again, this time from the movements defined in Modernism- the New Women, the New Negro, the New Art, the New Theatre. It will continue to shard out of Modernism, the people whose sufferings were not represented individually will create their own. The genres and categories of music and art and language will digress, will break apart, so there is no defining role as we know it. Latin, Hip-Hip, Progressive Rock, Celtic, Folk, Trance, Punk- each defines a group of people, a type of influence, a culture, a lifestyle. My music should be all of them combined, because my influences do not simply exceed one genre, they transcend numerous genres. America is a melting pot, so why is our music and our art so defined as 'black art' as 'latin music' as 'female writing.' Shouldn't this be the stopping point of this construct of race, this single chromosome that effects pigment of skin depending on how much vitamin B your skin needs to let in? It does not fucking matter. Shouldn't this be the stopping point of inequalities in gender, something that defines us as a physical being, but not as a mind and a will and a soul, and isn't that what matters. Shouldn't this be the point in which men take responsibility for their children, in which families come together, in which experiences collide- yet we avoid the things and the people that look physiologically different than us.
We all suffer. We're all animals waiting for the slaughter. We all have our own melding of culture, of experience, of life, and... ]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/16323983/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/16323983/ Wed, 09 Jan 2008 01:05:24 PST A.H. Lotterhos

John Milton wrote Paradise Lost after having lucid dreams and visions, he wasn't even a writer or a poet when he began. He felt as if it were his duty, his calling, and he found both passion in truth in writing the pages of Paradise Lost. For each person it seems that truth can be found at the end (not necessarily meaning death) of their own individual journey. To find truth, you must first find passion. Passion can be found in thousands of different forms, ones passion could be painting, writing, running, or even constructing the perfect McDonald's double cheeseburger. With this said, I have realized that certain ideologies I was brought up with, and have always rejected even at a young age, will not lead me to truth at this stage in my life. Most times we must reject everything that we know and have been raised with in order to readjust ourselves to the overall reality of the world. For example- Christianity tells us that we are special, made by God, and like unique, delicate snowflakes, but if we look up at the sky he created and instantly feel insignificant, then should we not readjust what we previously believed? Wouldn't it then be better to say that humans are innately unique to the earth, but our daily lives and wants are completely insignificant in the whole scheme of the universe? To me this seems necessary when obtaining knowledge. We cannot just try to fit knowledge in our little boxes of ideology and then reject everything that doesn't fit, but expand our boxes to fit as much knowledge of the world we can obtain in our situation. If that means the most knowledge we can obtain is about flipping burgers, and flipping burgers is our passion, then truth will come to us when we have achieved the most perfect flip achievable. All this is being said after cramming for my Philosophy exam. Maybe this doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but the real point is that clean cut comfortable christian white surroundings won't get a clean cut comfortable christian white anywhere. You have to experience things in order to reject them, you have to give up everything you thought you knew and trudge through life without getting mud on your shoulders.

]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/15924818/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/15924818/ Thu, 13 Dec 2007 23:02:47 PST A.H. Lotterhos

First you must realize that art is a reflection, a practice of contemplation, a world where you can flee and hide, then awaken with something to give to others, so they can commend you on how smart you are. At this point an artist can do one of two things- they can return immediately to inner reflection and become a slave to the process, or become a slave to arrogance. Meeting people along the way of your journey is essential, but to treat them like a step ladder is simply bad Karma. The people around you are not tools, but other entities trying to reach the same enlightenment, to produce art and beauty. No matter what people influence your art or your journey, ultimately the final product awakens from your act and discipline of reflection, and the pure steps of process you take to achieve a final product. With this said, these are my steps to rudimentary reflection:
1. take out the goddamn trash already
2. distance yourself from all daily tasks and daily desires- eat a healthy lunch, masturbate, take a shower, get dressed, make an outline of the day, take a dump, and scream at the world for being so shitty
3. be in silence in a comfortable room, or be outside in nature, take a walk to a place that you've never been, catch a bus and just ride somewhere, if you have the money then by all means travel.
4. get into a reflective state- some prefer to do this completely sober, some with a bottle of whiskey, others with a hash pipe, or a mushroom. I would recommend try them all if comfortable, after throughly researching, and when you are in the right stage of your life.
5. focus on the qualities of your craft- the pen, the paper, the film, the camera, the paint, the canvas, and the limitive qualities of each. For each craft there is a specific object to focus on- for poetry it is the image, for fiction it is the word, for photography it is the light, for theater it is space, and so on.
6. focus on how you can expand the limitive qualities of each craft- for example, in poetry, the limitive qualities are in somewhat of this order: the image must fit into words, the words must fit into language, the language must fit into lines, and the lines must fit on the page. What are the ways to expand these limits? What limits are necessary for the image you want to capture? Are there concepts better suited to go beyond the limits of the page- like say expanded to several pages, or written across a wall, or expanded on a canvas or a series of canvases, and so on.
7. reflect on your inner self- what do you feel about the image or the light, what are the emotions burning inside that you've never expressed, what are the things that are hardest to say?
8. Disillusion yourself from the properties of the craft itself- the image and what emotions are captured through the image, the words- you know what sounds good or what doesn't, so trust yourself and don't let the process be overrun with thoughts of the final product, like how intelligent am I that I thought of this? Is my mom going to read this? Who is going to appreciate this? These thoughts will single handedly destroy your reflection, and perhaps ultimately destroy your passion for your craft. Art has no real purpose, it's purpose is only to exist.
8. let yourself go, let yourself explore, make mistakes and don't erase them, try something you've never tried before.
9. when you've finished, put it down for a good couple days, let it set in, and take yourself away from the process and the emotions.
10. go back and revise- try to look at your work objectively, like you just picked it up off the shelf and it is in a published work, or a final stage, then go from there.
11. have a community of people that you can share your work with, people who's work you really respect or enjoy, people you trust and share life with
12. get it published somewhere, even if it is not the publication which you aspire to be in- Stephan Graham Jones once said to a group of students- "there is nothing that makes you feel more like a writer, than receiving a paycheck."
13. repeat steps 1 through 13.

