Monday, November 9, 2009

when you look at me i look at the floor.

It is Indian summer here. It is like 60 degrees in November. It throws me off every time. You get all used to wearing sweaters outside and BOOM it starts snowing again.
I wasn't sure how I wanted to start my blog today, I thought that would suffice.
I found some of my old notebooks, and when I read through them I was left to wonder where my writing-ness wondered off too. I used to write all the time and fill notebooks very easily, and now i struggle just to get through these blog entries.
Maybe writing just isn't my thing.
However, I have started a new sewing project. A lady at work asked me to make a body pillow for her daughter. So I have spent the past hour cutting out circles (I have 34 so far).

Here is where you can find something of mine you can purchase:
Click Here for all robo goodness

Below is some old writing I found:
Well I fell in love with you
When you opened your mouth
And nothing came out

And time it did prove
I had nothing to loose
And nothing to gain

I have bled ink
The white gauze of paper
Catching my mediocre declarations

Well I fell in love with you
When you vanished and always came back
With a fresh wound

Time wasted laughing at misfortunes
Regrets to be written in paperback
Fleeting and dirty

I scream into the wind
My voice vanishing in the warmth of the sun
My mediocre declarations

Well I fell in love with you
When you caught my tears
And used them to dry your own

I spent my life trying to be you
When we turn into each other remember this is now
Your mediocre declaration

Paper Tiger
It Beats 4 U
We're All In This Together

<3 Shen

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

death, data, entry

Streets stalk victims in it's brutal force. The streetlights stab through darkness and bring to light the entrails of the city. Broken teeth and nails scratch the back of the earth and pull up the yellow bile of it's citizens.

I need a cigarette.

the end.

I Remember
Sit Down. Stand Up.
Idiot Wind


Sunday, November 1, 2009

Dia De Los Muertos

I hope everyone had a fun Halloween!

Halloween for me, just isn't what it used to be. I didn't even hand out candy this year. Though I did get dressed up to go to my grandpa's house.

It was zombie prom!

Over the past three weeks I worked on stuffed robots, and I finally sold one!
I sold Dr. Bot. I also got commissioned to make a pillow. So I have a pretty good idea for that one.
I am also offering to do some embroidery for all my artist friends, but no one has taken up that offer.
If you read this and want any work done feel free to comment this post or email me at
Lately I haven't been feeling so great, and I ended up putting my two weeks notice in at my horrid job. Hopefully I will be able to find something a lot less stressful and more suitable to my needs.

I really need to get myself up to writing again, but I did write this:

dear Fevers and Mirrors,
I wish I could describe what you do to me. It isn't happy, but it is not a general sadness.
It is the sense of a batch of memories.
You are full of smells, sounds, tastes and sometimes....if i close my eyes I can even feel you.
You haunt me. Even though sometimes I wish I could just bury you and never listen again, I know one day I will have to. I will have to bathe in the quiet lonely waves you wash me with.
Nowadays no one touches me without my cringe.
I could blame this on you..
All blame falls on me.
All Blame.

Here is an Ian:

Ian VI

“You look like a child.”
She pouted.
“Fine! I hate this skirt.” She pulled the pigtails out of her hair ans he quietly chuckled to himself, and she let out a audible sigh. “Let’s go.”
“I’m just trying to be honest. That’s what you said you wanted.”
We walked out to the car, and the air was warm, but the breeze was crisp.
“Ahh! I’m cold.”
And I just laughed. Her and her skirts. She hardly wore anything else. “So, what do you want to listen to?” As she flipped through my measly cd collection.
“Ummmm….Ah! I found it. I figured you would have this. I’m just awesome like that.”
The Postal Service it was. Such Great Heights.
And it became our car anthem forever after.
“Have you ever put your hand outside of the car while driving? It feels like a bird.” And she smiled gleefully while the music just exploded our happiness into what I felt to be a contagious bubble.
“No. But I guess I could try now.” I thrust my clammy hand into the brisk resisting air. “I don’t feel like a bird. I feel cold.”
“Well, close your eyes.”
“Are you nuts?? I’ll crash the car.”
“I’ll steer for you. It will be ok, I promise.”
So I let go of the wheel, my hand still flowing outside of the window, and nervously closed my eyes.
“Turn up the music.” And as it grew louder the music helped me take flight. I was flying, and it felt amazing

Walking With A Ghost
Hand in Glove
Get It Together