And the word of the day is.....

An Experience of a Lifetime

aprilrose — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 05:57:05 GMT

I was graced with the most exciting news last week. Out of 6000 applicants I, and 500 other lucky people, recieved the scholarship of a lifetime. The grant covers a 2 and a half month stay in a foreign country while going to school to learn its language. The government is sending me, ALL expenses paid, to study Hindi in Jaipur, Rajhastan INDIA! I leave in one month: June 11th (with a short stay In Washington, DC and New Dheli). And stay until Aug 23rd. I'll be living with a host family, going to language school Mon-Fri 9am-3pm, and doing some exploring. I do not have to pay a dime. I am so excited and scared shitless.

I am 20 yrs old Today

aprilrose — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 17:05:34 GMT

I am 20 yrs old today. Thismorning I looked at myself in the mirror and transported back to my 12 year old self. So, this is what I look like when I’m 20….hmmmm. This is the person I am. Through that futuristic/montage-like lense, I felt something a little different than I usually do when I look at myself the morning-mirror: Happy with who I am. At that moment I felt Sattwic, content, fulfilled, blissful. I love my, dreadie, yogi, non made-up, dancer, traveler, university student, vegan, compassionate, unshaven, nontoxic, high achieving self! I am learning not to let small set backs (actions that I take not in alignment with who I perceive as my highest self) send me into a self-obsessed depression. Haha, I guess the drawback to being high achieving is suffering extreme disappointment at my not-completely-evolved-ness. After an intense, sweaty, strengthening, hip-opening, yoga practice yesterday morning --I cried. I cried both simultaneously about my imperfections and how far I have come at only 20 years old. I cried for my Tamasic-stagnant and Rajasic-“never stop moving” qualities. I cried because all I want is to reach that Sattwic state of mind where I am whole and fulfilled and primally happy in my pure nature. I cried because I know it is often my struggle to get there that holds me back. My self-deprecating self that sees the journey to my blissful pure nature as a goal that requires perfection and self control. When I am forgetting that it requires surrender and acceptance. I cried for Elias, and every young person who dies when they were such a light here on earth! And how I can be crying about being in this world that he no longer is physically a part of. Today, at 20 years old, I feel accepting of where I am on my journey and happy with who I am. I hope that every milestone birthday brings me the same retrospective joy and pleasure at my state of being. I surrender to wherever I go from here. And I have this feeling…. that this is my real true beginning.

True Story (part 1)