]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/14589200/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/14589200/ Tue, 11 Sep 2007 12:24:04 PDT This weekend was a 20 hour trip. Dangerous business- 151 on a moving bus means reversing all digestive systems into one small metal toilet incapable of flushing. The bus broke down, leaving bags and my drums behind. Butters was drooling incesant long strands beside me, sleeping against his yellow crab stuffed animal. Hours seemed to stretch out on the desert highway, the faint smell of alchohal and sweat lingering. Two fat band girls are trying to make Ralphie in tape on the window. His head is way to big... Everything in my life is made into love hate relationships- trips, television, triviality. There are strings attached in every way- spider webbed irritation, physical and mental exhaustation followed by cool floating paradise and clean focused music. So is it worth the pain, the effort, the motion sickness, the flurries of absolute burning heat? Will I find my jasmine and geranium?
Just focus
focus
focus

]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/12953361/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/12953361/ Mon, 14 May 2007 13:07:12 PDT
for writers-



]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/11703812/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/11703812/ Mon, 05 Feb 2007 21:44:16 PST I decided to go to CU Boulder this spring and it is one of the best decisions that I've ever made. I feel like a new person. I love school... Actual school- the classes, the homework, the professors. Loving being with friends. The only downside has been that I haven't taken time to write like I used to. It was at one time my only escape, now it is just another thing to do and improve. Anyways, things are looking up and I'm excited for the first time in a long long time.





for writers-



]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/10561941/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/10561941/ Mon, 30 Oct 2006 16:51:16 PST

for writers-



]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/10214244/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/10214244/ Thu, 28 Sep 2006 11:39:02 PDT
On the glass of the window my verses and beginner chords cling. They slip through the openings of the screen in the morning after. This morning my fingers ached with great intensity, and the warmth of the blue blankets soothed me back into a bright sleep as the fan swung back and forth in the faint darkness.

Clocks pushed minutes to the digital board and suddenly music erupted. Swatting like an insurgent, I struck down the enemy, or rather my mobile phone delicatley placed on the desk the night before. Everything was quiet again, everything except the inhilation of childhood through my nose, buried in my tatered blue blankie whose comfort makes me late for class the mornings after my lonely late night guitar performances.




for writers-



]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/10133535/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/10133535/ Wed, 20 Sep 2006 14:54:59 PDT I took it every day.
Some days he told me I was beautiful.
On day he told me I was a bitch in sweat pants.
I took stuff like that all the time.
I'd cry and let him win.
He lied to me countless times
about his drug use
He kissed a drunk girl at a party. I wonder if anything else happened.
He was an asshole when I showed him up or was having more fun than he was.
He never acknowledged my clinical problems, maybe because he didn't understand, but he never tried to.
We shared so much laughter and good times.
He made me a 2 year anniversary present and it was fun, it was sweet. My friends even said I should just marry him right there and then because he was so cute.
I took so much shit from him because I loved him
and I can't love him anymore.
He was a bastard
and he still is a self-centered gerk
and he abused me, mentally and emotionally
which I'm sure I did at times as well.
I was in that relationshpi for 2 and a half years and got dumped apparently 3 months before he made it clear. He completely ignored me the days following when we were with our friends.
I will never let him control me or abuse me again.
He said he found God
but it was more like he was brainwashed. He is no longer the man I once loved and wanted to spend my life with. He is totally different and maybe he'll struggle with himself this year. I cried countless times over him and it never seemed like he was even
upset.
I met his friends from his Jesus camp. I hated them.
They were rude. They made me feel stupid.
Three of them made me dislike one of my favorite CD's- Transatlanticism. Which is still hard to listen to, it's lost it's magic.
I mostly hated them because they knew more than I did about my relationship.
The main reason that I never want to see his face again is this- He lied to me when he said he would come back. When he said he wouldn't become judgemental. He disillusioned me when he woudn't just fill me in, when he didn't want to upset me or something- like a little boy.
If he had ended things better thwn I might want to still be his friend- but I really don't. He blew it with me and that's the end, the end of the adolescent journey of true love, because I TRULY did love him in so many ways.
True love can fade
and will change
no matter who you are
or how good you are
You can't stop some realities
even if you see it coming.

