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Self Portrait Artist Statement VI


Wednesday, December 31, 2014


Happy New Year’s Evening



Happy New Year 2015


“If you want to get rid of an old horse,

you bring it out where folks can take a look at it.”


--- The Beverly Hillbillies






“Take off the last thing you put on.”


--- Coco Chanel


(Ms. Chanel spoke about accessories.)




The Thesis of this Artist Statement


Please learn to decipher “art” from “reality”


Clothing photographed is made to look a certain way when one uses double sided clear tape to create any still frame photograph (without movement) or any creative artistic “look” yet when any woman on the street does wear any button down shirt open all the way to the middle of her ribcage causing her shirt to flap open like an unanchored sail then her clothes look cheap and desperate and awkward on her and her sexual appeal or allure quickly diminishes because she cheats herself and movement and all others with any form of decency or imagination for intellectual and sensual sexuality vs. overt and crude sexuality. She blatantly says: “Wanna?!”




Why is it mostly when women get dehumanized

her opponents will “hit below the belt”

and go after her reproductive parts?


Why are women desexualized when they’re dehumanized?




            All I know is that I don’t know anything about fashion.


            (Not literally. Rhetorically speaking, of course.) Of course.


            Style, fashion and clothes are ever so fun yet one of the most important aspects to power (or lack thereof) since “everyone” already knows “with great power comes great responsibility.”


            The early 1930’s is one of my favorite Era’s for clothes.


There’s something ever so classically “chic” and properly astute (minus large pleats or distracting ruffles) about the clothes of 1931 yet intellectually sensual and highly regarded as another protective time period in the fashion history of the United States of America before “the war” broke out.


The 1931’s clothes are ‘real’ adult attire and ready for anything which might suddenly come along the way thus looking smartly and sharply dressed and sanely intelligent, too.


Sometimes, I “daydream” I might someday before “we” die (my girlfriends and I) we’ll be able to find as beautifully made clothes and as responsibly powerful as the clothes of 1931.


(We can dream? Can’t we? Yep.)


The early 1930’s “heavy wools” and other durable and protective and sturdy materials and smart prints constructed into “sport suit coat jackets” or “blazer suit coats” or fine silks or satins for “blouses” all have in common the good fortune to be extraordinarily well made and constructed and stitched with enough various fine detail “to help kill any devil” with a strong defensive pose with feet spread shoulders wide apart with a grounded stance and bent knees and with enough padded elbow room in the sleeve of the arm to sharply and without warning bring-up and reach-up over one’s face with one’s “rugged individualist” properly educated astute wrist and forearm to shield one’s brains from any violent blow of any type since global private and public establishments and institutions are physically dangerous places for women and men and children due to “sexual violence” or “sexual molestation” or “sexual exploitation” or “sex trade” or “sex slavery” or “sexual assault” or etc., etc, etc... So on and so forth.


            As of 2014, my Father informed me about the atrocities of “sexual misconduct” and “sexual harassment” and “sexual violence” and “sexual assault” and my Father told me not to be “gullible” about “sexual assault” or “rape” or “sexual molestation” in the workplace.


            My Father informed me not to be ever so “gullible” about how “sexual assault” occurs in all branches of government and the military and universities and colleges and doctors’ offices and psychologists’ offices and specialists’ offices and people in power all the way to presidents while in leadership position at the White House.


            My Father informed me about how the number one problem in the field of psychology is psychologists who “sleep around” or hold “sexual intercourse” or “sexual relationships” of any nature with their patients which is a huge breach of trust and diplomacy and professionalism which such appalling misbehavior ought to get anyone disbarred from practice. (Shame.)


            My Father is a retired psychologist who as of this summer 2014 informed me about the dangers of “sexual assault” in all variations and forms of workplace situations and abusive hierarchies to misguided power.


            My Father told me the truth about how I mustn’t believe anything the mass media or commercial television has to say about what’s a “family” or what constitutes a “family” or what even so much as defines a “family” since there’s a large portion of Americans who get “raped” or “sexually assaulted” at work each year and the numbers are staggering and unbelievable like the unbelievable military complex’s yearly annual defense budget yet our American Sons and Daughters enlist in the military only to hold a high probability that maybe just maybe someday they, too, might possibly be next in line for sexual assault by their peers or their bosses.


Such concrete examples can only mean workplace and professional environments take advantage of their position in power to keep all workers safe from any harm of any unwanted sexual advances or violent physical touch of any type.


            The rule of thumb is: don’t be a schmuck and date anyone from the office no matter how strong an urge unless they propose marriage “on the spot” otherwise, forget it.


            My Father informed me not to fall for the lie about how workplaces are “family” because more people get “raped” or “sexually assaulted” at work and universities or colleges than any other place and most often the perpetrators happen to be someone the victim’s already acquainted with or loosely acknowledges or has some form of already non-sexually established basic interaction or non-physical contact from one adult to another adult.


            1 in 7 young college women get “sexually assaulted.”


            (Do the math for the entire country of college women.)


            My Father informed me about the mistake about how the American mass media wrongly perpetuates or “forces” to establish clichés about “close familial bonds” amongst co-workers yet such a wrong portrayal “couldn’t be further from any truth” since workplaces are places in which one can get “fired” or “let go” at any time for anything thus “work” isn’t “family” because work also happens to be one major institution in which workers may or may not get “sexually assaulted” or “sexually attacked” or “sexually preyed upon” at any moment along with getting “fired” while companies wrongly “get away” with going through their employees’ online digital underwear drawer of new mass media and private interpersonal online social media. (Point made.)


(Stay out of employees’ top personal and private online digital new mass media and social media top underwear drawer.) (Point reiterated.)


            Work’s work.


            “Family” are those whom one surrounds themselves with outside of work or school or any other established institution or online social media (social interaction isn’t real unless one interacts with others in the physical form) in which either work pays a salary (which most often isn’t enough money) or in which one pays tuition (which happens to be way too much money.) Understand. (Yes? No? Yes.)


            Hence, once, one’s hands exchange money other than “monetary gifts without strings attached” then “game over” and don’t ever forget money is dirty and breeds “greed” and “discontent” and “abuse” and “insignificant melodrama” and “mean-spirited manipulations” and major “power struggles” without reason or logic.


            Life would be nicer, if in this day in age of so much technological advancements (available to humans,) if only clothes were made with or as protective gear only fashionable and deliciously beautifully constructed with chic modern styles as well as with the strength of one hundred Ninjas and the wisdom of twelve Samurai Warriors.


            Either modern fashion is made for “hussies” or “sluts” or “obese” women or “frail” or “waifs” and “rail thin” or “skinny” starved looking women without any curves or women without any supposed “libido” or “old looking women clothes” and nothing much in between for those of us who face and deal with the everyday struggles of women in public and private places in which we either get “grabbed” or “pushed up against subway walls” or “pinched on the breasts or derriere” or clothes are sometimes violently “torn off” or private body parts “groped” or, or, or…


(Pick any of the above of whichever one wishes because women deal with horny sexual perpetrators on a daily basis even if it happens to be drunken gay men who slam heterosexual women up against railings and “dry hump” women against their will while in public dance establishments.)


            What’s between women and their vaginas?


            There isn’t much between women and their vaginas.


            There isn’t much protective clothing or gear to keep women and men and children safeguard from “sexual assault” or “rape.”


            What I don’t like about modern clothes is clothing isn’t even made beautifully much less as protective gear. (Shame.)


            For certain, I thought by now, jean companies would make zippers which stayed upright and the buttons made impossible to rip open while facing a person or ink or “raccoon spray” or whichever toxic spray could repel on command and voice activate when women were to scream “rape” because any rape’s the difference between any matter of seconds whether women or men can get up and away and run or not.


(I don’t know.) (As imaginative examples about protective gear.)


            Modern clothes are unattractive

(There, someone had to say it.)


Modern clothes tend to walk around with a smelly fishy pout plastered to its botched silicone filled fish lips and a “middle finger” ever since fashion ran out of new ideas for durable construction for public safety and consumption.


            Modern fashion is like “dumb kids” who smile, too, long while their bug-eyed faces make one’s skin crawl.


            Modern fashion is like “dumb kids” without any marbles in their brains only rocks to fill their thoughts.


            Modern fashion is like “dumb kids” with their baboon derriere bottoms hanging out because they ever so desperately need to be swaddled.




            In the past decade (2004-4014) mostly “modern” fashion continues to copy the 1980’s and the worst parts of it or modern fashion tends to copy the mid to late 1990’s.


For some reason modern fashion keeps trotting out “the ugliest aspects” or terrifyingly unattractive prints and designs and cuts of mostly recent recycled modern fashion Eras (every 2 or 3 or 4 or 5 decades).


            What’s the point in trotting out the worst parts of any other fashion era?


(Other than to force mass consumers to purchase unattractive looking clothes which aren’t even well made?)


            There isn’t any point in trotting out the worst parts of any other fashion era because then an entire populous or masses or populations (at large) end up looking like a sea of green all over the lower decks and we all know how tough it’s to clean up lunch off of velour or suede cushion seats.


            In the past decade clothes are made either for “obese” women or “malnourished sticks” which look more like twelve year old boys with flat chests and linear bodies without hips or breasts.


            No, I don’t believe in “Plus Size” clothes since “obese” women enable the wrong ideas about overall physical bad health and mental health degeneration and overall health injuries.


(Speaking from a woman who’s been considered “obese” by doctors for the past decade until four months ago when I finally dropped sixteen pounds and now I’m considered “overweight.” Okay.)


            No, I don’t think it’s okay to commercialize “Plus Size” clothing because “obese” women possibly and harshly represent potential “diabetes,” “heart disease,” “deadly cancers,” “early on-set dementia” and “Alzheimer’s.” (Yikes. Scary.)


            No, there’s nothing healthy or sexy about any “obese” human.


            No, there’s nothing healthy or sexy about any “starving” human.


            It’s mighty difficult to relate to “modern” fashion when fashion gets all, too, “lazy” or “passive” about the single Utmost important aspect of their line-of-work in fashion’s astute social role to ensure the masses look well put together and wonderful and feeling good about themselves rather than enslaved to the ugliest and sexually demeaning clothes “on the racks” season-after-season for ten straight years.


            Whew! Let’s turn a new page in modern and freshly smart and intelligently respectable durable fresh and sensual fashion without getting our Sons and Daughters “killed” or “raped” or “sexually assaulted” on the streets of America.


            Until modern fashion designers mature and stop giving the consumer the “middle finger” either to hide or disguise the fact most modern designers haven’t ever even so much as physically sewed or stitched any article of clothing in their entire lives much less made wearable clothes fit for public attendance or to hide the fact most fashion designers are in their industry only for the money and not for the love of consumer goods or loyalty for returning customers hence modern fashion doesn’t care if people live-or-die much less if people get “raped” or “sexually assaulted” while riding any bus or mass transit or while at work or university or garment districts working away as indentured servants and economic slaves in poor and deadly dangerous working conditions.


            Modern fashion seems to say, “Be as derogatory as possible and we’ll watch you get “sexually assaulted” from afar while we sit back in boxer shorts and stuff massive amounts of food into our faces as we enjoy a good “rape” on a Sunday afternoon. Pass the chips, bro.”


            The past decade of modern fashion has been a difficult and painful decade as most consumers will tell you the prints and cuts and patterns and designs have been unsightly and undignified for fit modern consumption only because “club kids” “got an in” with the fashion industry and ever since fashion either turned “frumpy” or “dowdy” or “clubbing-brothel barmaid” clothes and nothing much else.


            The past decade of fashion has been hell while most Americans were held hostage in some dirty fashion Guantanamo Bay prison cell handcuffed and left to sit for days on cold tile floor with only a sweatshirt on to die from hyperthermia as piss stains run down any fashion corpse’s leg (as any hyperbole of metaphor or analogy.)


            Mostly fashion and clothes have been ever so difficult to swallow and stomach thus Americans “cling” to their late American 1990’s wardrobes and fashions (not modern imitations in style or cut) which are far more outdated than I care to admit yet well made because at that time in the late 1990’s clothes were still made in America and value was guaranteed no matter what.


            In the late 1980’s t-shirts were well made in America because they were made by Americans in American factories by generations of factory workers who took great pride in their manufactured goods and standards must be maintained.


            Yes, in the late 1980’s clothes were more expensive (relative to its economic times) yet clothes were better made and lasted longer than clothes do today.


            Today’s modern fashions are still somewhat expensive yet it costs ‘pennies on the dollar’ to make clothing abroad or overseas in China or Bangladesh or Vietnam or Cambodia or Mexico or, or, or…


            In the late 1980’s any average standard t-shirt cost about $30.00 dollars and lasted as much or as little as five years in relative good ‘mint’ condition.


            If dress-up t-shirts didn’t get any “washed out” look then it was “good to go” or until it looked slightly worn out or slightly used then it was given to the next generation of kids on the block for “play clothes.”


            Nowadays, mostly creative graphic arts t-shirts still do cost on average about $30.00 dollars yet one’s lucky if one’s t-shirt will last one season.


Nowadays, modern fashion is for the most part garbage. (Literally. Not as an insult.)


            Any consumer may consume modern clothes which quickly get discarded and bam!


There’s more added garbage to our oceans and seashore lines and natural landscapes and, and, and…


            A globe fit for modern consumption yet modern consumption isn’t fit for a modern globe.




            Please don’t personally ask me about finite etiquette.


            Remember, I was the young woman who passed up her “coming out” ball or “cotillion” dance because I thought the word “debutante” meant “amputee.”


            Can you only imagine what English as a Second Language young woman from the jungles of Central America must’ve thought?


            It wasn’t so much any physical handicap I had a problem with.


            It was more so the thought of all those puffy ball gowns in one single room with “amputees” possibly ‘stuffed’ into such ridiculous dresses was more of a mockery to our amputee sisters than any compliment so I opted out and spent an entire summer under an umbrella on a beach reading “” without a care in the world.


            From the top of my head when I last read through our families’ authentic “Coat of Arms” it read “Coat” the same as when one’s cold then one must put on an outer protective layer of clothing or gear known in the English language as “coat.”


            For sure, I know it’s not “Code of Arms.”


(No, I’m not certain as to why the readers keep asking this question other than it has something to do with “Downtown Abbey” vs. “Downton Abbey.”  Please to look it up.)


            Yes, I love all “white” clothes. They’re so beautiful.


            No, I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing “white” clothes after “Labor Day” or before “Memorial Day” hence it’s a tradition and a good one thus I keep within step of such tradition out of respect for our enslaved history for which such a history shan’t repeat itself.


Personally, I refuse to commit such an extraordinary former and modern fashion “faux pas” as to wear “white” off season. My skin would crawl to create such a general classical social blunder known to “everyone.”


(We mustn’t forget about inadequate economic social classes and modern economic slavery and caste systems and imbalanced power hungry or power starved hierarchies.


If we were to wear “white” all year round then we most likely forget our past and the drastic and unfair economic caste system within historical and modern American context and structures.) (Heady, I know.)


            We believe in purchasing mostly all 50% to 100% organic Turkish or American cotton from “Patagonia” or “H&M” since such responsible companies provide some sort of ethical consumer relief to the enslavement of cotton’s modern industry.


(As of November 2011, consciously (intentionally) we surpassed aside from our steadfast commitment to our twenty year long sociological economic experiment (we’re into our 9th year of study) to keep our “household budget” under $40,000 with the exception which we went ahead in November 2011 and purchased “Patagonia” fleece jackets even though most “Middle Income Earning” families don’t usually afford such rugged outdoor gear or clothes on their annual median income of $38,000 for a family of four in the Twin Cities and such families only afford $950.00 per family member per annual wardrobe expenses.)


            “Shoulder pads” must’ve held some sort of function or stylistic purpose in the 1980’s and 1990’s however I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing “shoulder pads” for as long as I live after physically and actually living through the 1980’s and 1990’s.


(Please, stop recycling the most unattractive ideas from any fashion or style Era in which people are still alive. Thanks. We’re not dead yet.)


            It’s difficult to find any women’s blazers or suit coats since my upper biceps (nearest to my armpits) are naturally 13.5 inches (thirteen and a half inches) around in circumference with a sweater on and without lifting a single thing other than a fork to my lips.


            Now I wear a size 8 or 10 around the chest and bodice of any blazer or suit coat jacket however not around the upper biceps because “I can’t put my arms down.”


            Thus, the fashion “hunt” continues and it might linger for years still yet to come as the hunt continued for ten straight years with my last “Benetton” suit coat jacket I purchased in 2002 when I started out as a young filmmaking producer and director of documentary feature length films and as sole proprietor to a now dissolved documentary film company as of December 31, 2014.


            Yes, I refuse to wear any clothes with titles such as “hobo” or “burnout” because I wouldn’t want such connotation to “rub off” on me. I like to keep my attire respectfully classical classy unless I must teach any whipping moral or ethical or “Green Man’s” lesson yet I no longer play the “village’s idiot’s” deliciously decadent role dripping with idiotic and rich chocolate icing. No.


(Hmmm. Yum. Chocolate icing. The toughest acting role to pull off in the entire world is “village idiot” when one’s considered “overly educated” by one’s own Father in conversation.) Lovely.


(Now, by social standards of the highest order whenever protecting one’s life; I simply and directly whip the rear end of any unruly horse which might have murderous inclinations because such any dumb animal will most likely get humans possibly killed or gravely injured and such any moronic animal knows it doesn’t deserve to live hence it’s a disservice to humanity by being dangerous to itself and others and its own race and tongue and disposition.) 


            We went to “JCPenney” and as soon as we found out the derogatory remarks on a line of well made men’s three piece suits we then quickly moved further down along the aisle of wall racks and further away from purchasing any clothes with any label which read “Portly Size."