aprilrose — Sat, 06 Oct 2007 09:36:22 GMT

I had one of the most interesting experiences of my young yogic life this week. I went to a "meditation/drum circle/satsang" that turned out to be an intimate cult-like gathering lead by a man who all but claimed that he is divinity in the flesh and has the power to take us to Samadhi right now. The fast track to self realization. He cleverly gave himself a veneer of mysticism and celebrity godliness which had the other people I met there totally convinced! There are so many interesting details to the story that I have only retold the very beginnings of this bazaare experience. Read the first part and I will post the rest soon. A Satsang Gone Wrong, “Don’t Drink the Tea” Last night, my good friend, Ally, invited me along to a meditation and drum circle she had gone to the week before. I couldn’t think of a more legitimate reason to ditch my homework and leave campus for a night. Although I knew very little about where we were headed, I could feel that our talkative car ride there was just the beginning of a memorable adventure. When we arrived at the house (who’s house –I still don’t know, except that he goes by Jesse, and that he was not there) we took off our shoes and were welcomed into the kitchen. The smell of yellow curry and homemade chai on the stove, along with the modest pottery barn furniture and hanging tapestries, wrapped familiarity and warmth around my shoulders and lured me in with a smile. Two beautiful, young, fair-haired yoginis greeted us. Another beautiful yogi spirit, a grey haired young man with a beaming smile, greeted us on his way out. He was on his way to pick up the “Guru and his wife.” His white cotton shirt and white linen pants, carried with them the promise of a kundalini yoga experience—a practice whose singing, chanting, moving and breathing reminds me of home and makes me miss my yogini mother. I look at Ally with a beaming smile, and eyes that say “This is familiar, thankyou for bringing me. We are in for some transcendental fun.” The young man, who introduced himself as Morgan, continues on his way out and we four remaining girls file into the back living room to “chant and raise the vibrations.” Yes, chanting!—just as my assumptions promised. As we pass through the embrasure from kitchen to sacred space, Sarah (one of the fair-haired hostesses) flicked off the lights—leaving only the dim warmth of candlelight. “Baba is sensitive to light, he likes to have it dark.” This subtle remark was full of mystery: who is Baba? She said the name with such mysticism and reverence. I dismiss my curiosity and accept it as yet another observation to file away until I make sense of the unfolding experience. In the room, I choose a comfortable purple cushion and sit in half lotus on the floor. The rest follow and the four of us form a seated crescent of beautiful, bright, goddess energy. Before we begin our chant, Sarah explains the Mantra: Ohm Prema Ashim. My thin knowledge of Sanskrit confirmed that yes, it was something about the primordial sound of the universe and infinite love. Though, knowing the meaning of mantras has never been crucial for me: I just love to raise my voice with others—to feel the therapeutic vibrations that current through my body and the peaceful place they put my mind. As she put in the CD she explained that the mantra would help raise the vibrations of the room for Babaji, the fully self-realized being who would be gracing our presence tonight! Instantly, my internal dialogue shifted to incredulity: “What!? Fully self-realized? Doesn’t this chick know that it takes lifetimes to attain self realization? And if someone had reached it, he would be among the few reclusive monks who spend their earthly existence in meditation, having renounced the material world and all attachments therein: NOT in Santa Monica leading a satsang in the back room of someone named Jesse’s house?” But then my yogi training kicked in: “No judgement, be open, you do not know everything, wait and see, enjoy the mystery, enjoy the mantra.” As we chanted, my heart was singing. It felt so good to be in such a warm space with people chanting in earnest. I played with the harmonies and my highschool-choir-alto voice reared its forgotten head. After about 10 minutes I felt the presence of three more people enter the space. Out of curiosity, I open my eyes to meditative slants. I see Morgan lead “the guru and his wife” to the couch facing us; he joins our chanting crescent on the floor. The chant comes to a close and I get to see, in full view, who we had been expecting with such anticipation. To my surprise, the Guru resembled a Ken Doll in the flesh. Sitting cross legged on the red couch, his Hollywood tan skin and olive yoga tee and pants are a stark contrast to what I had imagined I saw through my slit eyelids. The guru’s full biceps and pecs are reminiscent of Swarcheneger’s and put considerable pressure on his clothes; his greased hair is perfectly in place. The strangest part of his physiognomy, though, is his dark pair of tortoise-shell sunglasses. I look around at the faces next to me, expecting to find some answer as to why this unusual guru was wearing shades inside, at 8:30 in the evening. No one seems to be stirred by it –so, once again I open my mind, with an internal chuckle, throw judgement aside and go with it. The man sitting before me introduces himself as Babaji. From my limited knowledge of Hindi I understood that Baba means father and ji as a sign of respect. It is also the name of the immortal avatar (the descent of divinity in the flesh) who revealed himself to Paramhansa Yogananda, the founder of the Church of Yogananda, sometime in the 1800’s. This new piece of the puzzle seemed to fit with the photograph above the fireplace of THE Babaji. I have practiced Ananda yoga a handful of times and been to a Yogananda church once before. The familiarity of that simultaneously reassures me and encourages my curiosity about where I am and what is going to happen. Guru Babaji begins the satsang by having the five of us introduce ourselves, describing a bit about our spiritual journey. I share first. Due to the residual bliss from chanting, my state of confusion, and my desire to observe before I fully participate, my introduction is less than articulate. I tell how I have been practicing yoga with my mom since