01. Cover Artist
02. Theme
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
Nine In Nails:
01. Writer
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Found
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Nine Inch Nails:
La Mer
04. WRITING
–
the storyboard (to you) may sound boring,
but to her, it is her story,
but to her, it is history,
the weeping boards cry out,
ignoring,
brought up on the dolly,
from dusted alley,
up the steps,
and down the stairwell,
those disagreeable summer mornings.
half cement, half wooden flooring.
both just as cold on her feet.
she was mourning,
when that wooden prick found it's way into her sole,
in the morning,
after a night of wishing please just go to sleep,
it was outside her control.
something changed.
the weeping boards no longer cry out.
no hiss,
no creak,
no talking back,
no one around.
the storyboard (to her) still made sound,
and to this day, it’s obnoxious and rages loud.
but do floorboards creak,
when you are on the ground,
when no one hears but you,
just waiting to be found?
01. Cover Artist
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Found
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Pedro the Lion:
Making the Most of It
01. Writer
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Work
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Pigface:
Suck
04. WRITING
–
This blanket is terrible / who the fuck are you
When I was a kid I had this idea that I wanted to create a blanket. I couldn’t knit or crochet. I was ok at macramé; a sort of step-up from creating friendship bracelets. But that experience wasn’t really relevant. What I could do was that over/under/over/under sewing thing.
I remember spending hours picking out the fabric I’d use. Fucking JoAnns. Bane of so many hours of my existence. Anything that requires selection based on aesthetic consideration is undoubtably a thorough endeavor for me. I wanted a solid color for one side of the blanket, and a pattern or something for the other.
And then there was the middle shit. The stuff that is supposed to keep you warm. I had no clue. I picked an option that seemed pretty average; given I really had no way to evaluate it.
I already had a needle.
I just needed that perfect shade of nasty-ass-mauve thread to create some contrast. Something dark enough to hold its own on soft peach solid fabric on the one side; and the busier patterned side on the other.
Cool.
Are you sure this is what you want?
Yes mom.
Ok. Let’s go check-out.
I was exhausted. Decision fatigue for shit that doesn’t actually matter. But somehow profoundly matters.
Wanting to be productive—even though I was not at all feeling it—I started constructing this blanket, sans instructions or a real plan.
Fuck it.
You got this.
How hard is it to make a blanket?
It’s like making a goddamn grilled cheese sandwich.
--——---solid fabric——-—-
.().().inside-warm-shit.().().
-——patterned fabric——-
The three pieces were already cut to their correct sizes by “the slicer” (a name I gave the employee, and not the device that cut it).
Six foot by six foot.
Turns out it’s a lot more complex than my grilled cheese sandwich analogy. But I got the job done. I finished the blanket.
Literally three stacked pieces, with a perimeter of stitching to hopefully keep it all together.
That was a shit-ton of work. Like holy hell. For a piece of shit, this is neither comfy nor warm, blanket.
And here’s the kicker.
That patterned side. It had all the colors I needed. A touch of mauve, a bit of peach, lots of robin egg blue. And the illustration style of the person depicted in it, a seemingly older lady with droopy boobs and a long-wide nose, was just scratchy enough. I thought it was cool, because it illustrated this lady in different environments. At a typewriter. Reading a book. Cleaning house-shit. Telling at a bank. Cooking with a chef hat.
I had completely neglected to see that in this handwritten script, every eight inches or so were the words “I’m a workaholic.”
I’M A WORKAHOLIC?!?!
What the fuck? Really. How did I miss that? Why did I choose this? Why didn’t I notice that stupid fucking saying until AFTER I spent two and a half hours over/under/over/under poking my finger and hating every moment of it.
What a big fucking realization. It’s like the world was trying to tell me something. It smacked me in my goddamn face.
This was the first time I came face-to-face with the idea of what a workaholic is. I asked myself, are you a workaholic?
I’m a workaholic.
I let out a big sigh, left the blanket on the living room floor, hoped it would somehow magically be gone in the morning, and went to bed. Even now, recalling this event and thinking about that blanket makes me so anxious. The world, perhaps, was trying to tell me something. And I got the picture, well really, I didn’t; but I became aware of the picture.
It takes work to detach yourself from the notion of my production value = my value.