            We almost fell over to discover any consumer clothing label described as “Portly Size” because people have such difficulty with losing weight and body image as it is.


            Weight of any type is a private and delicate issue or matter or endeavor which no one else is allowed to bring up or mention unless one personally talks about weight or does bring up the topic of “weight” to share and possibly teach something to another otherwise don’t imply or talk or even so much as insinuate anything about anybody else’s body or size.


            It’s in poor taste and fashion to point out the obvious on someone else’s body or to make any crude remark such as “Portly Size” when any consumer might already have a terrible and difficult enough time with clothes shopping. (Please, put yourselves in the shoes of others. Thank you.)


            “Portly Size” is the equivalent of giving any consumer “a jab in the ribs” or a “middle finger.”


            Dog boots are terribly designed and constructed.


            We bought one set of “Mutluks” last winter 2013 for $60.00 and watched our dog bleed on all four legs all winter long from his “extra appendages” and nails (placed further up and in the inner sides of his legs) which his extra appendages further dug into him and broke skin where the Velcro straps are sewn exactly where his little extra appendages and nails lay like any extra opposable thumb’s nail digging into a human hand. (Point made.)


Once I shed one silent tear for our dog.


The sight of our dog’s blood made my skin crawl and it looked ever so painful yet as hard as we tried and continued to purchase boot after boot we had to place something on our dog’s feet so he wouldn’t get frostbite on his paws in -15 to -40 (with a wind chill) below zero temperatures (not a hyperbole nor an exaggeration) thus we did the best we could with what we had at the time which we ended up with a whole bunch of boots which were ridiculous design.


The search’s still on for non-excruciatingly painful dog boots.


            We know our breed’s knees are the first thing to go in his degenerate genetic line of breed thus for our dog to have to curl in his two front knees each and every time we dress him into a Thinsolate down coat or puffy coat then he must contort his knees forcing him to do something unnatural with the layout of his anatomy thus the design and construction of dog clothes and coats is completely and utterly wrong for most dogs of any breed to do such weird knee bending motion.


Any unnatural movement which goes against any dog’s anatomy causes trauma to the joints through repetitious movement overtime.


We might have to design and construct our own dog clothes no matter how unattractive or homemade they might look.


Our search’s still on to find Thinsolate down coats in which our dog could step into the coat and the coat would Velcro or zip or buttoned at the top along the ridge of his spine or backline rather than along his underbelly which is difficult to reach and Velcro in such a manner at the best of times.


            We wouldn’t be caught dead wearing “Camouflage” clothing unless we were to go bear or grouse or wild turkey or wolf or moose or deer hunting. (Thank you.)


            Camouflage is function and not style or fashion.


            Yoga pants are function and not style or fashion.


            Sports wear is function and not style or fashion.


            Sports jersey tops are exclusively to be worn only to sporting events and aren’t to be considered any type of style or fashion or fit to be worn anywhere else outside of such specific sports settings otherwise professionals will refuse to conduct modern and adult civilized responsible business with sports hooligans or anyone who so much as imposes such a modern “faux pas” upon larger societal cultural structures at large. (Point made.)


            Wearing any sports jersey top to events other than sports events is the same as wearing any super hero t-shirt which by adult standards would be social-and-fashion suicide unless it’s Halloween.


            Leggings are function and not style or fashion.


            We made the mistake to purchase our dog a Camouflage coat only because finding a size “small” in dog winter Thinsolate down coats is nearly impossible to find. (Supply and demand.)


            Not once have I personally ever protested in any political demonstration or march nor have I ever desired to do so, however.


As of this week I’ve strongly begun to consider marching in summer 2015 as a peaceful private citizen demonstrator in the one march in which people wear only their underwear to bring awareness to “sexual violence,” sexual assault” and “sexual misconduct.”


            Not ever would I be caught dead publically wearing only my underwear unless I lost my outer layers and was in trouble, however. For a march against “sexual violence” demonstration, I might, however. Right after I was done demonstrating then immediately I’d have to put my clothes back on. (I must research which peaceful demonstration it is.)




            In conclusion:


            Finally, last night I purchased (online from and “Allegra K”) six modern and fashionable Asian blouses for the average cost of $13.00 per blouse which each blouse looks more like $225.00 dollars per item on the pictures. I haven’t seen such specific blouse cuts or styles since 2002 with a freshly modern 2013-2014 take.


Insert: One of the “Allegra K” shirts came without any receipt since the item is non-returnable and non-refundable.


The following “Allegra K” black and white stripped “Large” (Size 14) shirt is “a13051700ux0653” and “CO141209115” without any labels on instructions for care or material percentages is two times (2xs) (XXL) (Yes.) larger than me (by two and half of me) yet the sizing chart said it would be “spot on” exactly the measurements of any American size “14” “Large” or exactly the tape measurer’s measurements and the reason why I bought a “Large” size “14” is because most of the online reviews stated this shirt ran “small” so which is it?


The reason why the “Allegra K” “Large” size “14” shirt is twice (2 times) as big on me is because in America a size “2-4” is considered a “Small” and “6-8” is considered a “Medium” and “10-12” is considered a “Large” and “14-16” is considered an “XL” and size “16-18” is considered an “XXL” and “20-22” is “XXXL.”


As of now I wear American shirts size either “Small” or “Medium,” however. I still don’t know how to purchase Chinese apparel when China’s sizes are all over the map.


Still yet this huge shirt which isn’t a sweatshirt (as specified) is twice the size of a “Large” which in America is considered “Plus Size XXL.”


Furthermore, the material isn’t a sweatshirt.


The material is more like a lightweight spandex and cheap to the touch. The design, style and cut are awesome but the fabric is terrible for the amazing design.


If I were to order the same style of beautiful shirt I might not be guaranteed a proper size since I’ve been informed “Chinese” manufacturers and factories don’t have sizing standards, procedures or protocol or worker safety regulations.


For example, if possibly someone’s having “a bad hair day” then they might sew a shirt the size of an elephant or another day sew a shirt the size of a baby since China doesn’t have to comply by standard regulations in sizing or otherwise.


The shame with this type of business interaction is “Allegra K” isn’t necessarily held accountable for adequate and proper and correct mathematical sizes thus one could drop $100.00 on shirts which might not ever fit and still be out $100.00 dollars each time since the shirts are non-returnable and non-refundable and below standard sizing regulation. (Pity.)


“Allegra K” must make tons of money from consumers like me who ought to know better than to purchase from some “wild wild west” Chinese manufacturer. (I learned my lesson.)


Please refer to a tape measure and learn what an inch is exactly. Let’s go back to the fundamentals of mathematical construction. (Thank you.)


It’s not enough to make a shirt.


The shirt actually has to follow some sizing guidelines and regulations or it’s considered “highway robbery” and “garbage.”


            Yes, I love modern and fashionable and stylish and machine washable “lace” or durable modern 100% polyester “silks” and “satins” or “chiffons” as well as “embroidery” and some “crochet,” however.


            Yes, I’m extremely “picky” since I was bestowed with a “fine tuned eye” for what looks "dowdy" or the difference between what looks “chic” and “fresh” and “modern” or not.


            Yes, I studied cinematography and filmmaking and writing and engineering so I do know what’s aesthetically pleasing to the eyeball.


            Yes, I automatically know when something looks “odd” or “out of place” or “weird” or “uncouth” or “disdainful” or “inappropriate” or even “disrespectful” or “ugly” or “cheap” or “classless.”


(I wasn’t born yesterday.)




Excerpt From Life.


No, I’m not “matronly.”


Simply, I don’t dress like baboons

with my vagina dropping out of dresses


            As of this summer, I had two “disrespectful” and “immature” and “cruel” and “thoughtless” and “mean-spirited” and “cowardly” and “unlawfully scared” and “rude” and “disrespectful” early-to-mid twenty-something’s verbally abuse me by calling me a strong and derogatory word such as “matronly” yet such individuals run around with their genitals hanging out of their clothes like they were two year olds with ruffles on their underwear and still yet while such individuals hosted a party at their home they allowed for a young woman (their guest) to get raped on their property, so their word doesn’t mean anything to anyone much less me yet such derogatory people do get “verbally abusive” when they can’t get their spoiled way in life they lean towards their strong propensity and tendency to “punch below the belt.”


“Control freaks” get “verbally abusive” because they’re controlling.


            No, I’m not anyone’s “wet mommy” or “matron.”


            Please, don’t get personal.

            How uncouth.

            How déclassé.


            No, I can’t help it, I like to bake my own homemade organic non-GMO and no sugar whole wheat breads and be extremely responsible to my family and work and life and friends.


            No, I can’t help it I was stuck in a “fashion rut” for three whole straight years of only wearing gray (grey) t-shirts because I refused to wear “Muu Muu” dress prints on my body.


(Otherwise, I’m afraid I would’ve been physically ill wearing ugly cuts and prints or designs near or on my body.)


            Ever since we began our personal sociological economic experiment to live on $38,000 dollars per annual “household budget” in the same manner as any other ‘Middle Income Earning’ Twin Cities’ family of four it’s been any great challenge to live according to our Champagne taste on a “beer budget.”


            Ever since 2008, we set our household budget to $35,000 (now $38,000) and it’s very challenging to purchase clothes on an annual budget of $1,650 per family member of two (plus a dog $275.00 on clothes) per yearly “household” clothes allowance.


(Such an annual clothes budget’s merely scraps off of the floor, $1,650 per household family member of two on a set “household budget” of $38,000.)


            Swear to God, shirts ought to cost no more than $10.00 in America because $1,650 dollars per annual allowance is all anyone can afford without taking out credit cards and getting into further debt which we refuse to do.


            All these years we’ve carefully budgeted and did our duty for “King and Country.”


            Yes, we’re waiting for the rest of the country to economically catch up and for the fashion industry to connect and understand the gravitas of the economical situation for most Americans.


For a family of two adults $1,650 dollars is nothing especially since I have ridiculously expensive taste for everything from cars to watches to apparel to everything.


            Anyone may place any item in front of me and I can tell if it’s luxury or high quality or not.


            Back to social insults and general disrespect for people.


            Yes, I much rather have had “gutless” twenty-something’s call me an “asshole” or a “cunt” instead of having those unlawful “accessory to rape after the fact” twenty-something’s go straight for the jugular and call me “matronly” because the supposed “insult” implies I have no vagina and it couldn’t be further from the truth since less than a day ago I checked when we had glorious sexual intercourse and my vagina was still there where it belongs. The last time I checked I had a myomectomy done not a hysterectomy and even then I’d still be a woman.


They knew perfectly well such a word would hurt, especially, after all of the irresponsible sexual misbehavior and lies and deceit and all of it came down to one single word which broke my trust with both of them because I didn’t realize what cruel young people they are.


            After the age of thirty; please, don’t ever for any reason or under any circumstance socially entertain any twenty-something’s (especially not to babysit them) since some twenty-something’s can be some of the most “dense” and “sexually vulgar” and “sexually crude” people, one will ever come across.


            Who cares to hang out with “dumb kids?”


            No one cares to hang out with “dumb kids.”


            Yes, I’m still hurt from their verbal abuse because they called me “matronly” out of spite rather than truth.


            They became personal when I “put my foot down” and refused for our home to become a late night hotel or brothel yet not once did they complain while I almost killed myself to serve them hand-and-foot.


(People are so ugly in the inside.)


            Yes, I’m still wounded to have been called “matronly” because I was “sexually assaulted” at the “Gay 90’s” this summer when a strange Iraqi man put his hand down my shirt and up my chest and pinched my left nipple while one of our house guests went around town making out with every single strange black person they saw like they were some starved beast on a Friday and Saturday night, both.


(When I finally peeled off our house guest from some black dude’s penis and informed them of my misfortune and mishap and what had happened to me, our house guest barely reacted and wanted to know which bar to go to next.) I could’ve almost killed them with my bare hands and probably ought to have done so.


            Our former house guest stood in dark and dusty corners as they helped lift up their genitals to strange men’s penises to have the men stroke our house guest’s genitals while they cheaply gave themselves away to strangers bar-after-bar as our house guest went in search of only black men.


            Our former house guest who happens to be a great “liar” and a “know it all” (terrible combination) is nothing but a “foreigner” and a “cunt” (in some sense of the word) not to be trusted because our former house guest does indeed have a cruel streak in them.


(Our former house guest lacks empathy and those are some of the most dangerous people to run around with because they’ll get anyone gravely injured or killed.)


            When any person is born or developed in such a terribly cruel manner then they’re not much good for anything other than to fulfill their ego. (Touché)


            Oh, I told our former house guest exactly what I thought of them and went so far as to text the work “cunt” to describe their sexual misbehavior and misconduct as house guest.


(I’m so proud of myself.) (When one’s house guest gets their host “sexually assaulted” then no holds barred. They can go straight to hell.)


            Calling someone “matronly” is a good way to cowardly tell someone to “go fuck themselves” without having the balls to do it.


            They have so much to prove and to make up for.


            My Father told me, our summer 2015 former house guest’s sexual misconduct is a sign of “mental illness.”


(Okay, but not on my watch and not on my time because our former house guest costs us thousands of dollars in a short span of time while we wined and dined them and their social company wasn’t even intelligent or smart. Their company was desperately horny. Take it someplace else.)


            Yes, I’d do it all over again in the same volatile manner in which I reacted because I did get “used” by some déclassé floozy nobody from nowhere.


(A “virgin / whore.” The worst type of liars there is.)


            Now the story’s here for all of time as part of this season’s Self Portrait Artist Statement so “everybody” learns a good lesson in not taking advantage of their hosts and getting them either “sexually assaulted” or almost “killed.”


            No, I don’t socialize with scum no matter who they are.


            I’m, too, preppy and modern prim and proper for idiotic temperaments. No, I’m not prissy.


            You see, I did get called “matronly” because I wouldn’t let myself get further used thus I was verbally abused by the stupidest twenty-something’s I’ve ever met who one of them sexually slept their way across the Midwest in the course of one summer and still managed to get kicked out of three different Minnesota homes and sent back home in disgrace because no one wanted to deal with their guest’s horny bullshit and deeply seeded control freakish issues.




            Yes, I’m a woman in the prime of her life and career.


            Yes, I’m a success.


            Yes, I’m astute and intellectually sexy and clever and sensually smart since I know exactly what happens past dark.


(Women get “raped” or “sexually assaulted.” Nothing good ever happens after midnight.)




            As of 2014, I decided to purchase (no logo) outlet Armani clothes because a forty to eighty dollar t-shirt sure is better quality and better made and better cut and fit than a ten dollar t-shirt’s worth.


            As of this year August 2014, my personal boycott of Chinese made clothing stopped ever since I discovered “Armani Exchange” is made in China.


Of course, I fell in love with Armani’s high quality of online customer service and beautifully made Chinese goods. (Thank you.)




            Remember; always spend 10% of one’s annual yearly salary income (pre-taxed for a family of four) on one’s wardrobe.


Automatically take care of this vital and essential aspect of the personal self.


            For example, the average median annual income for a family of four in the Twin Cities is $38,000 (2013-2014) per year multiply by (Xs) 10% equals $3,800 divided by four family members equals $950 dollars per individual family member per year.


            Any average median annual income for a family of four with an approximate salary of $100,000 (pre-taxed) multiply by (Xs) 10% equals $10,000 divided by four family members equals $2,500 dollars per individual family member per year in 2014.




            Christmas Eve, I stepped inside a “Coach” store and I was practically “thrown out” because the store representatives didn’t think I had enough money on me.


            Yes, I walked into “Coach” with $16,000 dollars.


            Remember, we used to donate $30,000 per year to make one single feature length documentary film so now that we don’t make feature documentary films we tend to donate such sum and / or use it for medical emergencies or travel or whatever or…


            No, we’re not talking about credit cards. Nope.


            We’re talking hard earned cash in the form of debit card.


            For the second time in my life I considered purchasing a “Coach” bag and didn’t have a clue as to how much a “Coach” bag would cost thus I went shopping with $16,000 dollars only to have discovered later that the most expensive “Coach” bags are sold for no more than $500.00 (five hundred dollars) in stores while “Gucci” or “Versace” bags start at $5,000 (five thousand dollars.) (Okay.)


            Yes, I was surprised to find many of “Coach’s” bags seemed outdated and “dowdy” for any new fashionable era.


“Coach’s” latest “modern” 2013-1014 bags are nothing special to look at or go home and brag about.


            Yes, I’m asking men and women to boycott “Coach” for one complete year so “Coach” may get their house in order (until December 24, 2015).


Yes, I’ll do my best to purchase a “Coach” clutch next December 24, 2015, however.


No, I don’t want to hear or see “Coach” anything because “Coach”  doesn’t have anything worth listening to unless “Coach” would like to apologize for having their customer representatives treat me like any complete “nigger” or “trash.”


Last year’s “Coach” line is for “old women” without supposed reproductive body parts or libidos for that matter.


“Coach” smells of “upper middle income” money and nothing much else. “Coach’s” clutches are terribly constructed and flimsy like soggy bread.


Over a phone conversation I told my Father about the incident at “Coach” and my Father replied: “When you step inside sewage, you come out smelling like sewage.”


Some of my Father’s best friends are global Italian buyers for some of the most expensive and extraordinary clothing labels in the world.


            “Drop the attitude, you work in a shop.”




            Why is it Minnesotans only seem to afford one nice item in their annual wardrobe en masse yet everything else either looks “raggedy” or “worn out” or “shabby” or “old looking” especially when Minnesotans frequent museums for that matter?