adolescence, but do not relate well that I am familiar with Eastern philosophy. Sarah speaks next. She mentions her close relationship with her passed-over Grandmother and her excitement over some text called “The Initiation.” My friend Ally talks about her Christian upbringing and her summer in Tanzania. The next to share is Danielle, one of the women who had arrived before us and helped to welcome Ally and me. She describes her longing for spiritual meaning in her life since a young age and that her journey consisted of days spent at the Bodhi Tree reading books about Eastern religions. Morgan spoke about the religion courses he had taken in college and his conversions from atheist to Buddhism, to Hinduism (which he was drawn to because it is “much more colorful”). Altogether, no member of the ‘congregation’ around me seemed to have any prior concrete knowledge about Bhakti Yoga (a devotional path). I had gathered from a bit if conversation earlier in the evening that Morgan, Danielle, and Sarah, are all Bel-Air natives. We are altogether, a group of young, privaledged, impressionable minds, “longing for spiritual guidance” –a visually vulnerable position to be in. I keep quiet and remind myself to “observe, be open, enjoy, retain.” Babaji’s wife sits next to him, quietly, with an inviting smile on her face. I like her energy. She feels sincere and looks more human than her companion. Guru Babaji begins his lecture by asking us to close our eyes and visualize a scale on which we can measure our level of self-esteem. He invokes the memories of different spiritual leaders. The Buddha, and St, Theresa, he says, were able to excel on their spiritual path partly because of their high self esteem: “they loved themselves, they believed in themselves.” Thankfully my closed eyelids serve to shroud the incredulity in my eyes. “St. Theresa of Avila—loved herself! Thought highly of herself!? WRONG. I’ve read her diaries—she hated herself, and shamed herself for never being good enough for God. She beat herself, she starved herself, she –was a terrible example for him to use.” So now, this guy is losing me. But my yogi mind kicks in once more: “Wait, no—be open, you do not know everything. Just because he doesn’t know history doesn’t mean he won’t have something of value to offer. Be patient, enjoy.” Guru Babaji instructed us to visualize the scale and mentally bump up our self esteem to the next level. He says things that I really believe in. We should not be afraid of our beauty, our ability to succeed. He encourages us to break down the barricade that keeps down our self esteem. “We are the creators of our own reality. We manifest what we believe.” He enforced the power of positive thinking: “negative thoughts will fester into unhappy lives, positive thoughts will bring positivity in.” “Be love, let your love be seen and felt –let it extend outward to touch those around you, so that love can fill the world.” Yes, ok: this I can jive with—I am in the right place. I knew I liked these people sitting next to me. When we open our eyes, Babaji is sitting in a meditative silence: he sort of “checks out” and his wife takes over. I wonder to myself why this fully self-realized guru is leaning so leisurely against the back of the couch. He should know that if he is meditating in that position, he is impeding the flow of energy up his spine by not sitting fully erect. I again, put my ego in check for thinking that I know so much. Leela speaks with a smile and begins to tell the story of how her husband came to be sitting before us. She explained that one day they woke up in their hotel room after a publicity tour in Australia, where they had been promoting her book (she is the author of the NY Times Best Seller, Fit for Life) and their lives changed forever. Her husband looked at her that morning and said, “I have to go to India today.” “But, my love, you don’t have a ticket or a passport. We just returned from Australia, whatever do you mean?” “You don’t understand,” he said. “I have to go to India today.” She tells the story with such an intensity that I feel like a child being told a fairytale. “So, hurried arrangements were made for him to fly to NY that night and India the next morning. There were many tears. I was devastated: I didn’t know if I would ever see my husband again, but I understood he had to go. I felt so distraught…” The story continues in this romanticized, fable-like direction. She speaks softly, as if she is revealing a great secret to the privileged few. I sympathize with her, and grow to like her. But the way she trips over some minute details –editing them as she speaks, makes me skeptical. “We wiped our eyes as we took our passport photo—or no, his visa photo—or no just our last photo together.” As she is telling the story, Guru Babaji sits in stillness with his eyes closed (he had removed his sunglasses by now). She talks about him as if he is not in the room—furthering the mysticism that has been created around him since before he entered this humble abode. The story goes that After 10 days in India he called Leela, crying and inspired, because he had just met and connected with the Babaji. The immortal spirit, Babaji who was last reported as revealing himself to Paramhansa Yogananda lifetimes ago. Leela reminded us that no one sees Babaji. She then described his humor and youthful energy as if she had met him herself and the two of them were old friends. “As he walked across the sand of the beach, his feet barely grazed the sand, which danced up around him in little puffs.” At the conclusion of her story is the real kicker. Babaji had revealed himself to her husband and implored him to be his western ambassador to spread the path of yoga to the sweet souls in America, where there are “too many sex and beer vibrations” for him to appear there, personally. And so, the guru Babaji before us, is the Babaji in the flesh. Leela explains that her husband can channel the spirit and energy of immortalized Babaji, and therefore he calls himself and is Babaji. I am appalled at the audacity of the story, but say nothing. I keep smiling and wondering when the experience will seis to be evermore interesting and unbelievable. Guru Babaji opens his eyes and returns to the conversation. He explains that we will now prepare for a deep meditation. First, we stop for a water and bathroom break.

