[ what ] AM [ i ]

 What am I,

But only one.

  For on the ground,

I walk upon,

Speaks of time,

And failures won,

What am I,

But only one.

[ i ]  AM  [ hévvee ]

Whisk the foam off the top of this dismal dusk,

Oh shaky hand with its sloppy cask and cuff.

Keenly rest your feeble toes and decrepit feet,

Write your empty poetry of the same failed deeds.

You drift deep into the fog, a mindless measureless place;

A gloomy, foolish, cumbersome daze.

The cup fills with the same bleak thoughts,

Both eyes and each “t” crossed.

Ripe with deceit, you pour out an elegant ruse,

One not readily refused.

All sustenance lost, now lacking in faith,

Once more off your lips ring an elusive thanks.

Chitin dispelled, the pages blacken,

word by word, thoughts unhinged and then flattened.

The ill inhabitants of your mind poured out line by line,

Sickened with care, a merit so hard to find.

Lyrics from Fiest's album The Reminder. They ring truest to me now.

 ~ . : . ~

 I'm so sorry, I feel it all, I feel it all. 

Take it slow, take it easy on me. Shed some light on me, please.  

The cold heart will burst, if mistrusted first and the calm heart will break, when given a shake.

. . .

With sadness so real that it populates the city and leaves me feeling homeless again. 

Steam from the cup and snow on the path, 

the seasons have changed from present to past. And there is so so much past inside my present. 

The harbors becoming the sea. The mountain, 

the mountain has come to recognize it's a steep and rocky sides. 

. . .

Is there a limit to my love? A limit to my care? 

A destination known only by the one who's fate is overgrown?

Piecemeal can break your home in half.

A love is not complete with only heat. 

. . .

What gives, what helps the intuition?

It can tease you break or complete you.

Sweetheart, bitter heart now I can't tell you apart.

Cozy and cold, put the horse before the cart. 

. . .

I'd like to be the girl for him, I'm a stem now pushing the drought aside, opening up.

fanning my yellow eye, 

on the ferry that's making the waves wave Illumination. 

This is how my heart behaves.

. . .

I'm so sorry, I feel it all, I feel it all. 

Take it slow, take it easy on me. There is so much past inside my present.

 I'm changing my heart, 

I now know who I am.

~ . : . ~

A new silly little tune.

Next project: mastering the art of quality sound.

A Tune Nearly Completed

Working on some new stuff. Hope you enjoy.

New Music in Progress

My New Kitty

Okay so I could not help but boast about the most darling animal I've just adopted. Her name is Jazzy because she's is so smooth in that little gray tuxedo of hers.  At the moment I'm getting a little peeved by her nightly parades on my bed which include playing in my hair and attacking my elbows.  BUT, she is so precious and I am confident that we will be great friends once she grows out of such kittiness.

 And without further adieu Ladies and Gentlemen

my little Jazzy Cat

Notes On My Travels

Journal Entry: On The Train Homeward Bound

13 August 2010

7:00pm

location, taken from the train close to the The New Mexican Arizona boarder at approximately 6:00pm