            Why don’t Minnesotans’ lower their economic expectations and instead of only purchasing one nice $500.00 bag, possibly purchase an entire nice new ensemble or a complete $500.00 outfit from outlet designers?


            Oh, priorities.


            “Leggings” are stockings.


            “Leggings” are hosiery.


            No, one doesn’t wear “chiffon” or “sheer” or “see through” clothing of any type without any proper “Camisole” or t-shirt or tank top underneath otherwise that’s another idiot walking around who doesn’t seem to be able to decipher “make believe” mean spirited fashion industry from “reality.”


            No, one doesn’t wear a “blazer” or suit coat dinner jacket with only a bra underneath and nothing else otherwise that’s another moron walking around who doesn’t seem to have any critical analytical thinking skills to decipher “stupidity” from “smarts.”


            Clothes can make or break human careers and interpersonal relationships.


            What is it about “obese” women who mostly fulfill a deeply empty or intrinsic or inner starving need to have their “larger than life” eighteen pound breasts (each) fall out of their clothes?


            What is it about smaller or average thin women who dress ever so beautifully modern “chic” and proper like Audrey Hepburn did?


            At heart; I’m modern preppy and there’s nothing else to it.


            There’s a proper time and place for everything.



Pura Vida

“To the Good Life” (According to the Costa Rican greeting.)



Gabriela de la Holm



(Corrections were made.)


Post Script


Monday, December 22, 2014


            One last correction: “Leggings.”


“Leggings” without any layer over them is “inappropriate” attire to “sport” or “wear” outdoors at any time. Yes. (Correct.)



Let’s put it to rest.”


            “Leggings” are the same as “stockings”. Yes.


            “Leggings” are the same as “hosiery.” Yes.


            “Leggings” are technically “undergarments” or “underwear”.



            “Leggings” is no different than walking around in one’s underwear. Yes. (Correct.)


            “Leggings” aren’t “long johns” or “long underwear”. No.


            “Leggings” are worn one layer above “panties” as well as one layer underneath “long johns” or “long underwear”. Yes. (Correct.)


            “Leggings” are only worn underneath clothes such as either “trousers” or “jeans” or appropriately lengthened “shorts” or “skirts” (supposedly when one sits down the skirt length covers both knees) and “long skirts” or “leggings” are worn underneath “long johns” for another layer of warmth and protection.


            The point is this:


After an entire year of answering this question:


            Are “leggings” appropriate to wear in public? No.


            No, “leggings” aren’t appropriate to be worn in public at any time no matter what anyone debates or argues about “leggings” unless one accidently gets locked out of one’s home, possibly not even then.


            Why aren’t leggings appropriate to be worn in public?


            The reason why it’s inappropriate to wear “leggings” in public is because “leggings” are no different than another layer of private “undergarments” or “underwear” or “panties.”


            “Leggings” are another “basic” or “base” layer to be worn as protective gear for one’s private body parts (or genitals) which private body parts (penis / vagina) mustn’t be “shown” or “used” for anything other than to be shared with intimate partners or spouses whom which people give ‘only’ agreeable mutual sexual consent otherwise “tuck in private body parts” and have an excellent day unless one’s zipper becomes broken then go home and change.



The “faux pas” of public “leggings”


            If for some “awkwardly” misunderstood reason men or women wore “leggings” out of the house this calendar year 2014 either to “work” or “school” or to the “grocery store” or to any “restaurant” or any other public “establishment” then know this:


            The public’s been looking at a calamity “fashion” disaster for an entire year (2014) ever since some “messed up” commercial ideal came about how “leggings” suddenly “became” “outdoor” clothing when in reality (factually) “leggings” are “panties” or more precisely “stockings.”


(How embarrassing for so many Americans to get ever so confused about inappropriate attire.)


            Be careful not to be able to decipher or process critical analytical thinking skills in knowing the difference between “reality” from “art” or “reality” from “commercialism” or “reality” from “surrealism” or “reality” from “make believe” or “reality” from “storytelling” (visual or oral or literary form or otherwise which indicates the main components in semiotic communicative structure in any storyline vitally important in significant communication about “anything” at all otherwise it’s gibberish or nonsensical which means whatever the fashion or style or ideal falls apart in argumentation like weak debate.)


            One must learn the “basics” to basic attire in function.


            “Clothes make the man” or woman.


            Clothes can also destroy the man or woman.


            When people or “the masses” blindly follow “anything” they don’t seem to understand or some ridiculous “style” does catch their eye or any weird “style” or “look” or “fashion disaster” “catches on” then the masses place themselves in danger of sabotaging their work or interpersonal relationships by following anything as easily misunderstood or as simple as any “faux pas”. (Cringe.)


            “Faux pas” are incredibly stupid social mistakes not ever to be repeated in any social form or function because such things as stupid as “faux pas” can either close or open up doors or destroy entire careers or opportunities.


            If for any chance in the year 2014 “the masses” did get “caught up” and swept away by the strong under currents and tides to wear inappropriate “leggings” while out in public then “chuck it up” to “a” (one) terribly inappropriate fashion year in lack of style not to ever be repeated again because now we know better as women have known better for the past 100 hundred years.


            There’s no excuse for publically wearing “legging stockings.”


            Correct one’s attire or sensibilities in clothing.


            Make corrections to mistakes otherwise it’s no good.


            Yes, my last fashion “faux pas” was in the summer of 2009 when I took it upon myself to write down “lyrics to songs” or “titles of songs” or “music” on my under forearms with black sharpie marker whenever I heard the title of a song or band I’d write it down on my forearms because I don’t seem to remember titles or names of bands for anything.


            Of course, I loved black sharpie marker scribbles on my forearms because then later when I went back home I did remember the almost impossible task to commit titles or bands to memory yet almost one year later in 2010 I came to discover that only people who were recovering from drug addiction wrote on their arms to help them get over their addictions. (Okay.)


            Well, I did what I did only I did it out of ignorance because I thought sharpie writing on my arm looked cool until I came to discover what sharpie writing on one’s arms really meant to modern American “hipsters” getting over heroin addiction. (No, thank you.)


            For as long as I’ll live I shan’t ever write on my body for anything. (Absolutely not.)


            No, I don’t have a single tattoo on my body. (I love it.)



Okay, another example of a “faux pas” is this:


            Do you know how “New Englanders” north of Boston say, “Right? Right.”?


            “Right? Right.” signifies one’s laughter when one must be appropriately deadly serious about anything at all in front of “authority” or when there’s nothing else to be said without laughing out loud or when one mustn’t and doesn’t burst into heaps of laughter (because one’s sophisticate classy) when one’s supposed to be extremely serious yet there’s humor in the undertones of the communication or circumstance or linguistics.


            The “faux pas” is when someone says, “Right. Right.” after “everything” anyone’s ever said as a simple reply to fill up air because such any person doesn’t have anything intelligent to contribute to the conversation or situation or linguistics.


            The “faux pas” is when anyone ignorant says, “Right. Right.” all of the time which “Right. Right.” after everything’s said comes to mean complete and utter gibberish or the same as saying, “I’m dumb and I don’t have anything intelligent to say,” “I’m dumb and I don’t have anything intelligent to say…” over-and-over again because “I’m dumb because I haven’t ever been taught what “Right? Right. means yet I copy it without any significance or understanding” or signifier to “upper crust” blue blooded New Englanders and they’d know immediately when one doesn’t have one single clue about anything at all since one were to keep repeating themselves either like any broken record or any parrot.


(Creepy. Words without meaning or substance to them or reason or logic or history are “queer” indeed. Empty words of style or sheep-like-mentality fall to their metaphorical death over cliffs of mourning disaster.) (I can’t seem to help it. I want to write poetry.)


(Doors get slammed shut because people get scared of what’s not natural or what seems “odd’ or “queer” or “contrived” to others.)






            The reason why one mustn’t “saunter off” or blindly or ignorantly or arrogantly pick up others’ traditions or “copy” a look without knowing what first anything means is because then one might get trapped inside any social maze of aimlessly wandering around forever without purpose while inside private parlors “everyone else” makes global plans to contribute to the world at large by implementing global fair wages and protective workers’ rights.


            Amen. (Nonreligious, “Amen.”)


            No, not ever in my life have I ever worn “legging stockings” out in public.


            Are you insane?

            Absolutely not.


            Yes, I wore “legging stockings” in the December 2013 “Self Portrait of an Artist” photography series.


            Yes, I made the ever so serious decision to wear “legging stockings / hosiery” in my photography series because last December 2013 I blogged about how at that time I was 164 pounds and emails arrived which asked and wondered if I was “as huge as a house” or a “whale” (correction) or “a big fat ass.”


            Out of rebelliousness, I wore “legging stockings / hosiery” in my “Self Portrait” photography series to better show off the contour lines of my body at 164 pounds and not for any other reason.


            Furthermore, in last December’s 2013 “Self Portrait” series I also wore a long shirt which covered my entire mid drift or mid section as well as my derriere and hips. (Pay close attention.)


            No, “art” isn’t necessarily appropriate attire for “school” or “work” or “television news” or “weather news” or “five star dining” or any other “public social activity or function.”



For example:


            One of the greatest fashion “faux pas” is to wear “Yoga” pants in public (2005-2014).


            “Yoga” pants are in the same category as spandex “running tights” or “speedskating tights” or “sports tights” which one doesn’t see through such particular durable materials.


            For women to wear “Yoga” pants in public is the same as to wear mid-calf dark brown socks with loafers and white boxer shorts and any sleeved white undershirt with a side pocket on the front while women stand at makeup counters and pretend like their inappropriate attire is Kosher while giving everyone around them the “middle finger” ever since such women gave up on themselves and let themselves go.


            What’s the point of looking at any gorgeous woman inappropriately dressed?


            There isn’t any point to look at any woman inappropriately dressed because most likely she’s not prepared for her day or life or most likely she’s neither any good as a decision maker nor much less any type of leader nor does she know anything about “anything” when she doesn’t even seem to know how to appropriately dress for modern female adulthood and society and basic civility.


'She’s nobody' and makes sure she broadcasts such ridiculous notion to the entire world.


            One mustn’t and doesn’t publically “run” errands or around in one’s “pajamas” or “Yoga” pants or “running tights” or “bicycle riding tights” or any other type of sports tights because it’s disrespectful as well as “lazy” of anyone not to get out of their “sports clothes” or “pajamas” and change into appropriate pedestrian clothing or attire.


(The rest of the globe’s not going to put up with our lack of American fashion sensibility and lots of mierde styles.)


            There’s nothing uglier than to look at women who refuse to appropriately attire or dress themselves because “comfort” seems to be all some women or men have in their lack of style or fashion sensibilities or moral and ethical code of misconduct in attire.


            This is serious business.


            This is serious subject matter we’re talking about here.


            This is serious topic of discussion in any Era in which 1 out of 7 women are raped or sexually molested or sexually exploited or sexually abused or sexually harassed or sexually assaulted across the United States of America, 2014.


            Please, put some proper pedestrian attire on and make any strong effort to look handsome or lovely and classy and sophisticate.


            Any one wearing “legging stockings” out in public past 2014 is either “mentally ill” or “out of date and style” or “without any parental figures” to teach and guide their youth through what’s what of wardrobe lifestyle and health and wellness and how attire’s properly and correctly done.


            To wear “Yoga” pants out into the world is as bad and as inappropriate as to wear “jeans” to any funeral.


“Yoga” pants mean one doesn’t know how to pay appropriate respect to one’s society at large.


            “Legging stockings / hosiery” or “running tights” or “sports tights” or “Yoga” pants are ever so crude or vulgar or inappropriate clothes to wear for “school” or “work” or mostly any other pedestrian social functions unless one’s exercising or in the privacy of their home.






            America, please learn how to appropriately dress for success.


            Yes, I wore “legging stockings” in my December 2013 “Self Portrait” photography series because I’m a professional artist and hold “creative license.”


            However, “I wouldn’t be caught dead in public only wearing “legging stockings / hosiery” and nothing much else over them” because I’m not in the habit or tendency of only wearing my underwear out in public yet last year’s “legging stockings” held such a delicious look and color and texture for photography which I couldn’t seem to pass up otherwise. (Blush.) Really.




            With Respectful Regard to American Wardrobe Success;




Self Portrait Artist Statement V


Tuesday, September 16, 2014


            As of this fall 2014, I denounce high heeled shoes and ‘valuable’ jewelry for as long as I live.


Finally, I found “costume jewelry” and like it very much since I don’t have to think about breaks or wear-and-tear or depreciation of “valuable” jewelry.


First, high heeled shoes are gorgeous to look at on other women yet painfully backbreaking and injurious to any physiological mechanism in the human body or anatomy.


Personally, I refuse to have my feet bound forevermore or ever again for as long as I live unless I were to be hired to pose for a professional photography session yet again, that, too, can become tiresome or tedious work standing for hours at a time in high heeled shoes while posing all at the same time.


Posing takes talent and patience and a strong skill set in understanding the human anatomy and its mechanisms and camera angles and body positioning and still motion of every single second as one stands defiantly still for the camera and slowly breathes yet ever so calmly and subtly holds a pose and makes each position look good and refreshed in almost every single photograph, is, well, almost remarkable. Whew.


Models make life look better than any wrinkled shirt on a hanger.


Actually models make the world look deliciously “drop dead gorgeous.”


I do have a great deal of respect for healthy and professional working models (not obese or waif) who pay their taxes and contribute to society and culture at large so that women won’t get publically sexually harassed or molested or assaulted or raped by men because models are smart enough to pose for fashion contributors of great importance rather than greedy fashion mongers without any vision for the future.


Hypothetically; If I were to get paid to wear high heeled shoes such as professional models do then possibly I’d consider such a grueling task to pose for misogynist companies to achieve that comfortable look in high heeled shoes because it’s all about controlling facial muscles to make one’s face look like nothing hurts yet we all know perfectly well how painful high heeled shoes truly are after about a good fifteen minutes; Then, game over; In every single room where ever there’re any women in high heeled shoes then she’s begun to get crabby unless women “sit down and look pretty the entire time” yet and again that’s not really participation that’s the sidelines and that’s just fine since torture sure is painful and so are high heeled shoes.


Flat shoes are where it’s at for me, forevermore.


What a tragic love story about high heeled shoes and women’s relationship to pretty torturous objects in this modern Era and Age of fashion that such a relationship seems to continue to be fragile and vulnerable, however. Not in a good way. Not like any kind girlfriend who holds one’s best-interest-at-heart for her boyfriend’s health and wellbeing.


The relationship between women and high heeled shoes is a relationship in which one tends to look at that one drifting cat outside of any stranger’s window on a dark cold stormy night: pathetic, lonely and hungry, drenched in rain water and one seems to understand perfectly well that hence one allows for the little cat to come indoors then forevermore the little cat will leave little gifts outside of one’s door and no matter how much the cat’s intensions may seem amorous or filled with friendship; it’s still dead mice and birds one must dispose of with a shovel each and every single time the cat decides to show it’s affection for saving them from a miserable cold stormy night even though animals have been living outside for tens of thousands of years just as bound tortured feet have been a considerable part of fashionable culture at large for thousands of years.


High heeled shoes aren’t natural in the least bit and that’s what ultimately makes high heeled shoes so unfashionably dangerous to even so much as to consider that which is torturous to be perceived as something beautiful is to equivocally bend all logic or reason to abide by violence and disrespect not love for all humanity.


If men wore torture devices on their feet then would women consider such a style or look or fashion statement beautiful or handsome? No.


If men wore torture devices on their feet then women would hurt for our beloved ones. We would wish for our beloveds’ pain to seize-to-exist because we care about the overall health of our beloved men.




I love fashionable classic modest sensual durable fashion for and of this modern Age and Era.


Contemporary types of fashion move me to compassion and inspiration.


            What's there not to love about fashionable clothes?


            What's there not to love about wearable art?


Everything, there’s to love about smart, strong, compassionate, durable sensual modest classic fashionable fashion is such particular fashion supports and loves like a best husband friend who’s a man’s man with dignity, clam patience and strength, stamina and everything robust male essence.


To become captivated by wearable art which doesn’t fall off of one’s body parts or limbs does feel exactly like being held at the waist by one’s husband’s gentle hands in which his grip is tender yet strong and compassionate and full of loving grace at all times. Such a stronghold won’t allow for women to fall over or down and that’s warmth and security and protection all rolled up into one sleeve.


            Fashion is ever so political and holds a strong potential for controlled positive raw attitude and good intensions to culturally and economically revolutionize an entire industry from within as well as an overall corrupt system (no differently than any other corrupt industry) those which allow for our global Brothers and Sisters to work under harsh and desperate and inhumane work conditions and situations those in which literally buildings collapse and fall down all the while killing villages of work forces of hard workers in Bangladesh’s garment district and around the globe for that matter. Indeed, how gruesomely tragic. That’s not respect for one’s industry. That's pillage and blunder.


Bangladesh’s torturous industrial beauty is too harsh to swallow here in the United States of America when inflation is skyrocket and the last time Americans saw any significant wage increase was in the 1950’s.


The reason as to why Americans don’t want to purchase “blood fashion” is because our citizens and civilians bled for this nation ever since our Nation was first established and well before since.


Yes, people shed blood over animal pelts and vehemently fought over territory to pillage further forests and wildlife for the sake of fur hats and fur coats while partially decimating the greatest wild spirit: Our Native American Tribes of the Northern Hemisphere’s Western Continent and other global regions which the same history applies to different Indigenous groups and their war torn and bloodshed lands...


We realize and understand and know all too well the ever so horrific and startling history of fashion.




            Personally, we don’t consume much fashion, however, what we do fashionably consume is minimal and contemporary and durable gear for the ever changing seasons.