Lightning in a Bottle

aprilrose — Thu, 03 May 2007 04:15:11 GMT

I AM GOOOOOOING! I am so excited I just peed myself. green/art/dance/music festival in Santa Barbera lightninginabottle.org

Moral Dilemma

aprilrose — Wed, 02 May 2007 06:00:39 GMT

For my Global Environment Seminar I am to "build my own Gaia" (Gaia being a name for the earth as one self-sustaining entity). How do I do this? Create a closed terrarium (no air holes or anything) for an insect/arthropod/shrimp/snail in which the little creature/test-subject has everything needed to survive for 2 weeks. Soil, water, plants to make oxygen, sunlight. I can't interfere. AAAHHHH! What do I do? I feel guilty experimenting on a helpless invertebrate. On the one hand I can just shut up and do the damn simple experiment, try my hardest to keep a snail alive, then release him. She will have to have spent two whole weeks in a shoe box sized environment! And what if she dies (which, lets face it--I can't even keep all my fucking plants alive--it's very likely) ?? On the other hand I can object. I am hesitent because A) my lab proposal is due tomorrow, I should have said something sooner but I was avoiding confronting my guilt about it. B) because I am feeling out-of-character-ily shy (ok spineless) about objecting. C) I want an A in the class. Maybe I can think of a way to duplicate the concept without using a critter....just plants??? Does that constitute as the same experiment? I feel conflicted...and now emotionally guilty. Damn.

dumpster diving

aprilrose — Sun, 29 Apr 2007 08:09:20 GMT

I had the most amazing night I hung out with three new hippie friends of mine...art majors at UCLA we went dumpster diving behind whole foods and made out like kings then we cooked up a fat feast and sat around a table of yummy vegan food chatting and laughing ...basking in the niche of excess and waste whole foods puts boxes and crates of food out that are wrapped in plastic on wood slats...not even in a dumpster. We found 3 boxes of the best tasting almonds I've ever had (they don't expire until november! they were marked "mispick"--whatever that means) We found fresh coconuts and esparagus, 3 potted plants and two bouquets (they just need a little love) The best part: two boxes of vegan cookies! (expired yesterday) somehow it really made me feel alive.