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

    The ride to New Mexico is always a little dull. This has to do with the hour I board the train which is normally at about 9:40pm, the destination arrival time is 11:30 in the morning. The ride home on the other hand is a little different. The train leaves Albuquerque New Mexico at 5:00pm. This makes for an awake crowd. In the lounge car, conversation picks up almost immediately after the train captain makes his announcements.
    This trip I am surrounded by one drunk on his way home to Santa Barbra, a photographer headed to LA, two guys from Idaho--- fresh out of high school one on his way to party in Arizona during his colleges welcome week--- he has his brand new Mac chrome open and playing rap. The other is moving out to live with his sister in San Francisco. At their table is one injured football player…this is past tense, by the looks of him he hasn’t touched a football for a good five years. There is a girl who laughs at very odd things, like the way the photographer hold his camera or looks out the window while framing his shot. She pretends to touch the lens and then giggles to herself when he doesn’t notice.
      The photographer, a round short Latin looking man has portable DVD player now playing on mute because a girl came and asked him for her ear pugs back. He doesn’t really have a neck, his head rests on his broad shoulders, and his elbow rest on the table in front of him to support the weight of his upper body. He is a very kind and outspoken man. He asks me about my camera setting, where I’m from and where I’m going. We talk about New Mexican food and how it is so much different from Mexican food. He asks me why I think they call the state New Mexico, and I tell him I think its because it was one of the first settlements made by the Spanish on what is now United States territory and in it’s earliest days was mainly populated by Mexican’s and Native Americans.
    With them is another girl she laughs a lot too. She has a book that she opens every now again when conversation is wearing a little thin. She is from Minnesota, I can over hear her “don’t ya knows” every few minutes. The drunk keeps asking the cabin assistant when the next smoke stop is, to which the assistant laughs and shrugs his shoulders “I already told you, it’s in flag staff” he says.  The drunk continues to hackle him saying it would only take him 2 minutes to “breath one down.” The caption laughs and moves away awkwardly.
     A man dressed like a cowboy in a button up striped blue and white long sleeve shirt tucked into his faded denim genes held up by a brown equally faded leather belt walks down our way through the lounge car. His eyes are hidden partly by the shadow of his deep rimmed cowboy hat and he walks toward him leisurely moving with the bumps and gurks of the train on his booted feet. The photographer asks him if he would not mind to stop and pose for a photo, as the cowboy agrees about seven other people pull out their cameras and instantly the man begins cracking jokes and changes his poses for the cameras. He holds up to his chest a blue tattered book and stands there, sucking on an unlit cigar, back straight with pride. One of the two girls asks his name and he shouts “Sunny” over his shoulder as he exists the Lounge car toward the dinning car.
    At my table sitting across from me a Latino man sets down his computer and our eyes exchange the typical wordless conversation of “is this seat taken---no it’s not.” He sets his computer on the table and asks me “business or pleasure?” Confused I tell him pleasure, and explain that I am writing. He asked me what I write, and I told him, mostly observations. I describe to him my writing as a personal narrative of sorts. Then I realizes by his delayed response that he was asking about my trip. He tells me he is a writer and that he writes music. I ask him if he plays any instruments, and surprisingly he says he plays the accordion.
     The car has gotten quite and I look around to see who has left and who has arrived. The drunk is sitting quietly with his face pressed against the window and a little cluster of families and older women have moved into the emptied tables. I think of the book I've read written by Marian Russell’s journey on the Santa Fe Train some 120 years ago. I gaze out over the landscape and imagine the sound of wagon wheels and I feel somewhat like a pioneer myself. The land I see out the windows of the train is preserved. It is non-inhabited, save a few scattered shacks and fences.
      The Sun is now setting fire to the horizon, a ghostly yellow illuminates the car. The women are holding their hands up to their faces in attempt to see their hand of cards. The young people squint. A girl tries to get reception by holding her phone up in the air and a boy is stooped over working studiously on a cross word puzzle while another no older than the age of eight stares intently at a map of the rail road. He marks a place on the page and yanks at his mothers sleeve, “mom mom, lets go there” he says. I know the feeling I think,  accept now the only thing keeps me from going is no one but myself.

Stop. Dance. Be Happy.

Today the Arcade fire's Neon Bible ablum is my sound track. While unpacking my suite case I put them on and could not resist dancing about my room,  I'm afraid I may have done more dancing this morning than I have cleaning, but what is one to do. When you feel like dancing, dance. Who care whos watching, or what your suposed to be doing. But practice decernment my friends, dont go getting fired from your job. Listen, dance, and enjoy.

Arcade Fire - Keep The Car Running (on Friday Night with Jonathan Ross 2007)

On the Music Front

Every seat in the house was filled at the Orpheum theatre on the evening of Saturday July 31, 2010. Robin Pecknold opened as adoring fans from the far reaches of California gathered under the same roof---all anxiously awaiting to be serenaded by Miss Joanna Newsom's quirky yet undeniably brilliant musical masterpieces. Joanna switched between her harp and piano and was accompanied that evening by a full band made up of two violinists, one percussionist, one trombonist, banjo and bass. They each accompanied her in vocal harmony as well.