Personally, as of late I like to consume (shop) online (internet) for clothing essentials or basics, however.


Regardless of this ‘Information Revolution,’ we quickly discovered many fashion company websites are not only ‘slow as molasses’ or such fashion websites divert (steer away) consumers or online “users” or shoppers from shopping and instead redirects them towards social media (which that’s not the main reason or purpose mature consumer adults shop online in the first place.)


Mature adult consumers directly navigate through consumer websites to spend money and not to have to deal with obnoxious “monkey on their backs” “jumping through hoops” games.


The Point: Not to be able to even so much as to look upon any merchandise pictures or find out basic information about such products is any recipe for disaster.


To only be granted one option to click to “Pinterest” is to deny a full range of motion to any consumer and such mere act conveys social online media is supposedly far more valuable an act than to spend money on any product one requires or needs or wants to purchase.


In other words: web developers say, “no, don’t look at merchandise, simply and only directly go to social media and waste more valuable time on nothing.”


In other words: web engineers say, “we don’t want your money because it’s not as important as social media which costs nothing.”


In other words: web engineers say, “don’t spend any money here only look at how cool we think we are as any cultural website made of cheese puffs running on empty calories.”


Such priorities are backwards and dull to say the least.


If consumers desire to link onto social media then most likely they’ll do it on their own time and not while they privately shop for undergarments.


Or when consumers are steered towards an extensive list of endless logins and passwords in which such any type of diversion mainly wastes precious and important consumer time and possibly enforces any shopping experience to become nearly impossible to multi-generationally enjoy.


Or when any fashion company website (somewhat moronically laid out websites, loosely used terminology) and its software developers and engineers “design” for “users” or shoppers to click away from any company product or digital “checkout” line then no one wants to shop there because such a website becomes a collegiate experience instead of an adult mature consumer experience.


There’s nothing more annoying than “checking out” (payment) on the same fashion company website from which one purchases online goods and products on average every three months or so and each time have the “checkout line” force one to type in one’s email and “checkout password” when most people don’t seem to remember what they ate for breakfast each morning. (What a waste of time.)


Mature consumer adults want to shop: get in and get out since adults don’t have time to waste on such frivolities otherwise adults shan’t shop “there” if their precious time gets wasted by teenage web developers with nothing better to do than talk about nail polish color and ugly plastic pink bow barrettes and flip flops.


Mature adult consumers are capable of spending hundreds if not then thousands of dollars all at once.


Young people are broke. (Fact.)


Mature consumer adults are ‘banking it.’


No mature adult wants to be reminded of college because college was almost fifteen years ago and everyone’s lives and careers and experiences moved forward as all natural progression does.


To stay young forever is ever so creepy and pedophile in nature.


Buck up and mature and become responsible adults.

You owe it to yourself. Yes.


Welcome to an amazing adult world with lots of fun filled mature activities in which adults take responsibility for their spending habits and fashion and lifestyle since awesome and sensually intelligent people do.


Consumers mustn’t get stuck in time warps therefore mature consumer adults aren’t creeps like some or many young people who have very little to no experience with the real world or money or time thus such younger generations seem “lost” or quick to “fill up” their lifestyles with anything which happens to come along and stupidly “numbs out pain” only for the sake of how empty their lifestyles or fashion or general styles seem to convey to others at large.


Young folks aren’t “The Masses.” No.


Time stands still for no human.


Nevertheless and regardless of how consumers are guided (forced) to face endless dribble of mindless misinformation as well as consumers are mandatorily made to remember useless passwords when one can barely remember what one had for breakfast the same morning then there’s nothing more to be said.






Why aren’t consumers allowed to directly checkout?


Why must one fill out numerous packets of information?


Why must consumers get stuck with elementary homework assignments each and every time they desire to make any purchase?


On average these packets of information take anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes for fill in.


If such a computer program doesn’t like the information filled-in then one might get stuck with a bum computer program for as long or as little as an hour re-typing and re-typing in correct and personal information yet the program might be finicky about zip codes or street addresses or this or that.


By then all any consumer wishes to do is to either “kill a small rodent with their bare hands” or “throw their tablet out the window” or “more precisely not ever return to such an immature nightmarish fashion company website no matter how great the sales might be.”


Mature consumer adults refuse to hang out with immature adults because one knows what they say, “you become what you surround yourself with.”


To “steer away” or “to divert” any consumer from making an online purchase is like an unspoken body language makes a profound statement which implies web developers and modern and younger software engineers haven’t ever studied either Global History or international law or business or linguistic complexities or war strategy or philosophy or music or poetry or calligraphy or film or graphic arts or visual media or psychology or The Humanities or, or, or…


When consumers are forced to “jump through moronic hoops” (collegiate; cloistered, idealistic, unworldly, naïve, removed, airy-fairy) then there’s nothing more to be said between parties involved and all lines of communication are lost or purposely cut off by consumers because to “corner” or “force” or “misdirect” any consumer to play some morbid game of “chase your tail” is not only ignorant and arrogant of fashion company website designers and developers as well as thoughtless and mindless about the psychology and nature of humans.


No more purchases need to be made at such fashion company websites since such “online hosts” aren’t good at what they do.


These particular fashion company websites which dare cultivate a complete waste of value are: “Timewasters,” who don’t uphold to respectful or valuable outcomes to society or culture at large ergo weakening the structure of an overall bottom line and diminishing any position of any fashion company website’s power in relationship to their consumers.


Humans can always live with less garbage and not more.


Yes, take time with humans.


No, mature consumer adults shan’t have to spend an hour with a “bunk” or “immature” or “slow” computer software program simply and only because such a program is “badly written code” or manipulative or demanding by nature according to how its code or sequencing was written or established.


How any computer code is written or laid out says a whole lot about the intelligence or lack thereof on the part of any software developer. Computer software programs say so much more about developers than they’ll ever know.


We could ‘lick’ fashion company websites by writing complex code simple-enough to navigate and incredibly human friendly as a support system.


We don’t have time to write code or design software programs because instead of doing so I now sit here deconstructing and analyzing the world to make it a better and more profoundly mature adult place in order for us to stop wars and create compassion through understanding and further complex development of the frontal cortex.


This decade long economic crises decimated the quality of merchandise which sure did ‘go out the window.’


Customer service became atrocious, if not abusive.


Within this decade long economic downturn, Americans begun to believe ignorance is acceptable through arrogance at the mere fact which hardly anybody’s capable of being accountable for anything anymore because Americans confuse responsibility with dirty filthy money.


In other words: Within the past decade, we came to find out: If Americans don’t have cash in their pockets then Americans refuse to be humane or responsible for their actions. (Tragic. Really.)


It’s as if though Americans became “retarded” in the pursuit of justice.




One of the main reasons to browse online merchandise is either to gather creative ideas or to make purchases.


When any savvy online consumer adult gets trapped or “forced” to “choose” any selective minimal range of limited options to “login” into any thoughtless or irresponsive computer program or system before making any final purchase then it’s like getting forced to play a game of “wander around inside the maze” for hours.


“User logins” and “passwords” are optional modes of operation and such computer programs ought not to coerce any consumer into digital traps of endless and meaningless miscommunication between humans and software programs since humans aren’t animal pelts to be skinned alive and separated from their expensive time and energy.


There’s nothing more moronic or uncouth than a “timewaster.”


The possibility of getting lost inside any maze might seem like fun for the first thirty seconds, however.


After the initial thirty seconds are up then consumers desperately want to opt out of any online “check out” maze.


Consumers want to stop themselves from aimlessly wandering and exhaustively having to look around for an exodus when in reality consumers know perfectly well they could waste hours and it’s not much fun when winter’s clipping along on our heels.


Hence, one makes an exit from any type of disorganized or ignorant or moronic online maze (without a direct line of path to an end in sight) then one doesn’t desire back-in any time soon thereafter because immature digital systems may become irritatingly bothersome.


Such endless traps of meaningless clatter do keep consumers from their ultimate goal, which happens to be to make a purchase as quickly as possible towards any fashion company website’s “checkout” line with all limbs intact and peace of mind and glad tidings to be spending one’s hard earned dollars on purchases which most likely we won’t even need or require for a dependable survival or thriving status of the human race.


Our planet is ever so overpopulated by sea and land and space garbage.


Who needs more garbage?


No species needs more added garbage to our Earth or planetary system or oceans.


Without essential or vital information about merchandise (in general) or as to even how much merchandise costs, or which color options the merchandise comes-in, then any consumer is robbed of “real” options and solutions towards wise decision making about their purchases and smart choices are what creates any strong economic outcome.


Thus no sale is made.


Consumers aren’t going to randomly purchase for the sake of making a purchase when Americans have almost ‘licked’ two recessions in a decade long economic battle thus when consumers don’t know what something costs or what it’s made of then humans tend to stay as far away from making purchases since what we don’t know is what we’re scared of.


In other words: It’s not acceptable to “click” on a menu button to make a potential purchase (window shopping) of any t-shirt (per se) and have a picture of such t-shirt enlarged on one’s tablet screen only to discover there’s absolutely no information about such merchandise with the exception of the option to “like” or “tweet” or “Pinterest” any product without the ability to find out sizing or in which colors one might consider making a purchase or even so much as without the possibility to head towards an online “checkout” line. (What.)


In other words: It’s not acceptable to go to an online store in which an entire “main page” or column of merchandise doesn’t even so much as show-up on any window’s drop menu (day-after-day and week-after-week) thus leaving one square picture of merchandise with an imprinted icon of a blue question mark as though the maintenance engineers don’t know their company or industry or business or product or ‘don’t give a hoot’ as to whether a consumer may or may not have options to best make decisions for themselves thus creating a cycle of mistrust between companies and consumers since such company’s engineers aren’t keeping up with their work and it shows quite evidently as clear as day.


Such fashion company websites aren’t kept up to standard or up to maintenance or even so much as open for business.


So, are online stores open for business or not?


It doesn’t seem like it.


“Are you being served?” Nope.


            To imply an icon or picture of any given product is solely and only there for social media’s entertainment value is to definitely and without a question signify there’s no purchasing power in the selling of merchandise.


To imply such idiotic tendencies as to which, and however, then one doesn’t comprehend consumer value or purchasing power.


It’s only to say one doesn’t understand the history of trade (and that can only mean that...) one’s without power thus without… the commitment to uphold to accountability thus losing out on annual millions of dollars in profit or revenue.




            Yes, I’ve given up wearing two dollar flip flops instead for thirty dollar flip flops because flip flops are terrible for the spine no matter what so I might as well wear decent quality flip flops.


            Yes, it’s classic and contemporary fashionable for women of any age to cover up their cleavage and breasts and vaginas unless they’re strip dancers or prostitutes and give free peep shows to perverts.


However, not even strip dancers or prostitutes give anything away for free so what is it about private citizen and civilian American women which they so badly wish to give their breasts and vaginas away for free when rape and sexual assault are the number one crime across American college campuses and the military and in our culture at large.


            Yes, the number one shoes men hate on women are “wedges” since not only are wedges the ugliest design ever made, however. Wedge shoes are also some of the most dangerous ankle twisting shoes ever made. (Why do gay designers hate women so much?)


            Yes, the number one style of shirt or dress men hate on women are “peplums” since a little extra piece of material adds to hip volume.


If anything a little bit of extra material does seem to draw attention to the hip area which mostly women so much desire to hide rather than accentuate.


            Yes, suede boots will literally freeze toes and feet.


It’s any wonder as to why boot designers and manufacturers are into “suede” winter-and-snow boots this season when any Minnesotan or Bostonian will tell you when suede becomes damp and eventually gets soaking wet from snow then quite quickly one’s toes begin to freeze and after about five minutes frost bite sets into the toes making the skin go completely white with a strong possibility of extremities turning black and fall off after about twenty minutes in freezing cold weather of about -25 below zero. (Why do gay designers hate women so much?)


In Minnesota we contend with -25 below freezing cold winter weather and must have rubber covered toe boots and heels and the rest of the boot must be made of some wind and water resistant material.


A proper winter-and-snow boot must have “Thinsulate” lining.


More precise Historical Correction:


In the 1970’s, men who’d been WWII prisoners of war swore by “Thinsulate” because they’d faced the harsh reality in which they were marched to prison camps by the Nazis and many witnessed other American soldiers or comrades who froze through Germany’s vast forests in freezing cold weather in which many men dropped dead or died standing up or sitting down and their bodies were left to litter the forested landscape like frozen statutes until spring came to decompose and become part of fertile land forgiving all war torn bloodshed amongst nations while prisoner of war’ souls still and forevermore haunt such forests.


If one’s winter boots aren’t equipped with “Thinsulate” or rubber heel and toe base then such boots aren’t worth much of a productive and active filled lifestyle.


Without “Thinsulate” lining then one’s dead, literally.




            To become fashionable or to be fashionable then one must study and know and understand Global History.


One shan’t allow for history to repeat itself otherwise one becomes another uneducated doorknob hick slave master whipping the rest of the world into submission and into one’s desired whims to rape the land and women and men and children.


One must not become any slave consuming master because you know what happens to any slave consuming master, right?


Slave consuming masters must live with the crimes they commit against humanity and that’s any heavy burden to carry for any man or woman.


Please, learn history otherwise one won’t know who one is or where one’s going.


History is the key to our future success.


Please, learn the right lessons.


Please, learn not to do wrong by others.


Please, learn to make peace offerings to one’s enemies and mean it.


Please, learn to do right by others.


Please, learn compassion for humanity and animals and plant life.


Please, learn to be soft yet humanely respectfully firm with one’s boundaries.


Please, learn mature and competent adulthood responsibility and accountability hence as sensually beautiful as any human can be.


Please, learn how to forgive especially when others aren’t capable to ask for one’s forgiveness when other wrongly or deeply injured or wounded thee.


Please, learn to humble thyself enough to ask for forgiveness.


Please, learn to be forgiven.


Please, learn to uphold to rules and abide by reasonable and logical laws hence rules are set in place for a very good safety reason.


Please, learn rules and boundaries are mainly there for safety and not to stifle anyone’s creativity or needs to express themselves otherwise one might learn the wrong lesson about mature adulthood freedom and either get themselves killed or injured or hurt.


Please, learn money has absolutely nothing to do with advancing culture or civilization.


Please, learn money is a necessary evil yet don’t make money into any form or type of a God(s) or such a demon will surely posses one’s very heart and soul deeming one a walking carcass.


Please, learn the most valuable aspect to life isn’t centered on money.


Please, learn to be hygienic.


Please, learn be gentle yet firm.


Please, learn to be fashionable without breaking the bank.


Please, learn to keep up with contemporary fashion otherwise one doesn’t want to turn into “Grey Gardens.”


Please, learn quality fashion can be found at cost.


Please, learn not to look down upon others who are less fortunate.


Please, learn donate your “good condition” fashions to those who need them most.


Please, learn to donate coats for children and youth and adults in need.


Please, learn “to let go.”


Please, learn to keep one’s wardrobe stocked and if at all possible then share what little one has with others when one’s done with any item.


Please, learn when one requires to replace clothes then do so not because advertisement campaigns tells one that one must seasonally purchase something “new” rather because clothes are a great short and long term investment.


Please, learn quality trumps fashion.


Please, learn fashion trumps style.


Please, learn we must get Americans out of the year 1992 and back on track with the rest of modern global society otherwise our masses will eventually turn into “Grey Gardens” and go insane with delusional self-aggrandizing ideals while feeding raccoons which live in the attic.


Please, learn Americans are still quite “broke” and haven’t updated their wardrobes in twenty-two years.


Please, learn fashion isn’t only political.


Please, learn fashion is about humanitarian risk taking.


Please, learn others have very little means to fashion.


Please, learn to give grace and thanks for what one does have.


Please, learn to be content with one’s little bit of Earth.


Please, learn not to contribute to anymore consumer garbage.


Please, learn less is more.


Please, learn “abundance” is indeed good fortune yet it doesn’t last forever.


Please, learn in my book: One’s made it when one does and can finally afford good quality made Patagonia products since according to the Ancient Maya (as it was written in stone two thousand years ago) a “cold freeze” is coming our way and it’ll last the next thirty-five years and fashionable well-made outdoor gear is going to be all the rage when the possibility to freeze to death becomes tangible.


Please, learn (once again) to survive in cold freezing weather -35 below zero.


Please, learn to share food or small inexpensive resources like matches or tissue.


Please, learn to “look out for others.”


Please, learn contemporary psychologists consider egocentric and narcissistic and egotistical and sociopathic propensities as forms of mental illness.


Please, learn how to change so one may become happier and more content with less.


Please, learn to use the word “please” more often.


Please, learn “The Meek Shall Inherit The Earth.



Pura Vida

“To the Good Life” (According to the Costa Rican greeting.)



Gabriela de la Holm


Self Portrait Artist Statement IV


Monday, June 24, 2013


The Self Portraits for the month of May 2013 haven’t been color corrected or ‘touched’ or airbrushed or sharpened or manipulated for publication.


It’s not only obvious that these self portraitures are raw in their original form; Also these photographs are as beautiful as if they’d been doctored and that goes for the backdrops as well (yep, no color correction.)


Why are the original self portraitures as beautiful as if they’d been doctored?


The photos are just as beautiful as any because it’s rare to come across photographs in their original form much less with cosmetic mistakes.


It seems as though we live in an era in which our commercial publishers hide any imperfections for the purpose of publicity or marketing and by all means: It’s the nature of the beast.


Nevertheless, when it comes to art drenched in pure creative refinement then sky’s the limit.


Henceforth, being that I don’t have to force my selling hand at anyone like a commercial vendor does then I don’t have to push my goods or services upon the good people because I don’t have to sell my private work to the public.