new tattoo

aprilrose — Mon, 12 Mar 2007 07:48:31 GMT

FUN FUN!! it says EARTH not FART :) haha

Wind Child

aprilrose — Mon, 08 Jan 2007 09:53:07 GMT

“You’ve never seen a woman taken by the wind…” --Fleetwood Mac I remembered, today as I was walking through the brisk winds of the coastal LA hills, how I used to play with the wind as a child. A witchy little girl, I would intertwine myself with the humbling energy of the wind. I felt every gust as a surge of power from the earth that charged my body and my personal power. My skin cells and muscles would be saturated with elemental energy. Internally, I grew large; the intensity of my visualization taking me into a wind-sparked, self-catalyzed, possession. My young, verdant body would become a vehicle of the swirling current and my mind an imaginative slave to the wind’s squeeling commands. I would spin, run, leap, and dance—speaking in tongues that became lost in the wails of the wind or convulsing gracefully in silence: my eyelids shut over eyeballs that rolled into the back of my head. My trance traced the escalation of the wind-tides: increasing violently with its strength. When the wind died I would fall dramatically to the ground as if I had been pushed by a force 1,000 times stronger than me—imitating the fragile bodies of Hollywood damsels as they fall to the ground and muddy their full skirts. I would go from growling, masculine powerhouse of wind energy—invisible bolts shooting from my fingertips—to broken feminine fragility, dazed and drained: naively unaware of the earth magik that had just channeled through me. When the play was over and my catharsis obtained, I would skip away. I have reclaimed my connection with the wind and now, I am fully charged.

I need an old Verizon Phone

aprilrose — Mon, 18 Dec 2006 00:41:38 GMT

I lost my phone and I can't afford to buy a new one (because my contract isn't up I have to pay $150 for the standard phone new costumers usually get for free) So I'm asking everyone I know who has an old phone that says Verizon on it. If you do let me know :) We can work something out.

summer song

aprilrose — Wed, 13 Dec 2006 03:21:32 GMT

I listened to a song that I hadn't heard for a few months. It was one of my favorites this summer. It took me back to the feel/taste/smell of this past summer................ When all I had to worry about was packing for Burning Man and Making it to Rebbeca's in time for So You Think You Can Dance Wow, I wonder if I'll ever feel that carefree agian. AHHH ---I just got so high off those memories :)

I am a tasty cake, spoiled by a fly

aprilrose — Fri, 08 Dec 2006 00:31:12 GMT

Today during her office hours, my Linguistics TA, a young progressive Turkish woman, told me that I need to remove my body hair or no one will want me. Although this comment was uninvited and completely unrelated to my Ling paper. I welcomed the discussion because I rarely get to hear other people’s honest opinion about my hair and she was being civil. I asked her “You don’t think it balances out? I am young, smart, beautiful, and funny. Some girls are stupid, shallow, and unattractive. So I have hair—you don’t think people would prefer me to them?” Her response: “No.” Her analogy: It’s like having a beautiful looking piece of cake that tastes really yummy but then a fly comes and lands on it. You would rather eat another piece of cake that doesn’t taste or look as good because it doesn’t have something disgusting plopped on top of it. She explained that beauty is defined by a person’s culture and that I should just follow the social standard. I shouldn’t blame men for wanting the standard because it is just what they have been taught and what they expect. I listened to her view and honestly considered it but ultimately decided that I disagree. I don’t want a man who expects me to fit into the social definition of a woman. I want someone who is attracted to me for my vivacious personality, my funny quirks, my desire to love and to live fully, and yes for my beauty---but the beauty that is mine, not the one he thinks I should have. And I in-turn am consciously trying to broaden my definition of what makes a man. Because they have just as many social pressures: to be brave, muscular, unemotional, to have all the answers and a full head of hair. I too have been ingrained with the cultural definition of manhood, which I am trying to destroy and replace with the qualities that I value. It is a mutual journey in acceptance and in trying to see what really matters As for the men: If they don’t want me I’m sure some women might :) And for the cake: I would definitely NOT settle for an inferior slice, I would just pick off the fucking fly…it’s a fly, whatev. As for the TA: Eat me ;)

My Dorm

aprilrose — Thu, 23 Nov 2006 00:26:50 GMT

I filmed a little diddy of my dorm room (I think I was channelling Luna) and thought I would share it in case some of you were curious about my new abode :) My desk is the first one, and my bed is the top bunk w/ the black comforter. I love you guys! here it is! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOAnfnfKFtU

