down by the highway side...

I'm at the point when Courage makes love to Integrity, but marries the ugly-third-cousin Anger, then suddenly seduces Sadness, all before telling the Fucked-Up-Step to just Stop, and I can't.... fear overcomes.

Round and round I go wondering why I survived the birth-defect I did. So many times I come up really angry, thinking if it wasn't for technology making a huge fucking scar across my abdomen and one on my neck and chest - I wouldn't be alive. What makes a little soul, premature, 2.5 lbs with all her intestines on the outside of her stomach, born in the waiting room, restrained down for months in the hospital, plethora of surgeries, not able to be held, fed through the heart and neck WANT to survive.

Did I really CHOOSE to live, or was it mans intervention?

.... we all have a choice, but sometime choice is taken away when it comes to life and death.

Takako is my real middle name for a reason.

So, like usual, I ask myself, "what role do I play on this earth, for ... obviously, I am 'here for a reason', like so many people tell me." Ugh, give me a break, both for the crap I'm vomiting and for the bullshit they're puking.

Alright then, maybe I'm not as brave I was when I started on this earth...

and I'm not going to waste my time with the problems in my head.

Instead, make a commitment to my short life here on earth to channel the Everything into my Art, come hell or high-waters, may the latter be warmer than the former.

Currently listening while writing:

Florence and the Machine, Addicted to Love

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=odSGa4ug58U

I will learn how to walk on air or grow wings.

.... and so it begins

homeless, car-less and not-so-care-free in la la land Los Angeles. I continue to ask myself what it means to be an artist. What sacrifices do I make, what am I willing to make and what do I want to make. How do I continue to stay creative when I'm so hard on myself, how can I maintain my photography when I fucking HATE business (as much as a cliche artist as I'm being, at least I know it).... and honestly, I'm so scared and so alive... not joking.... I have No idea where I will be from one week to another. Some clients commit, some cancel at the witching hour, them not knowing that was my rent money. Okay, so what, I move forward, never strait and don't look down... ever.

".... and you already know, yeah you already know, yeah you already know how this will end."

Writing this at 2:20am on a porch I cannot call my own, in Marina Del Ray, Los Angeles, chain smoking in my PJ's listening to my ipod, randomly crying for reasons I cannot tell the world. Not sure if any of this matters on the blogging market, and really don't care. I ask myself, why did I start a blog, was it to market myself as a professional photographer (well yes) or journal as an artist trying to live as she believes (which is how it ended up being) ... I have to admit, the latter is more precedent, something about being watched/listened to as I make mistakes, create adventures, love/laugh/cry and move forward is somehow more worth my time than making a dime... or simply vain and needing validation of my existence... shit, both are human and worth the time in the 21st century. I choose to pretend we all are "public" in some ridicules way; choose your vice as have I.

So LA... yes yes yes... I don't know where my head will lay in a week and I get the honor of building portrait clients in the sunny state of Callie. Life is brilliant when I have faith: I will learn how to walk on air or grow wings.