I love the scratchy sounds of old records.

I do.

Listening to old records reminds me of snowy afternoons.


The sound of scratched records because it gives music a deep rich tone and high grade quality sound. The closer one gets to the raw quality of art then the closer one gets to any artist’s vision of perfection.


Imperfections are beautiful not because it ‘sounds good’ or ‘trendy’ to say it but because if you’ve ever really studied scar tissue or looked at a scratch upon an old photograph or listened to the sound of an old record then you’d realize that imperfections are lovely, sensual and real.


Why is that?


It’s that way because in the subtleties of one’s mind, one may feel closer to something authentic or raw and honest opposed to so much of that, which is manufactured for us.


The recordings of artists who are dedicated to pulling out the richest tones and sounds from their instruments are some of my favorite artists.


Sounds like that make me think of the Gunflint Trail in which a cacophony of wild animals in the forest are as real as humankind can get near and closer to himself without a single lie; just as silence holds a calm breath of life without ever telling any lies.


As an individual who’s been collecting wild nature sounds for about a decade; I like to record in mono because the sound comes across as flat to my ear and closer to the rich tones of its soul, if you will; (amuse me.)


When I listen to recordings done in mono I can imagine our friends at their studios in Iceland, Sweden, Finland, Norway, Denmark, Holland, New Zealand, Scotland and Ireland working away at the many textures and layers of sound to create food for the imagination.


Absolutely, I feel as close to their recordings as I do to my own work because I can imagine them hard at work in their studios producing music that enriches our global culture and their music pushes for me to become a better photographer and writer and filmmaker.


To the core I’m moved by music but more so by movement and words and lyrics.


To my soul I’m moved by anything that has meaning and compassion and intelligence.


Pura Vida

“To the Good Life” (According to the Costa Rican greeting.)



Gabriela de la Holm


P.S No, I’m not a “Bleeding Heart” liberal by nature but I can understand compassion. Why wouldn’t I? No? Yes? Yes.


Backdrop Photographs: “Bleeding Heart.” (Correction.)


Self Portrait Artist Statement III


Friday, March 29, 2013


Scattering of the People

Pg. 197



When you came attacking, why did you not

have more men?

Why didn’t you bring more men so that

You would be a little stronger?



Long Hair has never returned yet, so his wife

is crying all around.

Looking over, she cries.



Long Hair, guns I hadn’t any.

You brought me some.

I thank you.

You make me laugh!



Long Hair, horses I hadn’t any.

You brought me some.

I thank you.

You make me laugh!



Long Hair, where he lies nobody knows.

Crying they seek him.

He lies over here.



Let go your holy irons [guns].

You’re not manly enough to do any harm.



An attacker, I drew him.

Before he did any harm, I wiped him out.




Poetic Justice


Part I

(Soliloquy I)


Oh, taking decent self portraits is tough to accomplish at the best of times like excellent communication or equal and respectful boundaries among strangers and having them uphold to social contracts which they very seldom know anything about such as good manners or social status etiquette and standardized integrity (no, we’re not talking doilies here.)


Note: In the recent self portrait series (November 2012) I succeed in taking great eye-ball angle shots into the mirror and proved to the entire world I’m not cross-eyed.


However, I didn’t succeed on the overall sharp-focus of the photographs.


(Ever since I’ve begun to exhibit Carpal Tunnel Syndrome I don’t tend to hold the camera as well as I used to for long periods of time and it seems to be the reason why I’m always in search of the lightest cameras rather than the fanciest or the most expensive.)


Eventually, I accomplished one cinematic element, well-enough, while I failed at another therefore I did use Photoshop’s contrast-tool to bring a sharp focus to the images rather than to Photoshop-out my blemishes. I’ll use Photoshop to correct some of my photographic blunders more so than my physical imperfections.


As it might, I don’t mind showing anyone I’m human and imperfect, nevertheless, I want others to see the best possible images especially when I fail as a human since my body does fail me as any flesh-and-bone mortality does.



No, I don’t wear makeup on a daily basis since I’m highly allergic to the harsh and synthetic chemicals in makeup (I break out in rashes) thus I’ve learned to live-in-peace and co-exist within a happy existence without applying makeup to my face.


It’s either rashes or a naked face.

Absolutely, I chose the healthier latter.


The greatest consolation prize about not wearing any makeup at all is I look the same all the time.


Yes, I like makeup.


Yes, I don’t seem to be able to bring myself to wear makeup since makeup outbreaks and allergy reactions seem to take about four to five weeks to get over any breakout episode even when it’s the most expensive organic / vegan makeup on the market.


Yes, I get these tremendous allergic chemical reactions to some organic / vegan lipsticks in which my throat begins to ‘close-up’. I can barely breathe while I try to gasp for air.


The chemical reaction feels like I’m suffocating.


It’s the weirdest thing in the entire world.


No, this allergic reaction isn’t psychosomatic. It’s real. It happens in the same way it happens to people who get severe allergic reactions to strawberries or cashews.


Have you ever seen someone pass out due to a chemical reaction?


One would think people were dying probably because most likely they are in those fleeting moments between the fine balance of life and drawing-in another breath.


It’s quite serious to be in any room with someone going into anaphylactic shock from strawberries especially due to the proteins (and / or pesticides) in strawberries.


If you ever get to witness anaphylactic shock then it’ll bring tears to your eyes hence it looks so agonizing for the poor soul suffering through it.


Yes, I’ve seen it once. I could barely breathe watching the severe intensity of the pain in a lovely young teenage-girl whose family had sailed into Atlantic City as we had.


My soul felt for her. I, too, myself, was only fourteen-years of age as I watched her fight a tremendous battle between life-and-death as she drew-in every breath-of-life possible which she could while her entire face became swollen three times its original size.


Her father hurried to get epinephrine into a syringe and administer a shot.


Barely, I couldn’t help but to stand ever-so-quietly as my father gently rested his hands upon my shoulders while I screamed inside my head, ‘Hurry! Hurry! She’s so lovely!’ Life hung by a delicate balance between death and breath.



Yes, the only times I’ve gone into anaphylactic shock is when I’ve eaten tomatoes in Costa Rica.


While about my travels, I do have to be extremely careful or I’ll send myself to the nearest hospital sixteen hours away by dirt road.


For some reason my throat closes up and I can barely breathe and my face and entire body swell up and I contract nickel-size hives from head to toe.


In the past, it’s taken me about two full days to recover even when I’ve slept sixteen-hour-days to recover, I still felt as though I’d been hit by a ten ton truck and it’s because I had. Each time, felt like a blow to the stomach. Each episode left me ever so tired for about a year afterward.


Right afterwards, the persons who’d been there and witnessed while I recuperated told me ‘everything’ I needed to know by the look of terror upon their faces.


No one seemed to understand my insides felt like they’d been set on fire and my skin hurt to the touch. It was indeed serious business even though I made it look easy and simply treated my condition more like the flu while in front of others. I knew perfectly well I’d had a close brush with death. I pray to the Gods each and every single day for excellent health, strength, beauty, grace, endurance and calm-tranquility.


One knows these things about themselves even when others may not.

Doesn’t one?


Yes, one knows when one comes close to death.



Yes, I wake-up with the same face as I go to bed.


The reason why our peers continue to tell me I haven’t aged a day past our twenties even though I received my first-hairline-fracture of a wrinkle one week ago and worked mighty hard for my first wrinkle.


Mighty proud I am of my first wrinkle. It looks quite sexy where it is. It’s definitely my rite of passage into adulthood. Even so, I still look quite youthful.


One week ago, I clumsily bought an over-the-counter chemically filled anti-aging cream which left my one eye-lid swollen half-shut and one of my cheek bones looks more like someone punched me than a brutal allergic chemical reaction (no, Eric’s not ever laid a hand upon me nor I, him.)


The swollen and bruised cyst looks embarrassing and quite painful.


No, I can’t tell you enough about how delicate my skin is when it comes to makeup. It was only a gel-cream I used three days in a row.


Yes, I loathe all of the cosmetic garbage sold at a high mark-up to ignorant consumers (like myself) who don’t know any better.


Preferably, I’ll age with a bare face rather than with pain and suffering of swollen skin from harsh allergic chemical reactions.


How could anyone not feel terrible for the little bunny-rabbits which cruelly get used to test chemicals in makeup laboratories for the benefit of humans? (For over twenty-years I’ve been completely and totally against animal testing.)


Since half of my eye-lid was swollen shut: imagine what those scoundrels must do to those poor suffering animals?


We’ve been informed some (many) chemists place makeup drops directly into animals’ eye-balls and observe and test for their reactions. (Disgusting. Gross.)


Can you imagine working in cosmetic chemical laboratories where the animals scream and cry and beg for mercy? Nope.


My heart would break in half.


We wouldn’t be able to do it.


It leads me to think chemicals ought to be completely and totally taken off the market when animal cruelty is a main process.


High-quality organic-and-vegan cosmetics need to take over the market. It’s time. Welcome to a new century. Period.



All those who respect and love me and know me to-be-me; ‘they get what they see’ and don’t ever think twice about my naked face being wrong or gross or different since I don’t wear any makeup.


Begin Segway:

(There follows)


When I cry which is seldom-in-private and hardly ever-in-public (unless I’ve been manipulated to cry (the last time, two-springs ago, 2011) by those below my social status, cruel bi-polar types or mean alcoholics, heroin or cocaine addicts which I’m, too, old to allow for them use me anymore for documentary purposes, however, when I’ve been pushed to the limit by addicted lowbrow women who’ve pushed one, too, many buttons late-at-night or have told me I have no emotions whatsoever for not wearing them ‘upon my sleeve’ then I’ve allowed myself to feel quite hurt by people who didn’t have my best-interest-at-heart. After months-and-months of getting emotionally terrorized I’ve publically cried in front of people I hardly knew yet I worked amongst them. I think addicted American women can be mean-spirited and they secretly wish to take anyone down to their level especially when they have nothing, whether they’re rich or poor. It’s normally been people with drug and / or alcohol addictions (no, not moderates) who can wear me down and the reason for why I don’t hang out with people who want to tear down my soul especially when it’s the last thing they think they can get away with in their delusional alcoholic-and-drug addicted dependent minds). People sure are crazy. Where’s the moderation?


End Segway:




Soliloquy I



When I seldom cry my mascara doesn’t tend to run all over the place since I don’t wear any.


No, I don’t ever end-up looking like The Joker or a raccoon.

That’s indeed a saving grace.


No, I don’t think wearing a bare face is gross.


Only insecure women say such words about other women not wearing makeup or being unable to as well as choosing not to wear makeup because of health issues or lifestyle choices.


Contemporary men don’t ‘give a hoot’ if women do or don’t wear makeup.


If any man demands for a modern woman to wear makeup then he’s either emasculated or has serious Neanderthal control issues. Run!


Since the fall of 1996, I’ve been allergic to mold from wet and damp leaves on the ground and grass. My eyes constantly water on-and-off throughout the year.


At times I look like I’m softly weeping but I’m not.


[If I were to cry then others will know it because when I cry, I don’t care who hears or sees me cry. As a child I was taught by the Indigenous to purge myself of all horrible emotion. When I cry, I mean business and as an adult I cry alone. Wailing doesn’t mean I’m sad. Actually ‘wailing’ means I’m eradicating malevolence and…] (Wow, cultural differences sure are tough. No wonder there’s so much racism and cultural misunderstanding in America.)


Since my eyes slightly water on-and-off throughout the days from the moment I wake-up until the moment I fall asleep I’m not able to wear eye-liner or mascara and well, that’s that.


When anybody’s children get terrible allergies as I do then they wouldn’t judge women (such as myself) about not wearing makeup at all.


After seventeen years of watery eyes and the rubbing away at tears I’ve stretched the skin under my eyes and created slight lines.


Such lines are hardly noticeable yet they’re there.


Yes, I’ve learned to live with such lines and to love them because they tell the story of this life. I’ve become ever so gentle at drying my eyes which such patience creates balance in the force of one’s Chi.




Part II

(Soliloquy II)

(Prose I)


I don’t consider myself any real great beauty by any means yet as I grow older the more people have approached me and told me I’m beautiful. It makes me truly bashful. (Thank you. We’ll leave it at that.)


No, I don’t need to be “petted on-the-head” or “fed cookies.”

No, I’m not some ashamed hotdog maker’s daughter from Buffalo, New York.


Yes, I’m my own Mother.

My New England Grandmother was my ‘only’ Mother.

Yes, I’m an Adult Woman.

Yes, I’m my now my own Mother.

Yes, I was bestowed Villages of Mothers.

How lucky, indeed.


Yes, I do take care of my emotional needs more so importantly I baby myself in ways I didn’t before I stopped taking care of needy dysfunctional people.


If I can help it then I don’t draw attention to myself.


Mist likely I may come and go as softly and as quietly as any solo panther does.


(Nope. There’s nothing creepy about confident and smart and intelligent loners with impeccable manners and good taste, so long as they’re not super anti-social.)


However, I find people really do want to look at me so I let them even though my face is faintly scarred from twenty-five years (more-or-less) of dealing with food allergies ever since I was first adopted at the age of ten.


(No, I don’t make enough enzymes or the correct stomach bacteria to process chemically or genetically modified American made foods especially if the food isn’t organic or vegan. The reason why my liver is constantly pushing out toxins via my skin is because my liver portrays poor function.) (In other words, I’ve got a weak liver.)


Yes, at times my intestines overheat and my lungs are damp. I love to eat honey and cucumbers, although, not together since honey’s a good antioxidant.


First, I no longer begin my mornings with one teaspoon of honey since we quit eating honey and sugar all together.


If one were to contend with acne then please stay away from traditional Chinese “hot foods” such as apricots, pineapple (which I adore), oats, carp, celery, cayenne, cherries, chicken, butter (yum), coconut, dates, lamb, malt, mussels, mustard, nectarine, peach, plums, shrimp, brown sugar, turkey and turmeric or oolong teas. (What a bummer.)


Do eat: Banana, beer, beans, bran, cottage cheese, crab (yum), cucumber, duck (yum), eggplant, frog’s legs (tastes like chicken), lettuce, mango, melon, mulberries, octopus, oysters, pumpkin, rabbit, rhubarb, cane sugar, summer squash, sunflower seeds, tangerine, tofu, tomato, watermelon, wheat, and wheat germ and green teas.


Yes, I abhor antibiotics or hormones in any foods. (Gross.)


We’ll go to great lengths to purchase foods without antibiotics or hormones in them because ever since our little boys in America now grow breast-buds from the plastics in soda bottles and the inner lining in potato chip bags (too much estrogen in those plastics) while our little eight-year-old girls get their puberty at such a young age from antibiotics in the meats, dairies, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.


What have we done in the exchange for greed?




Part III

(Soliloquy III)

(Prose II)


No, I’m not shy.

Yes, I’m confident.

Yes, I may get confidently shy.


Yes, I may enter any room and speak with anyone about anything at all with comfort and ease.


No, I’m not prejudiced about my conversational partners so long as they’re intelligent, kind and smart and keep their hands to themselves rather than ‘paw’ at me.


If others begin to emotionally pinch or dig into me or judge without first getting to know what I think then I’m gone with the night sky.


Open and frank conversations are gifts from the Gods which their guiding force was bestowed upon me ever since childhood.


Yes, I hold the power to make people feel totally and completely at ease with themselves while holding real and intelligent conversations even if the conversation were to become about bird flock migrations or different types of dirt or stomach bacteria or history or the latest political current events or real music and socio-political fashions and socio-economics.


We don’t talk film with strangers unless they can really talk shop with us otherwise tell us something we don’t already know about our craft which happens to be a lot I don’t always know.


We love getting surprised by perfect strangers but a know-it-all is just that, a know-it-all looking for their next job especially when they’re a complete turn off to others.


No, I’m not “the” most fashionable woman, alive, however. I do most certainly like to read fashion literature and look at pretty pictures of healthy models.


Yes, I tend to wear a professional utilitarian uniform of petite brown or grey or navy thin-ribbed or soft yet durable corduroys or modern non-print or long-sleeved or dark-navy-blues with see-through “chiffon” (correction) blouses with straight lined ‘Camisoles’ underneath or feminine dress-shirts in which the sleeves may be beautifully folded and buttoned at the elbow or feminine beautifully fitted suit coat jackets with soft or grey shirts with Crew Necklines (a type of cut in a shirt or) t-shirts underneath.


It’s a uniform easy to move-in when I want to pick up a camera and capture digital footage at a moment’s notice without looking grungy.


(I’m always ready to film, however. I do stay away from filming unless it’s time for pre production. I’ve got way, too, much other business to conduct other than to film most of the time.)


Yes, I stick to what’s semi-business casual (outdoorsy, durable and classic) and comfortable yet respectful and proper attire to conduct business in my industry as an independent filmmaker and entrepreneur and capitalist and researcher and analyst and writer and engineer.


Yes, I’ll admit I’m closer to a Maoist in fashion style than a fashionable modern American woman.


Please, don’t get me started about high-heels. I love them!


Since I’m petite I do need to find specific shoes in which the heel is comparable to my calf-ratio otherwise I sound like a teenager clomping down the street wearing high heels made for six-foot-Amazonian-women with long calf-ratio.


It’s ridiculous for me to wear something not made for my body size! I wish stilettos were made for petite women. There’s nothing sexier than a woman in high heels who can stomp the pavement or quietly walk through any room as though she’s gliding.


It’s all about mathematics.


Otherwise, it’s grey-colored or light-weight material and beautifully stitched tennis shoes for women who are active yet extremely feminine but with enough touch of Tomboy in them.


In warm weather I may skateboard to a ‘photo shoot’ at a moment’s notice. Yep.