Location, Broadway Street Los Angeles CA

Location, off Broadway Street Los Angeles CA. In this photo: Sara Carter, Hillary Barthe.

Location, Orpheum Theatre Los Angeles CA. In this photo: Autumn Huffine, Hillary Barthe, Sara Carter.

Inspiration

When someone mentions inspiration do any particular people come to mind? These women are two of the most authentic, trustworthy, joyful, and caring people in my life. I can't put to words how truly beautiful they are, and their external appearances are mere reflections of the goodness that dwells within. No doubt about it, I could not have hand picked a better sister in law, I could not have dreamt up a more suitable best friend. They encourage me, and accept me. And when I feel like I might be going a little crazy, they bring me back down. I only hope I impact their lives as positively as they do mine.

I Cry, I Cry For You

Situations unfold like letters,
In the hands of eager minds

Sick-tick-tock goes the wooden clock,
With a sadder message of time

And oh the kettle is hotter still,
Steaming with fire and rein---

I know you’ve been here before my friend,
But the line is wearin’ thin, that line is wearin’ thin

So, I cry I cry I cry for you---

Because that’s what I know to do

The sun may shine through this window of mine,
But oh I cry for you

The tide is high as you well know,
And its hiding the filth for miles

The cup it rests in your hand now friend,
Release your tired

Sink your hilt into what matters,
And free the bloody red wine---
 I said free the bloody red wine

I cry I cry I cry for you,

Because that’s I know to do

Though the sun may shine in though this window of mine

Oh I’m crying for you---
Nobody other than you

A Quote Worth Quoting

"It is quite impossible these days to assume anything about people's educational level from the way they talk or dress or from their taste in music. Safest to treat everyone you meet as a distinguished intellectual." -Briony Tallis  

 Atonement
By Ian McEwan

Waiting, in the words of another...

Through the material of his coat he felt for the bundle of her letters. I’ll wait for you. Come back. The words were not meaningless, but they didn’t touch him now. It was clear--- one person waiting for another was like an arithmetical sum, and just as empty of emotion. Waiting. Simply one person doing nothing, over time, while another approached. Waiting was a heavy word. He felt it pressing down, heavy as a greatcoat. Everyone in the cellar was waiting, everyone on the beach, She was waiting, yes, but then what? He tried to make her voice say the words, but it was his own he heard, just below the tread of his heart.

An abstract from Atonement
By Ian McEwan

Definition.

26 JUNE 2006

.

I HAVE IN MY MIND, A MEMORY

.

 OF A PLACE WHERE THE DAYS ARE WHITE

.

AND IN THE MIST, THERE ARE TINY DROPLETS OF LIGHT.

.

OF SCATTERED WOOD ON THE GROUND, DAMP AND MINGLED BENEATH MY FEET

.

OF SALT IN MY HAIR, ON MY TONGUE AND CHEEK.

.

EACH BREATH PARTED WAY, AND I FOLLOWED EAGERLY

.

 THE ONLY SOUND THAT WAS TO BE HEARD: THE MIGHTY SEA TEACHING 

ME HUMILITY.

.

 

My New Work Space

So, I decided recently that I was tired of doing my class work while sitting on my bed because: (1) It is meant to be slept in, and (2) slouching over constantly was killing my back. My conclusion--- I needed a desk (which I already owned, but chose not to use.) Here is it, and I love it.

.:CRABY:.              

A New Project

I've started a new project. This one, will take sometime to complete. But here is the start of it. The book I purchased at Barns & Noble, it can be found in the journal section. It is a blank paged sketch book with a brown paper cover, and black binding.