Cutting Corners

aprilrose — Mon, 20 Nov 2006 05:20:15 GMT

People walk across the grassy corners between paved walkways propelled by some internal rebellion against whatever architect dared to determine the direction of their passage. They don’t realize that this simple defiance, amplified by many, does nothing more than degrade the beauty of the green and that there is a much larger rebellion to participate in; one that is not based on vandalizing indolence and cutting corners. The rebellion is against ignorance, over-consumption, and defacing of the natural. There must be a certain amount of follow the leader: of walking in line and doing the right thing in hopes that those behind you will follow your example. When we all start to print double-sided documents, start carrying around nalgenes, and stop trampling the hillside we send out compassionate energies that will return. Little abuses of the earth become add up with the incommensurable amount of people it now supports: as do little extra efforts in taking the longer path.

Habitual Tendencies

aprilrose — Tue, 19 Sep 2006 22:53:50 GMT

Category: Blogging After surfing people's myspace blogs I realized that it is really interesting to read about peoples lives from their perspective. The personal ones are much more interesting than the random controlled and unvulnerable ones I have been posting. Ofcourse I know the difference between my journal and the internet so I won't be exposing myself too much on this thing but I am going to let you people get to know me a little better. (Or that is the plan as of right now -I'm impulsive so who knows if it will continue). My mom took photos of me for my new business card today. It was grueling. I respect models. I hate the process and I usually hate the result. But whatev I'm much better at it now cuz I realize I just have to get over it. My red postcard (which many of you have, or did at one time) is a totally different person than who I am right now so I feel like it's false advertising or something. So I'm in the process of making one that is truer to who I am. Make-up is a funny mask. I usually don't wear it unless I'm perfoming (well except for mascara because I'm totally vain about my eyelashes which is weird because I also compulsively pull them out with my fingers. Maybe compulsive is a strong word but ...eh maybe it's true.) I do it to my eyebrows too. Ralph tells me it's a disorder. It's called trichotilomania or something that sounds a lot like that. But I don't think it's all that in my case because it's not out of stress or obsession -just the love for a temporary pain and the satisfaction of pulling out the ones that aren't rooted firmly enough to survive my mad plucking. Ok so I say that like it's normal but it's the same reason I like peircings. I love the process. Getting so high on adrenaline right before that the pain feels distant. After care is a bitch though. Anyway make-up is a funny mask. I think when it comes down to it make-up doesn't DO anything. Just because you look a little prettier doesn't make you anything more. Physical apprearance only matters for about the first five minutes you know someone. But I understand innocent vanity because I have some too. I think I keep a lot of it in my hair. I pride myslelf on my big mane which is why I want to one day shave my head. I will do it. Years from now. I'm gonna go Eryka Badu on you guys. HUH...."you guys" -a fundamental defect in the English language. Can we get a gender inclusive 2nd person plural!? I've done a pretty good job of training myself to say you girls instead. The next thing I will train myself to say is "Oh My Goddess" instead of oh my god. But I think I'll let myself throw in a few Hellas every once in a while cuz I have to represent my NorCal generation. We are infectious. Ooooh but the "likes" - they've GOT to go. While I'm picking on my nervous habits and loaded word choices (see I have a chronic obsession with self improvement) I wonder if I can stop my other annoying habit........the snort. You know what I'm talking about people! When you hear a gnarly pig snort resinate from my nostrils at regular intervals. If you've known me for a long time you know I've significnatly decreased the frequency of said snorts BUT they have not died. My defense is I have postnasal drip. Still it's annoying and maybe kinda gross -but indearing??? no? Alright I'll try my best.

Pastafarian

aprilrose — Mon, 18 Sep 2006 18:32:06 GMT

I edited my profile (notice, or if you love me -don't notice, the change of location). Why was one of the religion choices "Pastafarian"? HAHA funny typos make me happy.