Or in the winters, I like to wear black ‘moon boots’ without wedge heels because wedge heels tend to twist and break women’s ankles (more so than most other styles or cut of sole in shoes) plus men know wedge shoes are the ugliest looking sole on any woman when she walks or so men say so as of fall 2014! (Future notes.)



Part III.5

(Soliloquy III.5)

(Prose II.5)


I’ve stood in rooms full of enemies.


If I’m provoked then I’m ready to verbally spar (to any metaphorical death) at any given moment.


Even if an entire room decided to take me on with a verbal debate then I’ll win, otherwise, bottoms up! Opa!


Rejoice in partying and dining amongst enemies, yet and nevertheless, please, don’t ever force one’s hand upon another.


There’s nothing more sacred or healthier and stronger than drinking with those who ‘love-to-hate’ and probably would love to make love rather than war.


If I get cornered then the ‘deadlier’ I become (figuratively speaking.)


Yes, I’ll debate anyone, anywhere, at anytime and possibly cut open their throats causing them to choke on their own words (metaphorically speaking.)


It’ll take a few years to recover.


The tendency is to leave enemies wondering what was meant by all those polite East Coast-style kind words and foolish nonsense.


It sure is terrible to get tested, isn’t it?


When one isn’t up to par then don’t spar.


The tendency used to be to test acquaintances for malice or psychopathic propensity through or with foolish inclinations such as straight forward teasing or linguistic accents acquired by hanging out with elected Prime Ministers’ adult descendants.


Yes, I kill with kindness and a disciplinarian outlook.

Nothing succeeds like success.

Yes, I was conditioned for excellence and victory.


When negative energy in a room is to make me into a “scapegoat” (an escape goat) for the suffering-blundering-stupidity of my enemies and if I were ever to be struck (metaphorically or literally) then one already knows very well what. Blood will be shed.


Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow but someday I’ll take the whole bloody lot out-of-the-game by telling the complete and unfiltered and unedited truth.


Yes, I’m more “dangerous” an animal when I tell the truth than when I guard the secrets of others or cover-up for their drunken or embezzling inadequacies.


When I tell the truth then one better clear the room because I’ll be the one set free into the wilderness while others will have to pay for their sins at the lamb’s sacrificial alter.



Part IV

(Soliloquy IV)

(Prose III)


I really do like to look at others, however. I don’t so much like to be stared at. (I guess it’s an INFJ personality trait.)


No, it’s nothing morbid.


Do you know how one tends to know or sense someone else’s eyes digging into one’s face? I abhor it. It makes me…


Yes, I like to be left alone to observe and really look at the beauty of others yet it doesn’t seem to be fair, either, because, culturally, as-any-good Scandinavian will tell anyone “it’s rude to stare” while peasant Mexicans have taught me to stare like any wild monkey.


Yes, I’ve been told by social elite men, “You’re not the prettiest woman in the room however you most certainly are beautiful.”


What else is there to do, when men quietly pay authentically-made-compliments only for one’s ear to hear yet it has nothing to do with sexual arousal rather with intellectual sensuality?


I think beautifully therefore my conversations are sought after.

I feel beautiful therefore I am.


When I speak from the heart about social justice or politics or any other subject matter then wholeheartedly I-mean-what-I-say: I can feel the words transforming any space into something which cultivates thought provoking kind gestures or in-depth outlook or festive serenity unless we’re playing ‘devil’s advocate’ then yet, again, give me a heads-up or I’ll want to turn my opponents into complete…


No differently than the 3rd Earl of Southampton did write in his plays while Mr. Quasi ‘Shakespeare’ pretended to have written such marvels of genius without so much as a seventh grade education.


(Right? Right.)


(Please, don’t make me laugh ever so hard.)



I loathe conflict when I’m not respected in tested miscommunication.

What: is everything supposed to come easily to the arrogant?


When miscommunication’s arch

is bent to look like freakish misunderstandings

the ultimate test is

to see if the other can problem solve

through intelligent and smart solutions.


(It makes me laugh each time especially when I tease another.)


Once, miscommunication to understanding is severed:

Test Over:

We know where the other stands, stunted;

No matter how competent or successful the other might be.


While in direct conflict, if I’m ignored

then I’m no longer attainable for further communication.

I refuse to look back.

I won’t look twice towards the dame direction.


I’m the riddle between understanding and success.


Nope, stand back:

when one thinks it irritates me

to get ignored in miscommunication,

then think again.


I’ve been ignored, marginalized and discriminated

I know how the game is played between the classes.


It takes two to Tango

It takes two to play chess and to spar.


If one plays chess by themselves,

then good luck with that…


Playing with one self is like masturbation:

a one way conversation.

Sure might seem fun but not connected.


If no one else is in-on the game…



I’m the test:

No, not the Sphinx.

The Sphinx’s riddles.


The Pyramids’ history.

The Jaguar’s Spirit.

I’m Time Travel’s quest and...

No, I’m neither the traveler nor the shape-shifter.

Yes, I’m time itself patiently manifested.


Others don’t actually think social status comes easily, do they?

It’s more difficult to obtain status than fame-or-fortune.


If one’s social with others

then it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re peers.


Yes, I’ll fight, yet it leaves me physically ill in the long run


I’d rather we uphold to the standardized rules in debate like verbal chess than to personally get slashed at for no apparent logical reason why any opponents aren’t sophisticated enough conversationalists. (Yawn.) (I’m only teasing about the yawn.)


If we were to begin to verbally slash away at each others’ personalities then I want a King’s sword comfortably held in-my-dancing hands traveling back-and-forth like a basketball.


If my opponent were to miss his shot then it means metal-on-skin with blood at the tip.


Is self defense what‘s considered ‘Nice’?

(I don’t think so.)

It’s what’s considered humankind?


More often than not,

most don’t have the bravery to stick a dagger

anywhere other than in-the-back.


I’ll come from the front and won’t blink twice.

You’ll see me coming.


At ease:

I’m not provoking anything.

It’s not in my nature to do so.


I come in peace, yet,

I may leave with spilled blood upon the tip of my sharp tongue.

I don’t want to have to spell it out because it makes me blush.


(Poetically written: not literally.)




Part V

(Soliloquy V)

(Prose IV)


I dislike attending parties outside of my real elite social status (not the ‘hanging out’ type of parties, however, the real sociable parties) because then it’s all about people self-promoting their egos instead of discussing ideas or solutions for a better future.


(I’ve attended “hang out” parties amongst the Minnesota “blue collar” and “working poor” and “lower class.”


At certain parties I’ve neither met nor spoke to a single person (which is fine) so it’s more like attending a party full of people in which they stand around and have a cheap drink and stare-out at the great outdoors which is fun.


Yes, I’ve been to Minnesota parties where complete strangers have mocked me for no apparent reason other than I was better spoken than most or dark skinned or genuinely was wholeheartedly and kindly teased yet the atmosphere could be cut with a knife.


Once a hostess slept with my former she-male-old-woman former friend I’d brought to her birthday party as my guest to celebrate her birthday one spring ago (2012).


She slept with him the same birthday weekend without knowing he also sleeps around with men. Mostly the Arts High School in Golden Valley does produce adult trash with nothing worth bartering.


(Yep. Read it and weep. It’s here on print for all of time.)



People sure will promote themselves all they want until they go blue in the face, yet I want to know if they truly have any complex ideas and thoughts roaming around inside those thick skulls. Probably any better way to promote oneself, anyway, rather than Buy! Buy! Buy!


How about contribute! Contribute! Contribute!


It’s difficult to sit back and relax and have a quiet or sociable time while visiting among strangers when others are constantly self-promoting or sprinkling spit into one’s drink or selling something as the vendors they truly are since frankly they desperately seem to need money to keep up their lifestyles even though they pretend like they don’t need money but they tend to give themselves away each and every time they scan any room for their next social victim to devour upon.


There’s nothing more annoying and disrespectful and déclassé and ugly and out of line and an outcast than somebody who doesn’t know how to conduct themselves according to their social class and pretends to be something they’re not since they don’t even know their own social class etiquette so they get confused trying to mimic another’s identity and overstepping serious boundaries which can bring about grave disastrous outcomes for those outside powerful social circles with money and ethical and moral responsibilities to those which must be kept from manipulations or harm or death to any individual or any peaceful and graceful and integrity filled community.


Manners matter if you want to get ahead in the world.


People don’t forget how rude others are even in the subtlest of ways while trying to pull the wool over another’s eyes. Please.


People weren’t born yesterday.


People know if others are drunkards or seducers boasting about nothing. It’s the greatest test in the world. One can tell a lot about people’s character depending on how they react to idiots or not.



Part V.5

(Soliloquy V.5)

(Prose IV.5)


I’m a true snob by-and-by:

I’m true to form.


I catch subtleties.


I make blunders on purpose

to watch others react.


Yes, I simply won’t let on I know all of the rules to etiquette from the very bottom to the very top through the Ages.


Yes, I’ve lived through them all and such a privilege is what makes me high class elite due to the fact I do know exactly what I’m talking about from the gutter to the marble halls and sunsets.


Yes, I know what it’s like to wear only one set of clothes over the course of many years while an indentured servant in an orphanage. I also know what it’s like to be dressed by the hands of the help.


I’ve lived through most of it.


There’s no reason ‘to put on airs’.

I’ve been faced down in the snow.

My ego’s been humbled by life’s circumstances.


I was plucked from the jungles to this and back again.


Yes, I know how the game is played better than most yet the best way to win is not to play the game at all thus I’m free to write and speak as I do hence I chose to follow a path of the Ancients to become a Master of the Arts rather than any politician or any vendor or any preacher man’s egotistical sermons from the drunkard to the cruel bully pulpit.


I’m proud of my equal.

He’s truly an expert in his field.


Thirty years later, he’s completed twenty-thousand hours at honing away his craft and skill set.


Anyone can become elite through the rigorous tests of…over many decades.


The reason why it’s difficult to run with the Elite is because one must prove themselves to be true.


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Source from Tarr Family Notes- Charles Tarr-Usgenweb-Gloucester

Richard Tarr born around 1646 in the Western part of England, South of the Bristol Channel; died on 13 June 1732 at Rockport, Massachusetts. He died at the age of 86. He is buried in the Old Burying Grounds on Beach Street, Rockport, Essex, Massachusetts. The town of Rockport erected a granite monument at his grave in the Old Cemetery to perpetuate his memory. The marble tablet is hard to read, but it still stands on the old burying grounds overlooking the bay. Richard Tarr settled first in Saco, Me. By occupation: (Woodsman). Resided at Blue Point (Scarborough), Maine prior to Philip's War; Saco, Maine early 1680s to 1688-9; Marblehead, Massachusetts around 1680? also in 1688-9??; He later moved to Rockport, Essex, Massachusetts where he lived 1689 to 1732. He married around 1684 at Saco, Maine to Elizabeth Dicer, daughter of William Dicer and Elizabeth Austin.

Elizabeth2 Tarr, born 10 January 1691, died before her father in 1732, her children were in his will; married 9 Feb. 1714/15, Ebenezer Davis. They had children:

Honor2 Tarr, born 10 May 1693; married (1st) 2 Nov. 1712, John Wise; m. (2nd)
1720, John Wonson, They had a child:

1.    Samuel3 Wonson I; m. (3rd),
Isaac Prince, They had a child:

2.    John3 Prince of New Gloucester, Maine.
Note: Honor2 is also listed as Onnor and Oner.

Elizabeth Austin; Town on Sandy Bay; a History of Rockport, Massachusetts by Marshall W.S. Swan, published in 1980 by Phoenix Publishing, Canaan, Connecticut. The following is taken from page 21. "Rockport's first family faced hardships as well. Down on the Tarrs swooped the scourge of witchcraft, for Cape Ann did not escape 'the prodigious war made by the spirits of the invisible world.' Before the battles were over, eleven women were dragged to the bar of justice for assorted 'diabolical acts.' In July 1692 the twenty-four-year-old Ebenezer Babson, his aging mother, and bachelor household were beset 'almost every night' by skulkers, as the jittery John Emerson wrote to the Mathers in Boston. The 'devil and his agents' required some sixty militiamen from Ipswich before they mysteriously evaporated - an episode which later inspired Whittier's jingly narrative, 'The Garrison of Cape Ann.' Subsequently, Babson denounced two of his female neighbors. Others charged included Richard Tarr's mother-in-law, Elizabeth Austin Dicer, committed to prison in Ipswich. On December 15 he personally signed a bond for yet another local victim. It is the earliest surviving document fixing Richard Tarr as a resident of Gloucester and speaks well for his courage during a time of public hysteria. If mother Dicer did return to live with her daughter's family after her release, such tales she must have had to tell."

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That on this fifteenth Day of December anno D[mbar ]: one Thousand Six hundred Ninty and two in the fourth year of the Reigne of our Sovereigne Lord & Lady William& Mary by the Grace of God of England Scottland &c King & Queen Defend'rs of the faith &c Personally Came and Appeared before me George Corwin High Shirriffe of the County of Essex of the Province of the Massathutetts Bay in New England Thomas Prince of Gloster in the County of Essex in New England Husbandman Richard Tarr of said Towne and County Husbandman and Acknowledged them selves indebted to our said Sovereigne Lord& Lady the King & Queen, and the Surviver of them their Heires and Successers in the summe of two hundred pounds to be Leavied on their Goods& Chattles Lands & Tennements for the Use of our said Sovereigne Lord& Lady: King& Queen& the Surviver of them if Default be made in the Performance of the Condition Under written


The Condition of this Above Recognizance is such that Whereas Margarett Prince Widdow Of Gloster aboves'd: is suspected & Accused of Committing Acts of Witchcrafts. if therefore Margerett Prince Widdow afores'd shall & do make her Personall Appearance before the Justices of our s'd Sovereigne Lord & Lady the King and Queen at the Next Court of Assize Oyer & Terminer next: Generall Geoall Delivery to be held for or within the County of Essex afores'd to answer w't shall be Objected ag't her on their Maj'ties behalfe: & Referring to the Witchcrafts. & to do & Receive that by w'ch said Court shall be then & there Injoyned & not depart without Lycence Then the above Recognizance to be void or Else to abide & Remaine in full force and Virtue In Wittness whereof the above Named Persons have here unto sett their hand & seales this fifteenth Day of December in the year of our Lord one thousand six hundred Ninty & two and in the fourth year of our Maj'ties Reigne


* Benja Gerrish

*Nathaniel Beadle Sr.

*Jno Gyles

Prince his marke L.S.

*Richard Tarr L.S.

( Mass. Archives. Vol. 135 No. 71 )

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Part VI

(Soliloquy VI)

(Prose V)


There’s nothing worse than getting invited to supposedly Minnesota “upper class” summer parties while one’s drunken hostess ends up screaming and crying out of desperation on top of a washing machine because she can’t get her boyfriend to have sex with her at the party.


Two years after the party, she had the gall ‘to tell me off’ in a torn written scratch-piece of paper (coward) I was a ‘narcissist’ ever since I wouldn’t see her through any more of her hateful and drunken-anorexic-stupors while her ex got fat-rich installing charter schools all over the districts.


She so much as had the gall to yell and preach her drunken speeches because she was wrong about sleeping with my Chicago visiting quasi-friend guest on the same weekend she met him (another horny bitch.) I sent him away and told him not to come back unless he wanted a… As if. Déclassé. (Gross.) Many of them.


:::        (To this day, I loathe charter schools because I know what it’s all about. It’s been explained to me by drunken adult fraternity boys, charter schools are the easiest ‘buck to make.’ Its money stolen from the public school system and the public lets it happen since the public doesn’t know any better.)            :::




There’s nothing more lowbrow than getting invited to a supposed Minnesota “middle class” dinner and within the hour; directly asked by one quasi host of four hosts to state my connections-to-money or to command me to become one of their “spiritual” clients without ever asking me if I even so much as cared to consider to become a client.


*****     *****    *****

As of three summers ago my former-perfectionist-holistic-poser-female ex-friend had informed her holistic-charlatan-male-partner about our quite private and personal health matters in our marriage and her disclosure of our personal health matters drove a spear right through my heart to find out a complete stranger, unknown to us; knew all about our health issues in detail. (Creepy motherfuckers.)


At that time, my former girlfriend and her partner had been together for almost five years. I’d not once met her male partner much less shared personal and confidential health information with him yet he knew ‘everything’ about our health issues.


In those fleeting moments I despised her... She’d been, too, much of a coward to introduce her partner to us up to the point of intrinsically knowing perfectly well we’d most likely disapprove of any man who used her for money and she let it happen. (Touché.)


In those fleeting moments I despised her... She’d been, too, much of a coward and knew perfectly well we’d see right through him.


Yes, I did disapprove of any man who used her for money yet she let him do it under the guise of his deadly illness.


When he soon dies she’ll be ‘left holding the bag’ and it serves her right for doing his dirty work of drawing-in ‘needy’ clients while he cons them into a fake medical practice.


She wasn’t a friend.

Maybe, she’d ‘never’ been a friend.


She was a user and an emotional exhibitionist and a moron.


She isn’t someone, who, one cares to associate with or to follow her example no matter how much she may sugarcoat or harass others through holistic-eating since a hack’s always a hack till the very end.


No one will truly trust others when they ‘mimic’ such stupidity even if it’s covered-up to look good or nice and preachy while maniacally twisting one’s arm to believe as others do in their warped idealisms.


She’d been my “peer” however she’d not ever been my “equal.”


Yes, over dinner that evening, I realized she wasn’t worthy of anyone’s trust when her charlatan male partner suddenly blurted out our rather confidential and serious marriage health information about us and our friendship was immediately over as of then.