for writers-

]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/10045646/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/10045646/ Tue, 12 Sep 2006 00:02:41 PDT
My junior year in highschool and the beginning of my senior year, I was longing, loathing to get out of the house. I needed my own place, my own rules, and I needed to do things my own way. But something happened and maybe it had to do with Bre moving in, maybe I just kinda grew up and for the past 8 months or so, my parents and I are getting along so well. We never fight like we used to, and living at home is bearable, even enjoyable. So now I'm here with my own freedom and I just wish I could go back home.

for writers-

]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/9750422/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/9750422/ Wed, 16 Aug 2006 15:57:59 PDT
Summer nights at the park are ending, with two more chances for fellowship- to be lazy in the stars, dizzy cartwheels in the field, spirling smoke out our mouths. Nobody is acting like it's over. Fall leaves and football games, changing homes, changing friends, changing lives coming so fast. I'm a little scared... I'm even less excited- I'm not good with change- I'm not good with letting go of things and people. But come friday I will be moving out, and come monday I will go to class- I have to... no more smoke circles in the grass

"Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour." - T.S. Eliot

for writers-

]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/9567096/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/9567096/ Tue, 01 Aug 2006 14:39:58 PDT I have to go to work in fifteen minutes- and tonight was supposed to be my last night- but they scheduled me fourty hours next week. bummer bummer. Oh well.
thanks for reading my feelings,
allison

for writers-

]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/9477951/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/9477951/ Mon, 24 Jul 2006 11:08:25 PDT
now I feel better. Kind of. not really. jfffffffffffdklsah waoueh sdf kjhaskldfh
JUST DO SOMEHZTINZINGinjginertg damn it.


For writers:

]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/8966700/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/8966700/ Sun, 04 Jun 2006 08:29:01 PDT aren't anything
darkness reveals nothing
but the fact that it's there
shows us the light
Nothing is happening
stuck, sticking, waiting
for God, for an answer
Own worthless efforts
meaningless words
it doesn't matter
judgments made
quick to answer
competition at the brink
who's better
who cares?
I deserve death
and who gives me life?
I don't deserve to shine
but who gives me wings
and a heart beat
to show the world
something else
when am I going to fly?
when am I going to feel?
when am I going to stop relying
on other people to tell me what I am?
and how good I am
and how good my writing is
they don't know me
who cares if they care?
God will do what he wants with my writing
if no one reads it, then oh well
that's not why I write
not for them, but for God, and for me ]]> ~nowImlost07 http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/8769515/ http://nowImlost07.deviantart.com/journal/8769515/ Sun, 14 May 2006 14:27:32 PDT
I'm so thankful that I got my heart broken by the first person I have ever loved. I'm so thankful that I am alive, breathing, moving, given the chance to be in heaven forever with God- holy crap, that's so crazy. I'm not dust, I'm actually here.

Let me give some background

God gave me a little boy, he was 16 (what i consider little), I was 15 when we met. We became really physically involved really fast and I loved every minute of it. At that time I didn't know God, or I didn't experience his love, and I thought he wasn't there and he didn't care. All of my thoughts and emotions became absorbed in Carl, and where are relationship was going, and could go- and mostly what I felt like and how he made me feel. I've always had a hard time being myself, or just liking myself- ever since I was little. I had a lot of self-esteem issues and all I wanted him to do was tell me I was beautiful, to make me believe it- and most the time I didn't and it had nothing to do with him. I didn't have a lot of respect for myself, I was weak and many times he took advantage of that, which he has recently apologized for on severaly accounts. The point is- I love him. I love him to death and I will love him forever and I am so thankful that God has ended many parts of our relationship.

God loves me so much that all of my dreams for Carl and I are gone. All of our plans are gone. My heart is in pieces, I cry all the time. God loves me so much that I can't stand to hear about and see couples together, it hurts so bad because all I want is to have that again- but really all I want is God to fill me and because he's broken me, now he can. He loves me so much, that he holds better plans for me than I had for my future- than mine and Carl's past relationship (which was at many times a wreck- but what highschool relationship isn't?) The fact is that Carl has the potential to be my best friend, have a ministry in my life, and make me laugh non stop because God has broken me, and now he is going to heal me. Carl and I no longer have romance, or anything you would really tie into a dating relationship, because God has something better for us than what we had, whether it's a future together, or a future with different people.

Lotterhos Family- I'm thankful that God has made me feel like a piece of shit, that nothing really exists in me, that I feel so empty that I cry when I see my boyfriend's sock in my sock drawer- because God will take the place of that relationship in my heart. To be able to be thankful for the common answers- friends, health, family, food, and cake- I first have to be truly thankful that I have a soul and that God loves me and wants me- and tonight- I understand that. I'm thankful for words, and for love, for love of friends that God's given me. That my best friend is still breathing, that my boyfriend is going to get something better for him than the past me and maybe even the future me, that Renee is in rehab, that I get to sleep in a bed tonight, and most of all that my savior has already won the battle between heaven and hell, and one day I get to celebrate with him, while he holds me close and tickles my arm. ]]> ~nowImlost07