Today is the day I lost my Journal

aprilrose — Wed, 09 Aug 2006 06:25:42 GMT

I'm hoping cosmic forces will bring it back. I adore my jewelry ensemble today. I just keep looking at my hands and wrists and smiling. A lot of the peices are sentimental to me plus they are just really fucking rad looking,..and feeling. I love the feel of my wrist cuffed in hard cold metal and the rotten look of old world silver. On my left wrist is the metal cuff my sister bought for me at Twisted for my birthday after I picked it up and said, "This is what I want." An anecdote that offers a farcical yet typical example of our Aries-Cancer interaction. It has the illusion of about 60 tarnished bangles which are really halfmoons once connected by metal rods. I counted the number of ribs and proved that my calculus teacher had estimated it exactly. The rods have been replaced by two fragments of wire hanger turned in on the ends. I refused to retire the bracelet after the rods fell out and I'm all about do-it-yourself projects. Clanking around below the cuff is the jumbo bangle I got in Portland at Tribal Quest. It is a stunning peice that Colleena brought back from India. I helped support her dance school in India by shelling out some of the few prized dollars I had left after feeding myself that week. I feel really inspred by Indian style right now, thanks to the beautiful Colleena and our spunky cheshire cat, Sam, from BoomBoom Bollywood (who's meticulously groomed hair also inspired me to work on my dreads...thanks Sam). On my right forearm is a tiger-eye cuff I got from "Zanzibar"-- my favorite jewelry store in Sacramento which I recently learned pales and withers in comparison to Portland's "The Gold Door." (I slap myself on the wrist for using quotes here but it's easier than figuring out how to italisize in this text box I'm writing in.) Below the cuff, on my right wrist, are two thin silver bangles, one of which has embossed detail along the perimiter. I found that one on the floor in my English class a few days before I graduated high school. The second bangle was given to my mother when she was a teenager and since we share our first initial the monogrammed charm that dangles off of it could have been engraved for me. Decorating my fingers are the rings that I always wear. On my left ring finger, the one usually bestowed with a wedding band or a shackle of the wearer 's virginity, sits my class ring. I don't buy into the tale that it is bad luck to not save that finger, nor do I buy into the functionality of marriage so even if it were bad luck I don't care. On the next finger is my first Hot Pot style ring in that it's big, silver, and malachite. Its setting is high like a faux poison ring and dragonflies are engraved into the sides. On the inside of the ring, touching my skin, is an embossed image of a pasely dove encircled in mehndi patterns. I've chipped the malachite stone a few times and to my pleasant surprise exposed a sublayer of druisie-esque glitter. Slid on my first finger is the blown glass ring I picked up at the Thursday Night Market in Chico with Amy before a gig at a local bar with Origin. It is a trippy bubbly green orb that has yet to shatter. It reminds me of a pipe and those lip gloss rings that were like the coolest prize in the 25 cent machine. On my right first finger is a simple silver band I found in my suitcase while unpacking after my last trip. It's Carrie's I think. I love the way it feels on my hand and I dont want to give it back. But I don't want that kind of karma looming over me and I have been assimilated to follow "the golden rule" so I will part ways with it on Thursday when I see her in dance class. Until then I'll charge it up with some April Rose love for her. My middle finger is bare, in an attempt to avoid symmetry yet maintain balance. Some days I alternate different rings on this finger-- Ones that I like but not enough to designate them a spot. Another Zanzibar find is on my right ring finger, the much less holy ring finger. It is a square peice of amber in a classy setting. It has little flecks of memories suspended inside it and a crack that runs along the center. I'm sure such a blemish would be an imperfection in a jewelers perception but I feel it compliments the chips and scratches it has earned from it's long hard life on my write hand. Today, as much as I love the aesthetic and heavy solid feel of my jewelry, I love the sound of the ensemble. It clanks and it reminds me of UNMATA.