It was the first and the last time we’ll ever meet or speak about anything significant in nature.


You might as well know: She shared information about Eric’s hypertension and almost going to the hospital with a heart-attack-scare which turned out to be more like a strong case of severe heartburn. I was so scared to lose Eric. She knew that and our information wasn’t for her to share with others; absolutely no one else, especially, not a stranger to us.


We hadn’t gone to her or her charlatan for medical advice.


Hence, the charlatan blurted out our medical information I sensed I was in for a long evening of manipulation.


She’d come to visit us under the guise of friendship, yet she wanted to use us to help her build her clientele holistic roster; (over her charlatan’s dead body.) A doctor is confidential. These people are hacks and posers.


I’d felt like someone had punched me in the gut.

I don’t know how I made it.

I could barely breathe, yet I made my way through dinner.


Somehow I got the charlatan to let down his guard enough for me to learn he was after money as well as a wealthy clientele roster and fame-and-fortune.


Yes, I could’ve kicked him hard under the table sitting to the left of me yet instead I played along and kept my food from coming up. I realized dark forces surrounded their table…


It was evidently clear she saw our marriage more like a business opportunity than as a guarded and private friendship.


She was ever so wrong.

She knew very well she was wrong yet wasn’t humble enough to admit to it.


In general she’d overstepped some serious boundaries with us especially while all the while her charlatan smelled deadly of organ failure.




One can’t smell the repugnant odor of death when one beds it?


Yes, I can smell death upon others’ breath.


Anybody else can also.


She didn’t want a partner: she chose pity over love, thus and otherwise she would’ve chosen life over death.


Yes, I learned that day to not ever speak with anyone outside of our marriage about our marriage health issues or anything else for the matter. We’d trusted her with our private health information and she knew it very well.


No, I’d not ever been so hurt by her in our decade plus time together.


Other than the time she ditched me and left to go dance with other women who she’d barely known and who hadn’t ever cared for her. When we were younger no one invited her to parties so I made sure she knew about them because I felt pity for her.


Although, she was my guest on that particular night she left me standing on a sidewalk without ever extending so much as an invitation to go dance even though I would’ve declined the invite and she knew perfectly well I was embarrassed to have been ever so broke.


After traveling through Costa Rica and taking her home to meet some of my Harvard Ivy League friends and to see our property and listened to her go on-and-on for hours and days about her fears; always about her damn fears in life: she could barely be civil with me on that night and went off like an eager puppy which hadn’t ever had the opportunity to run with a mature pack.


How uncouth of her.


Yes, I learned about her true character on such a fine warm summer evening.


She was nothing but a vendor.


It seems ‘queer’ (strange / odd) when people think of others as idiots they tend to forget even idiots can see right through the pretenses of others’ body language. People give themselves away much, too, easily.


Seven years ago I would’ve declined her invitation to go dance because I was broke unlike today. Her body language said, you’re not invited after all those years of making sure she’d get invited to parties no one wanted her around for.


Yes, I’ve always known where the most exclusive parties are at. It’s been a gift with me ever since I’ve been five because I’m the one who neither cares nor attends.


I hope our paths don’t ever cross again because I’d be politely cold towards her now which I know her true and vulgar nature in how she uses others’ private information to set herself up in business.


She’s not a doctor.

She’s a charlatan.


Yes, I’ve proven myself to be someone trustworthy especially when it’s information about my enemies while she loved to talk about ‘everyone’ down to the finest detail of their private lives.


Information’s sacred and at times more so than time or energy.

Stand up and become men and women of the world.

Responsibility to others is worth gold.

There’s no need for manipulation only respect.


At dinner that night: the entire time her charlatan excitedly spoke about money and ‘rich’ Hollywood and Beverly Hills people and their expensive kitchen counters; the whole while she clenched her jaw.


Yes, I realized she might’ve loved him yet she neither liked him nor much less cared for his déclassé demeanor. (Yep.)


Both she and I knew very well as a couple they we’re both desperate for each other and they weren’t good enough for us and the reason for why they sought my approval and I quasi-gave it yet I ran for the hills. (I wasn’t going to stick around a bunch of clowns.)


I couldn’t get out of there fast enough as I tugged at a sweater while they clutched to each other hoping they’d ‘pulled the wool over my eyes’ on such another fine summer evening. I felt like getting ill all over their shoes. My skin crawled and they were creepy.


The Indigenous are taught one’s spirit lives inside one’s mouth and the main reason why we believe in smoking the peace pipe especially with our enemies yet we don’t lose track of our enemies’ strengths or weakness nor should they of ours.


All this greedy little couple cared about is money and not friendship.


Money is their main focus of concern and connections were far more important to them than confronting the fact I was completely and utterly disgusted by their social misbehavior. Instead of treating me like a friend they treated me like an object to be manipulated.


They didn’t care about other people.

They were like addicts invested in self-promotion and ego.


On such a day I put her down.

I shan’t pick her up again.

She’s too prickly.


Her life’s not worth an intimate friendship because what our peers knew about her at sixteen which I didn’t realize until much later was she was any fake and any poser and any hack and any loser at any age and still is now and most likely will continue to be so until the grave.


Now I understand why our peers stayed far-far away from her even though she was a perfectionist ‘know-it-all’ too ‘good to be true’ in the end. An imposter. Really.


Mostly the Arts High School in Golden Valley and Central High School in Duluth does produce adult trash with nothing worth bartering.




Thank you, no.


I thought I was going over to dinner.

Instead I met a devil dressed in ego.


I didn’t think I was going to spend an evening with corrupt spiritual vendors disguised as holistic hacks without any recommendations or appropriate licenses to practice medicine.


Yes, I ran like the dickens out of there without provoking the ‘know-it-all’ devil on dialysis. (Doctor heal thyself.)


My hosts were so rude I went so far as to describe my bowel movements while at the dinner table to see how far I could take it.


When I’m cornered: then I show how high class elite I truly am: ‘all bets are off the table’: I go Egyptian Pharaoh on people.


They wanted my connections without me ever so much as offering such connection thus I gave them a thorough description of my bowel movements at the time.


It takes bravery to do what I did on our dinner night and make it look like I was innocent and had no idea why it was so wrong to speak of bowel movements while at the dinner table.


I knew exactly what was going on:


I tested my four hosts to see if I could get a reaction out of the real Alpha sitting to my right and I did.


Soon after he left the table in disgust I realized he allowed for the other three knuckleheaded wild beasts to run his home.


I would’ve left sooner yet my challenge commenced against their lowbrow guest from Beverly Hills High School taking over their home because the two omega females allowed for it and were, too, stupid to throw their guest out on his hunches since all he was good for was to eat them out of house and home while he pretended to cure one of the women of her cancer. Creepy. Very Creepy.


The one-visiting-omega-male quasi host-guest from California who’d taken over their house kept conversing right along with me about my bowel movements over our dinner ‘without skipping a beat’ as if nothing were wrong.


I was ever so grossed out by a devil I almost lost my food.

I could barely swallow.

I kept my front to test his honor which he had none.


I didn’t trust the omega male guest from the moment I smelled him because he, too, reeked of dialysis-death-breath even though he disguised it quite well. One can’t really disguise the smell of dialysis death upon one’s breath. Can one? Nope.


Oh, it was a frightful sight to see the deceit and corrupt nature of such any household. A plague o’ both your houses!


When I get disgusted to the breaking point of having another pretend to be ‘high class’ without "anything to show for" then I may squat right there-and-then and fling figurative poop like any other primate does.


Three summers ago, I was so disturbed by my hosts I can barely talk about their con-game in Colorado Springs.


Mostly the Arts High School in Golden Valley and Central High School in Duluth does produce adult trash with nothing worth bartering.


I know people who graduated from Beverly Hills High School and who can give me the inside scoop on the losers of their graduated classes 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998…


They’ve informed me as to why con-artist-vendors ended up in the Midwest while they failed to make a go-at-it in Hollywood as con-artists because one of the romantic partners went from being a Hollywood producer to standing at the breadlines of Minnesota while living off of mommy and daddy well into their thirties trying to scam the Minnesotans into spirituality.



One’s history will follow one around.


The difference between you and I: I’ll write about my history (because I’m not out to swindle anyone or to rub elbows to get unto the next set of rungs while I step all over others’ faces.) Nope.


I won’t bat an eyelash twice while getting my history down on ink because how classy elite I am. Quite.


When I write anything down then clear the room because dragons do spit fire. It’s any dragon’s nature to burn liars while dragons write truths.


To the Chinese dragons are the most revered of all.

I can see why.

‘The writing’s on the wall.’



There’s nothing more lowbrow than having one’s former Minnesota male-friends act like old gossiping women and ask me indirectly (spring 2012) to masturbate right along with them to homosexual porn while they masturbated each other.


Mostly Hamline University in St. Paul and University of Minnesota and the Arts High School in Golden Valley and Central High School in Duluth does produce adult trash with nothing worth bartering.


There’s nothing more lowbrow than listening to one’s former Minnesota male-friends act like old gossiping women while they made bets they could get a Minnesota-female-singer into bed by getting close to her children yet first by collecting gossip on her through her “maniacal” hairdresser who’s supposedly become her ‘best friend’ yet the hairdresser tells ‘everyone’ the singer’s secrets behind her back.


We know all about the singer’s life down to the smallest detail.


Poor little girl: there’s nothing like betrayal by those closest. The singer’s nothing except an object of morbid fascination to them all while riding her coattails.


I sat in a room and listened to my former she-male friends create a master plan as to how to sabotage the singer and make her a bride.


One of the men believed he could get her to marry him if only he could get close-enough to her children then he’d manipulate them into loving him yet he masturbates with other heterosexual males to homosexual porn.


Mostly Hamline University in St. Paul and University of Minnesota and the Arts High School in Golden Valley and Central High School in Duluth does produce adult trash with nothing worth bartering.


I’d rather hang out with hardworking bouncers or dishwashers or waiters rather than with people who scope-you-out and ask for your permission to make connections to one’s peers only because they want business connections and can’t get them any other way.


Mostly Central High School in Duluth does produce adult trash with nothing worth bartering.


There’s nothing more lowbrow than knowing one’s Minneapolis fair weather friend; his brother’s girlfriend gets sniffed like a dog yet doesn’t return one’s text because he only perceives others as objects.


Two weeks later when he did return a text he lied by texting.


Welcome to modern technology.


None of them know there’s a train wreck waiting to happen. Moving on. I don’t care enough to care anymore about people who are dumb or cowards or social users or manipulators or social climbers. Why would I?


I wouldn’t, unless… then don’t fuck with our people or our peeps will economically decimate entire cities, villages and towns,


Mostly the Arts High School in Golden Valley and its acquaintances do produce adult trash with nothing worth bartering.


There’s nothing more lowbrow than a Minneapolis fair weather friend who only wants to talk when they run into you at grocery stores or hardware stores but like hell if they’ll be seen with you anywhere else because they think you’re not cool enough for their juvenile minds yet they’re the ones who gave up on their dreams early on to become insurance collectors or university desk clerks.


This particular individual person wanted connections to money and power but didn’t even have the courtesy to return texts or phone calls. (No. No. No.)


Mostly the Arts High School in Golden Valley and its acquaintances do produce adult trash with nothing worth bartering.


There’s nothing more lowbrow than a Minneapolis fair weather friend who’ll only text to hang out while they babysit. How convenient for them. I don’t ever visit with others when it’s obvious I’m an afterthought. What do I look like a seventeen year old? I don’t think so.


I haven’t been seventeen in eighteen years.


Yes, goodbye seventeen.


She executes this type of behavior because like an alcoholic she’s in search of her next big social high.


Something better is always bound to come along and amuse her especially if she can…thus she only calls when she’s bored and saves her Saturday nights for people who are willing to…


Mostly the Arts High School in Golden Valley does produce adult trash with nothing worth bartering.


These shallow type of Minnesotans desire connections-to-money and status yet they don’t so much as return simple texts after they’ve gotten what they’ve wanted or received one’s permission to cross over the class divide which isn’t for me to give a holy grace about yet know this: if I’m crossed just once then the wrath of the Gods is more powerful than my own silence.


No, I’m not ‘keeping score’ per se yet Karma does and so do the Gods.




I refuse to get used for status or connections-to-money especially when others think they know ‘who’ certain people are because I’ve got a great deal of respect and agape love for many people with and without connections to money. 


All I have to say is the word: About others’ misbehavior and how they’re no good and the worst thing which will happen is users will get used.


The elite already know how to play the best hand and always come out ahead and winning.


When one’s brought-in to do business with people of a higher social status such interaction doesn’t grant anybody status at all.


When others pay for any goods or services then one will always be a subordinate and nothing more.


No matter how close one thinks they might get to their master: they’re still master and servant.


Unlike most: I’ve neither lowered myself nor begged to my peers for money towards any of my artistic endeavors and business ventures since I’m social elite by-and-by.


Yes, I’m an equal to global power and not any subordinate.


No, I’ve not once been a subordinate:

At this point I’m well on my way to freedom.


No, I’ve not gone and begged my peers for one single pence:

Much less did I beg my equals to lend me money.


No, I’ve not taken a penny from anybody not even when I was face down in the snow clutching my stomach from hunger pangs because my enemies wanted me broken thus at this point how about I throw pennies at your feet? Sure, why not? I made it out alive.


We thrive.


Socially I’ve got most licked.


Many think they can use me yet what they don’t seem to understand is this is a high stakes social game.


I hold “the” social trump card.

Although I don’t use it because I’m, too, busy living life.


Friends in high places are ‘nice’

but friends at the highest of places are even kinder.

My friends are your bosses’ bosses’ bosses’ bosses’…


Yes, my friends are preppy and modern fashionable.

They didn’t get stuck in the year 1992.

They’ve kept up with the fashions.


Do you know what any contemporary adult preppy looks like?

Haute Couture.

High class elite with a genuine smile.


Others have no idea whom we know and they won’t ever tell.


Even when we see each other in public we pretend like we don’t know each other especially those whom we love and hate most.


Once one has been handed money from any peer to be applied towards one’s endeavor then one shall forever become the other’s subordinate to do as they wish for the other to do hence social debt works in such a fragile manner unlike monetary debt.


Social debt is ten times more dangerous than monetary debt.


No, one won’t have the chance to become any type of peer ever again much less an equal once one befalls into monetary debt to one’s peers.


If I’ve ever given others money towards their cause then they’re now my subordinates and they’ll live and die as such.


My peers and equals aren’t here to bankroll frivolous pseudo-artistic playgrounds which won’t go anywhere because such projects don’t have legs to stand on.


If my peers do bankroll anything then ultimately it’ll cost more than money because there’re always strings attached so one might as well go out into the world and make it the hardworking way as I did unless it’s a monetary gift with no strings attached.


Go make one’s fortune the old fashion way of goods and services in exchange for currency from private funds (bank loans) or public profits.


We weren’t born yesterday.


Mostly the Arts High School in Golden Valley and Central High School in Duluth does produce adult trash with nothing worth bartering.


There’s no greater turn off other than to have users believe they can socially climb others by way of making connections to others’ peers because users don’t seem to be able to make genuine connections on their own since “everybody” else already knows perfectly well what they are.


It won’t help users to social-climb because they’ll get mocked through whispers, they always do. Actually, it sets them back…


Why should people bankroll social users?


Social users aren’t of the same caliber or stature.


A user will neither become an equal nor a peer for as long as they live and the greatest ‘consolation prize’ even if in their delusional minds they think they’re peers is users get used by everyone they use.


Not even an Ivy League education can change one’s distinct class deferential.


If one’s middle class with an Ivy League education then that’s exactly what they are: middle class with an Ivy League education.


One will not be considered elite by the elite who attend schools with any “common man” since they’re middle class and it must seem like another dagger shoved right through the heart anyway one looks at it. To climb yet another pinnacle just off reach for no other purpose than further debt and servitude to the rich.


(Somebody had to burst the Ivy League bubble.)


Word quickly spreads when braggers brag.


Mostly the Arts High School in Golden Valley and Central High School in Duluth does produce adult trash with nothing worth bartering.


Keep an eye pealed to the skies:

watch this: as I mock one’s distorted ego


I’ve taken the lead

I’ve pulled away from the pack

You can catch up, however…

The tortoise wins without cheating




Part VII

(Soliloquy VII)

(Prose VI)


A Rumi prayer to the Gods


I can feel the mastery of Rumi washing over me like a stronghold tidal wave rolling me around in a cradle of surf and water.


As difficult as I might be to get to know I’m a complex human even though I don’t come across as though.


A dichotomy of extremely relaxed and extremely strict characteristics.


For once I’d like to meet male friends who are sophisticated yet they’re real men’s men.


For another I’d like to meet men who know who they are since I’m a woman and I know who I am.


Wouldn’t it be nice to hold platonic friendships without men trying to get into one’s head or underwear?


I loathe fake charmers.


I respect loyalty.

I’m loyal to the end

unless I’m betrayed

then let’s say our goodbyes.

Silent goodbyes and no melodramas.


I’ll carry my friends across battlefields on my back


If you know anything about Rottweilers then it’s they’re trained to be highly controlled and deadly smart.


Rottweilers are as they are because they were bred to herd elephants across the Alps. They’re the nicest dogs one will ever encounter yet they sure are intimidating and one ought to be intimidated when the breed doesn’t know you personally.


I’m an extremely lucky person.


When I ask for something:

the Gods provide in abundance.


Although: I must be extremely precise.


‘I’m standing my ‘philosophical’ ground hence not just anybody will do anymore.


Not even so much as a glimpse, do I want to so much as to look upon some of the same scoundrels I met since 1994. I can’t stand their begging or lies and manipulation.