The clippings I found in old National Geographic magazines. A really cool alternative to currant women’s magazines and such. The images are vintage, and culturally diverse. I pasted the clippings to a white poster board, and then measured and cut the poster board to fit the cover of the journal. I covered one side at a time, letting both dry for about a total of 2 hours.To ensure that the glue binded well, I stacked about 10 pounds worth of weight on it each time.

After the covers were dry, I sealed the surface of the clippings with Mod-Podge (gloss-luster). After that I touched up the places that needed a little more finish, and wahla. I plan on filling it with moments of significance, ideas, clippings and what not. It will be a collage of thoughts and other forms of artistic throw up if you will.

.::The Finished Product::.

My Brightest Diamond - The Gentlest Gentleman [Live]

     Inspiration at it's finest. A friend of mine by the name of Hillary Barthe sent this song to me in an e-mail earlier this week. I have listened to the track about 20 times since I first opened the message. The flawless, soothing, and simply charming melodies and lyrics by singer songwriter Shara Borden--- have jumped to second place on my current favorite female vocalist list. Leslie Feist (my song of choice), has taken up residence in first for about three or four years now. Just below Shara is Carla Bruni (my song of choice), in third. If you are in the mood to be dazed and dazzled, give each of them a listen! There are many truly great male artists out there, however I don't think there is anything as lovely and delicate as the female voice. Here are some others to give a listen to:

Christiane Legrand, Beach House- Norway

Jenn Grant- Everybody Loves You

Alela Daine- The Rifle

An Artistic Interpretation

Presenting the talented, quirky, and beautiful Elizabeth Clark

Take a peak into her mind

Death Cab for Cutie - A Lack of Color

      Its interesting how switching an ipod to shuffle can instantly take you to a place you have not been for a very long time.

      Since Sunday evening, I have been listening to Death Cab for Cutie.  It came on randomly while I was driving to meet with some friends after church.  The tittle of the track that came on was Blacking Out The Friction, off of The Photo Album. In that moment, I was immediately taken back by how far I have come, ironically. 

      This specific song I've chosen to post is not of any great significance. It just suites my mood this afternoon as I sit here and study, in between spontaneous bursts of nostalgia. Lack of Color is off of the Tansatlanticism album.

      It's a good feeling, getting excited by both the future and the past all at once. I wonder if there is a word that fits that definition. A friend of mine calls it optimism... I think it's a little mix of that and something else. Either way, I am happy to be alive.

Is it not it a curious world we live in?

           Being a part of generation with infinite information available at it's finger tips, leaves me more often then not, overwhelmed. It is possible that I am the only human being that has a hard time with knowing when enough is enough.
           It is also possible that I am not, and more than one of you know the exact feeling I speak of.
Every situation is unique, but swinging open MY laptop is all-to-easy.
          As you sit there reading this, possibly alone, you are in fact in the company of millions doing that very same thing. While the possibility of them reading these words is unlikely. It IS possible.
          And even if they are not, they ARE in some way engaging themselves in this or that and the other thing...each of which can be found easily, most of which they did not actually intend on engaging themselves in.
         With an array of social networking options, you can say hello to a person without actually saying it. You can share your currant thoughts and have them immediately viewed and responded to in a manner of seconds. You can peruse the many sites, where people have chosen to both publicly display and with hold information about themselves. One has the option to respond or to not respond to inquires, greetings, & invitations. Is it not it a curious world we live in?

          While my thoughts are doing cartwheels, here as I write...I have yet to come to any real good conclusion as to what I am actually trying to say. All I know is, with the tools and resources we have available to us, I guess I'd encourage you to ask yourself..."what am I doing with them?"
          You say, "I am allowed to do anything"--but not everything is good for you. You say, "I am allowed to do anything"--but not everything is beneficial (1 Corinthian 10:23, New living translation)
           Guard your hearts, minds, and thoughts with what you let in my friends. Guard your hearts, minds, and thoughts with what you let out. With knowledge comes great responsibility.

The title of this entry is a question, so please, feel free to comment, and share your insight. If you so desire.

Ever feel like this?