UCLA

aprilrose — Thu, 13 Jul 2006 18:56:56 GMT

It's official. I am an undergrad student at the University of California at Los Angeles. In the fall I'll be taking English Composition, Linguistics Intro to the Study of Language, and The Global Environment (a class about the effects of the human population on the environment). I just got back from orientation and I'm very excited now! The campus is insanely beautiful- amazing architecture and foliage and old wise trees.

Music Induced Memories

aprilrose — Wed, 03 May 2006 21:29:08 GMT

The new Tool album is amazing, including the hologramic Alex Grey art and photos. Too bad it reminds me of my ex, my "first love" and all that gushy stuff. I havn't talked to him for 2 months and lately I can't get him out of my dreams, I think it's time to toss out my dreamcatcher. ...because it clearly is not filtering out the right ones.

My Birthday!

aprilrose — Mon, 10 Apr 2006 22:29:14 GMT

I turned 18 years old yesterday. Wow...an adult...kind of. I had a blast with my friends and family and I want to say thankyou to everyone who came to celebrate. I really felt the love and I hope you did too. In an hour I'm leaving for part 2 of my college tour: UCLA and UCSB. UCSC was my first visit and I absolutley loved it so I hope these next two measure up. :) This whole time in my life is crazy, I'll never forget it.

Rain Rain...

aprilrose — Tue, 04 Apr 2006 21:24:41 GMT

...go away! Come again another day. I know this isn't very earth-loving of me but I don't like rainy days. I feel trapped inside, cold, and unmotivated.

Genetically Modified Organisms

aprilrose — Thu, 16 Mar 2006 23:18:11 GMT

I'm having an internal conflict about the use of GMO's. Is it wrong to crossbreed apples to make an aray of colors and flavors by traditional methods (OUT of the lab)? I say no...but is it wrong to dissect a single gene or protein from one organism and implant it in another? People protest when a flounder fish protein is implanted into a strawberry to prevent frostbite (only a proposed idea) . But where does one draw the line? I appreciate biological advances and am fascinated with our capability to alter organisms. I also realize that GM food has been tested for over thirty years and that crossbreeding has been a major part of our history (form pigeons and dogs to flowers and potatoes). It seems that in most cases the genetic modification is an attempt at good (to save Hawaiin papayas from ringspot virus, to make rice more nutritous at an attempt to end famine). But in this attempt we are not only concerning humans. The use of genetically modified corn depletes the population of monarchs that feed on nearby milkweed plants and who knows what ripple effect that has. It is mind boggling to know that we can cross two different species but it is also mind boggling to think that the gene implanted is just a small pattern of codons....there are mutations in our DNA by nature's means that can have an even more powerful effect. Does one codon change the essence of an organism? If a fish-strawberry is wrong than is a seedless grape (a result of a natural mutation) wrong aswell? I am, however, against the lack of information we have been given about it. Do you know that you have been eating GM food for over 5 years and were never told at its onset? I am also against that we are not tracking where the GM ingredients are going. Did you know that GM corn is not separated from regular corn and that GM Corn which was NOT approved for human consumption was found in Taco bell taco shells and all the way in the UK? If we are not labeling it than how can we account for any medical affects it has on people. If we are not labeling it than how can we avoid possible allergens that may have been implanted into a food we are not allergic to? The advocates of GMOs say there have been no adverse affects on people as a result of GM food. But is that the case?? Maybe NOT: A lack of evidence does not equal a lack of harm. Anyway, I don't feel informed enough to make a valid conclusion but I feel I can not turn a blind eye to it. So at this point I feel conflicted, disturbed, cheated, fascinated ...

Future Perfect

aprilrose — Tue, 14 Mar 2006 22:19:31 GMT

I have a secret....but I'm not telling until I have a few more secrets. Better to reveal them all at once, me thinks. They are so exciting a very scary.

We are all Alone

aprilrose — Thu, 02 Mar 2006 21:24:27 GMT

"...No, it is impossible; It is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence --that which makes its truth, its meaning --its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream --alone...." Oh Joseph Conrad, how right you are. Funny how true this is yet it does not depress me. Our experiences, our lives, are our own.