Don’t worry: I’ll clear the room.

Thank you very much.

You won’t see or hear from me ever again.


For now I’m traveling like a solo panther does yet it doesn’t mean I’m alone in the world.


No, I’m not afraid of the panthers which come to me in my dreams hence they’re my equals.


The dream panthers and I have absolutely no fear of each other.


Nevertheless, we sure do hold mutual respect for the other because between a panther and a potential human maiming sudden inspiration can take shape or form.


The dream panthers and I are equals yet we’re not the same.


We don’t lie to each other about our differences and in our communication there’s true and real respect between us.





(Soliloquy VIII)



One can tell a lot about people and their social disgraces when one attends parties outside of one’s social status.


Yes, I’m quite modern even though I ought to have been born in the 1800’s as an elite Caucasian woman. (No, I’m not Scarlet O’Hara. Not even close.)


It’s the intellectual capacity not to lie to people which draws them close unless I feel people are mindlessly competing or emotionally terrorizing or destroying or lying or disrupting the natural order of events then I can be ruthless without batting an eyelash and they’ll confuse it for kind aptitude.


Since summer 2009 my favorite test for the past four years used to be to play-the-fool or pretend to be the village idiot and watch people react.


When people react with cruelty then they must prepare to verbally spar since it means I bite my thumb at thou and they’re about to be turned into ‘donkey arses’ without ever realizing it…


And by the time I’m gone: I’m ‘gone with the wind’.


One’s success doesn’t mean they’re part of an elite pack of wolves.


Yes, I’m “overly educated” and Costa Rican humble.


Yes, I’m a complex dual enigma.


The reason why I have to be quite careful about attracting the right sorts of people into my life at thirty-five is because I attract people like bees with honey.


Now I’ve become older and wiser and confident about my future I know how this is going down.



No, I’m not for sale.

No, I’m not a product.

No, I’m not an object.

No, I’m not a commodity.


No, I’m not to be exploited.

No, I’m not to be blackmailed.

No, I’m not to be harassed or assaulted or molested.


No, I’m not my ego as others pretend to be theirs.


If I’m out on any public dance floor then others may not

rub their genitals up against me.


No, I’m not an inflatable doll.

The 1990’s came-and-went!

Get over it!


Remember, I’m the ‘ugly duckling’ turned swan

Swans mate for life


There’s nothing more perfect than

the imperfect which blossoms next to…


People tell me I’m a good person at heart.

I like being a good person at heart.

I like to laugh yet I do uphold to strict social boundaries.


I don’t like to take advantage of people.

I don’t like to be taken advantage of.


Even in the middle of chaos,

I like to keep my propriety about myself

unless I’m deathly ill and suffering to the brink of extinction.


I like to make distinctions between multiple variables.

I love knowing from the ashes of ugliness, beauty will rise.

Finally, I get to lay my head and relax since I hold the trump card.


Poetry wants to jump out of my lap like a little Bichon Frisé.


What does any of this have to do with self portraits?



Yes, I’m who I say I am.

Yes, I’m my name.

Yes, I’m my actions.

Yes, I’m my soul-breath of life.


While others pretend to be otherwise…




“Beauty will be restored.” (According to Ojibwa teachings.)


Pura Vida

“To the Good Life” (According to the Costa Rican greeting.)



Gabriela de la Holm


Self Portrait Artist Statement II


Monday, March 26, 2012




Aloha. Welcome to “Self Portrait of an Artist” a fifty-year-long work-in-progress photography series.


I started this photography series in 2006, ultimately, to create a flipbook of my aging process towards the year 2056 -- and to become a better photographer in general. I made myself the main ‘subject matter’ due to the length of this project.


Part I:


Normally, I take about a week from concept to completion to work on the self-portraits bi-annually. I don’t mind spending a week to construct, film, post and layout the montages.


No, I’m not a professional model, actress or critic nor do I care to become any one of those. I’m a professional working artist with purpose, ideas, discipline and laughter, lots of amusement, especially, when it comes to making mistakes.


No, I’m not cross-eyed. It’s taken me six years to figure out some simple geometrical angles while facing into the mirror. Ah, mathematics! I love billiards, therefore, I ought to get better at self-portraits and ‘eye ball’ angles over time.


I’ve not been able to figure out as to where to look (slight human awkwardness), and thus; I’ve been looking into the camera’s viewfinder rather than into the mirror. Every time that I’ve looked into the viewfinder then my ‘one eyeball’ (the furthest one away) makes me look cross-eyed and well… moving on.


My craft happens to be all about mathematics.


I can’t do anything without mathematics. It’s come down to having a deep meditative patience in-my-interaction with mathematics, leaving enough room for human error, license for widespread analytical creativity and a tremendous confidence in the development of my work. As well as becoming highly technically in-tune with the-fine-tuning of my instrument -- the barrel of a lens.


Part II:

I decided to be human and to age before the camera without makeup, airbrushing or ‘Photoshop’. I work with light and angles to best represent the very imperfect and blemished face that I’ve become and that I’ll continue to age into.

I feel beautiful.

No, I didn’t write that I’m any real great beauty. I wrote that I feel beautiful, thus, when I take self portraits I embody that intrinsic beauty, which, I feel deep down to the cellular structure. Beauty to me is more of a sentiment, a prayer, a reflection of the inner spirit and not simply and only a physicality.

I’m grateful and quite happy to be as healthy and as strong as I am at the lovely age of thirty five. I’m built like an ox (all muscle and a little fat.) If you’ve ever studied anatomy then you’ve come to realize the knowledge about the intimate beauty in musculature structure and tissue.

In my humble opinion, there’s nothing more beautiful than strength, more sophisticated than movement and more elegant than health. To me, those elements combined equal true value and significance in the equation of physical beauty no matter who you are.

I feel beautiful because the greatest phenomenon that’s been occurring to me over the past twenty years is that children naturally gravitate towards me. When I worked through the Children’s Hospital I was taught never to initiate touch with children so I keep my hands to myself at all times, nevertheless, children tend to want to stand very close to me, they want my attention and some will reach out and pet my hair. The feeling of being liked by kids has taught me much about tremendous beauty in life. I find that if children find others fascinating then most likely they are.

After twenty years of reading about the different types of global cultural adornments, beautification and attractiveness; I’ve come to realize that the Utmost beautiful people are strong and healthy; not ‘perfect’ or ‘airbrushed’.

I love imperfections on people like scars, one-eye-slightly-larger-than-the-other (which everyone has) and blemishes. I think that slight and subtle imperfections create beauty in the stories of people’s lives. I think everyone is imperfect especially the most perfectly put together people who have the most symmetrical faces. If you stare at perfect-looking people long enough then they begin to look asymmetrical, because everyone is, frankly.

No, I don’t wear makeup, airbrush or ‘Photoshop’ my face while photographing this series (I don’t consider lipstick makeup.) It’s probably obvious to many and gross to some (the shallow) that, I do expose my imperfections and scars. I did make a tough decision and went with it to be true and honest to this aging progress in this photography series.

I don’t wish to be anybody else thus I have accepted that I am as I am.

I’ve had many food allergies for about twenty years and have had to contend with acne (sigh.) I don’t like the bumps and the scarring one bit; however, it’s what the Gods have given me. I’m quite patient and have become tender and respectful of skin. What an amazing organism.

I’ve not been able to become fully vain, due to bad skin no matter how much organic, vegan ‘rabbit food’ and gluten-free cookies and breads I make. I’m an Indiana and I don’t believe in reincarnation in this life, nevertheless, if I got a second another human-form life (which I won’t) in my next life I’d be me, exactly, as I am now and with incredible radiant skin.

My goal as a woman is to keep my weight at 150 pounds and at a size 10 for the rest of my life. I find that I’m petite and that makes me happy. Remember, muscle weighs more than fat and thus I am. (I know, I know -- 150 pounds for a woman of my height (5’2”) by today’s standards is considered obese, but it’s not to me.) Anything less than 140 pounds and I feel starved, thus my goal is to stay strong, magnificent, curvaceous and non-starved. When I feel starved, or stuffed at 160 pounds, then I can’t concentrate very well.

I want to be focused, full of life and vibrant, therefore, 150 pounds is just gorgeous to me because not only am I strong I’m also cerebrally uncluttered, emotionally secure and happy.

I don’t wish to be skinny.

I wish to be strong as I am now.

I can skateboard ten miles in one afternoon. I can carry my own camping gear for miles as well as portage a canoe on my own. I can surf, cross country ski, snowboard, walk, dance, run, skip, jump, climb, push, pull and balance.

What more can I possibly want out of life when movement is so stunning?

I can lift my own body weight up to fifty times in about an hour and a half as I found out last week while setting up to film the latest self portraits.

I’m imperfectly beautiful. No, I’m not perfect. I’m happy. No, I’m not perfect. I’m strong. No, I’m not perfect. I’m the woman I thought I’d become and that brings a great deal of contentment and satisfaction to my life thus it creates harmony, balance and sensuality so deep it registers realness to the cellular and cerebral level. No, I’m not a flirt! I’m sensually intelligent and relaxed. Tranquillo. Hands off. No toque una mujer que no sabe. ‘Don’t touch a woman you don’t know.’ Peace and with much love to all of the imperfect beauties of the world. You’re beautiful as you are.

Part III:

About ‘Photoshop’ in post graphic design: I find this fifty year series fascinating because after working with digital graphic design since 1999 -- finally Photoshop just came together for me.

Now I look forward to flying across the keyboard like a pro. It’s taken me thirteen years to get comfortable with Photoshop. It took until this week to connect the dots together and I’ll not forget ‘layering’ anytime soon. Now, I won’t look back and I won’t hesitate because I know where I’ve made mistakes and where I can become a stronger post digital graphic designer with elements and short cuts. (Lovely. Lovely. Lovely. I’m smiling.)

Next, I’m going to learn to construct manageable photo-files with “pinch to stretch” photographs for the tablets. I know ‘pinching’ and ‘scaling’, however. I’d like to learn to control the blurriness of the image as it gets pinched and stretched. I want to learn to construct and to keep the image’s sharpness in high resolution no matter what size. Did that make any sense? I’ll think about it. Maybe by August or September 2012 I’ll get it down.

Finally and in conclusion this self portrait series is helping me understand how to find other people’s best features (without makeup or airbrushing which is essential for documentary filmmaking) and also it’s allowed for me to keep my mathematical, graphics and aesthetic-visual-skills sharp.

Like I’ve written before, I love my work because behind me I’ve got so much support, nurturance and constructive criticism from so many amazing people who can truly deconstruct, structure and discuss, communicate and converse about anything in the world. Behind every dedicated, professional and disciplined artist there’s a community behind them. I’m blessed to be alive in this era of digital technology. Thank you.

Pura Vida

“To the Good Life” (According to the Costa Rican greeting.)



Gabriela de la Holm


Self Portrait Artist Statement I


May 2011


“Self Portrait of an Artist” began in 2006 as an aging photography series that will take fifty years to complete.

I begun to capture “Self Portrait of an Artist” as a photography series from an idea of a friend whom in high school made a short film about her loved ones’ hands; ‘Brilliant,’ I thought; What if I started a series and took pictures of my hands as an aging series in progress for fifty years?

A decade ago, I decided not to sign on a model for a fifty-year-long series only because the commitment would’ve been astounding and difficult at times while in youth, so I chose myself as a subject matter for two good reasons; One, I would be a constant subject and two, I would learn to be comfortable in front of a camera.

“If you look then you will find beauty in anything you see through the barrel of any lens. Don’t be afraid to look for it, find it with any camera available to you because it’s about your cinematic skills and not about expensive cameras.”

A serious professor walked around a table of students eager to learn. “Here, you will learn how to construct any composition to its infinite form and how to find it every time.” I liked the hardened look on my professor’s face from decades of hiking peaks and mountains as a serious nature photographer. She meant business. She was the real deal.

I smiled and looked at the student sitting across from me and found profound beauty in her green cat-like eyes – she smiled back and introduced herself. We shook hands and I understood the moral of the lesson – beauty’s everywhere when you have the will and skill to find it.

I do have a great deal of respect for Thespians - any actor or actress working in the world for a living as performers; Above all else, I can find the booming greatness and tenderness of love-and-hate in any opera, ballet or performance.

I can consider performance a type of energy, rigorous discipline and immense structure that it takes to be an opera singer and anyone involved in the art of any live-or-captured performance as well as those behind-the-scenes.

The first time I’d ever seen any actress in front of any camera in a studio I was nineteen years old and the actress delivered such a fine performance in a taped PSA that it profoundly changed my ideal about what I thought of actors and actresses. I was so moved and astounded that all I could do was to sit down and not move for an entire of an hour because I was in a room with great developed and skilled talent.

The second time, that, I was close and personal to an actor it was at age twenty.

I stood in a studio and froze - the entire room went quiet as a young actress unbuttoned her blouse and showed her bare naked chest to a rolling camera and in front of a small crew.

No one made any sudden noises or movements and every artist was quiet and professional through an entire “changing” scene.

I stood behind a cameraman and took another step back once the actress began to undress for the camera.

I hadn’t been prepared for such a scene that day - I felt young and bewildered. I‘d never seen anything that refined and sophisticated in the arts in my entire life in a room full of professional and dedicated male crew members.

Talk about getting thrown-off my artistic game? It happens.

That morning as I’d gotten ready, sipped café and read a little local community newspaper, not once did it cross my mind that I’d need to be prepared to see another woman’s bare naked chest. Intense, yet profoundly necessary when learning about subject matter and cinematography.

At the age of twenty-three I watched a man calmly-and-silently mentally prepare for his cinematic scenes on location and once again I was profoundly changed as I sat back and watched him slowly and calmly breathe – he looked so serene and tranquillo that I thought he’d fallen asleep except for his thunderously calm and alert energy I understood that this man was getting into character in the final moments before rolling; I understood that, that moment was sacred to him.

Another young actor ran around in circles as he did method exercises in preparation for his role, yet with all of his vocalizations, arm-twisting, stretching, jumping and running he didn’t break the other actor’s Zen concentration.

In that moment I’d been completely mesmerized and enraptured by the master and not by the apprentice.

Now I reach-back into this memory bank because I welled-up with a deepest breath when I saw this Zen thespian master on the silver screen one decade later he still encompassed that same relaxed, tranquillo attitude while we watched him in a scene surrounded by a Brit cast of master thespians.

I understood his heritage more so in that moment than when I had had the great pleasure-and-privilege of observing this thespian master on set.

He’d asked me to dance to a Celtic tune like any man and woman of the world do and I thought that he smelled of real peppermint-leaves and a true man’s aftershave. I liked him from the first moment I’d smelled him. He smelled of honesty, humanity and deep appreciation for life.

We immediately hit it off and respected one another because we understood that there’s more to life than making films and without having to tell him who I was he understood very well that he was speaking and interacting with a blue blooded...

I’d never been comfortable in front of the camera and I still am not comfortable but I’m learning to be.

I’ll try to dedicate time to this project every six months.

Self portraits are dated from when I take the pictures of myself and not of the backdrops or graphics, unless I run out of time or pictures but that’ll be quite rare.

I find it necessary to know what it feels like to have the barrel of a lens pointed at me for when I go to interview folks on camera for documentaries.

Self portraits are the quickest way to find beauty in others because if you’ve ever taken professional self portraits then you come to realize that the practice in the art of composition is not solely in knowing how to set up a shot but how to compose a shot to find the most beautiful features in others and let go of their faults.

Documentary film work is neither the modeling industry nor a photography fifty-year-long series on aging much less are these mediums meant to be alike yet similar in discipline form.

I don’t consider myself any great beauty by any means – I have many imperfections as any human woman does, but I don’t dwell on imperfections and blemishes either when taking photographs.

No, I’m neither a fashion model nor do I pretend to be one nor do I care to become one.

I look forward to a fifty-year-long series about aging right in front of the camera – I can’t think of a better way to give my soul over to the world through the realm of photography and self portraits – as it may sound. For the first ten years of my life I didn’t grow up with a camera in the jungles of Costa Rica so as an adult I neither take a camera for granted or other people in front of it.

I really got into this series when I realized that I wanted to make a flipbook (history of film.)

I want to make a flipbook about my aging process because I think that not only will it take a lot of patience to make and it will also be very funny to me.

Imagine a flipbook about your face aging as you flip through the pages – the quicker one flips through the pages then the older one gets in a matter of seconds. Broma. Chiste. Joke. Funny as hell to me!

“Good luck with that.” said a jealous-and-bitter man about fifteen years ago.

I ran with that luck.

He seemed mad as hell that he was fast approaching forty and he’d never left university to go and show the world what his film work was made of.

As I said my goodbyes to my closest classmates and stern professors he stood with his arms folded across his chest, a sour look on his face and stared at me like he wanted to pull out all of my hair which at that time I was already bald and had dealt a health blow from melanoma.

I hit the road for the real world, life adventure, artistic development and human economic working independence towards becoming a master-artist.

Poor bloke: As a man all he’d ever known was his middle-aged school-career and that’s not even remotely the real world where one must prove one’s professional worth, kind-humanity and smart-intelligence.

University’s a facade and a made-up construct where one doesn’t necessarily have to prove one’s real world intelligence and smarts. It takes some serious smarts combined with a humane approach to show what one is made of.

I hope you enjoy this series. It’s as real as it can be.

This fotografia series is not meant to be a serious one and yes, I do laugh just thinking about this funny little foto project.

If only I got to live to be two-hundred years-young then I’d create more. Alas, tortugas get to live to be one-hundred and twenty years of age. Wow.

Pura Vida

“To the Good Life” (According to the Costa Rican greeting.)



Gabriela de la Holm



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