Pete Yorn - For Nancy ('Cos It Already Is)

A person can not be mad at a rock for falling off a cliff: 

it has no control over where it might land.

Whether it be your head or your friends head, it will fall where it may.

Staring in the mirror and searching your own eyes for some form of an answer will turn even sanity on it's self.

A Super Short Story--"Happy Birthday Erin"

 :: I felt like writing, but did not want to get to involved::

The phone rang. It was Sunday morning and Erin was laying in bed, restless. She rolled over and glanced at the caller id, it was her mother. After the third ring she answered it, and with a raspy voice she said hello. The tone she chose was that of a strangers, she didn’t want her mother to know that she had been anticipating her call.
“Erin, did I wake you up?” her mother asked.
“No,” she replied.
“You sound sick, are you sick again Erin?”
“No mom, its just early.”
“Okay.”
There was a short silence, but it lasted long enough for Erin to become distracted by the sound of the television in the background of her mother’s line. Her mother chooses to keep the television on most of the time, its been that way since Erin was a child. It keeps her company, she says. This is something Erin has never understood, she much more prefers the silence of her apartment over the loud mixture of corporate commercials, and yesterdays news.
“Erin, I’m calling because I haven’t heard from you in over a week.”
“I know mom, I’ve been really busy with,” she paused, “stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Yes mom, stuff.”
“Well, what kind of stuff?”
“I don’t know---I’ve just got a lot going on mom.”
“A lot going on,” her mother repeated after her.
The two of them have made a habit of saying each other’s names frequently, when addressing one another. Its a habit that Erin is not fond of, makes her feel on edge. And yet, she persists.
“You ought to come home and visit one of these weekends, we all miss you here.”
These words Erin has heard, in that exact sequence, time and time again.
“I will mom, when my load lightens up.”
Her mother sighed, “okay, Erin.”
Erin’s shoulders tensed, and then released as she forced herself to exhale. With one arm outside of her covers holding the phone to her ear, and the other under, tucked snugly at her side: she sank into her pillow.
 “I---I better get going mom, or I’ll be late for---work.”
“Okay,” her mother replied in a high pitched cat like tone.
And then, descending into a shaky whisper,
 “Happy Birthday Erin---I love you.”

{A Love Story}

: : : : :

Once Upon A Time,
There Were Two Eyes That Just Happened To Meet...
: : : :
Their Dreams Began To Dance,
In That Beautiful Moment Of Chance.
: : :
Their Hearts Began To Beat,
As They Took Each Others Hands.
: :
And So, Their Story Began...
:

If you'd like to listen to this love story visit:
http://www.myspace.com/autumnhuffine
{track one}

:Testaments:

My Lord has proved to me time and time again: His faithfulness. He is ever growing me, shaping me and molding me. He is Elohim: my creator. His timing is perfect; He knows my innermost parts. He is Yahweh: His will for me is infallible; He is just. He is Shaddai and 'Elyon: He gives and takes away; nothing is impossible with Christ as my rock, and shield. Abba, He is my father; His grace is enough, His mercies renew with every morning. He is Adonai; my king, and I am a servant of his Kingdom. His wisdom surpasses my own, He is all knowing and all seeing. He is truth; His lips speak life. He is my redeemer; He has saved me from myself. He is, and was, and will always be; my Lord.

:Blessings:

My Lord and Savior, he holds me and follows me where ever I go, pulls me out of dark places; king of the universe; beautiful and just; my love.
My exceptional little bubby; my joy, he has a huge part of my heart. My unconditionally loving parents; my mother is tender, my father wise. My big brother: an outstanding role model with faith so strong. His wife, my big sister, strong and pure, loves the Lord. My dearest family: excepting, gifted, loving. My dearest friends: to many to count. So dear to my heart, blessings in every way; brothers and sisters in Christ; love life. Provisions: family, home, a full stomach, two legs and two arms. A voice to sing, and eyes to see, hands to create, and ears to hear the beautiful sounds of this world. An abundance of love to give, and a mind and heart to take it all in.