I don’t want to be a workaholic. I don’t want to be a workaholic. I don’t want to be a workaholic. I don’t want to be a workaholic. Fucking listen to yourself. I don’t want to be a workaholic. I don’t want to be a workaholic. I don’t want to be a workaholic. Goddamn it. I don’t want to be a workaholic. I don’t want to be a workaholic. I don’t want to be a workaholic. I don’t want to be a workaholic. I don’t want to be a workaholic. Aw man. FUCK that blanket.
01. Writer
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Resentment
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Jojo Mayer & Nerve:
To Listen is to Love
04. WRITING
–
Bitter indignation. Battery acid smeared on our collective tongues. Tongues (we are told) we must keep behind our masks.
Be better. We have to be better.
Be: the state of being, state of existence; to be.
Better: the state of improvement, progress.
Strive; individually, collectively.
No one (or society) is perfect.
There is room for improvement, progress.
ignorance + anger
What creates bad actions? ignorance + anger.
What creates ignorance and anger? fear.
What creates fear? perception of possible loss.
What creates loss? attachment.
What creates attachment? thoughts.
We are intellectuals.
We assign meaning and value.
It’s beautiful.
It’s terrifying.
It’s unifying.
It’s dangerous.
Growing pains.
Evidence.
It will hurt.
It will continue to hurt.
It is supposed to hurt.
Our evolutionary predispositions no longer serve us.
biologically.
emotionally.
intellectually.
Fortunately/Unfortunately we aren't going to die from the perpetuating injustices that plague the world. We need personal proactivity; intention, diligence, persistence.
Ask more of yourself.
Demand more of yourself.
Your. Self.
Change now comes from choice.
You get to decide.
This is how we will evolve.
Our protest is a symbol; it is not enough.
Demand more of Your. Self.
Empathy is the instrument.
We are connected.
I have a choice.
Set down the bitter indignation.
Evolve.
Be better.
01. Writer
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Distant
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Explosions In The Sky:
It’s Natural to Be Afraid
04. WRITING
–
Understand who you are.
Decide what you want.
Do what needs to be done.
Be the person you want to be.
You’re afraid; do it anyways.
You’ve made a decision; a commitment.
Distant, distance.
Over 26 weeks out, over 26 miles ahead.
A long journey.
Practice is mandatory.
Action over mood.
Don’t react how you feel you need to;
react how you would like to.
Be the person you want to be.
You are several positions away from your physical body.
There is value in training the mind.
You start talking to yourself.
Stop it.
You have a choice.
When you say you are going to do something; do it.
Sacrifice whatever it takes to make sure that the one thing you promise yourself, actually happens.
Build evidence of your capability. capacity. consistency. confidence.
You are in control.
Stick to your word.
It’s never perfect.
You were destined to fail.
Life is about screwing you up.
You will get crushed, and when you chose to quit, that’s on you.
Be aware.
Be grateful.
Be grateful that you are aware that in this moment you have a choice.
Keep moving forward.
Be the person you want to be.
It will be uncomfortable.
Impossible.
Stay the course.
It will hurt.
Feel it. Embrace it. Fall in love.
The taste of sacrifice like metal on your tongue.
Evidence of dedication to your word.
Lean into the pain.
It will be over soon.
It will be over too soon.
55,000 steps.
It’s not easy; it wasn’t built that way.
But that’s why you decided to do it.
You were afraid; you did it anyways.
Follow your dreams.
Man, fuck that.
Find your fears.
Hunt them down.
Don’t hide from them;
don’t let them hide from you.
Expose them; expose yourself.
Identity is not fixed.
Story not permanent (nor pertinent).
You get to chose who you are.
You grow, you change, when you train;
when you stretch yourself.
A glorious victory.
I know who I want to be.
I am who I want to be.
Distance, distant.
You’ve crossed the finish line.
Remember what you’ve accomplished.
How far you’ve come.
How far you are willing to go.
Let those markers of success ring-the-fuck-out.
Let the stories in accordance with the character you want to be resonate the most loud.
01. Cover Artist
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Distant
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Jimmy Eat World:
Ten
01. Writer
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Almost
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Caspian:
Rioseco
04. WRITING
–
You’ve been here before.
There are ambitions, good intentions towards making headway. You know exactly what you ought to do. But there sits the filing cabinet fitted with all the data-points you’ve painstakingly searched-out and collected, that are narrative shaping. And before you even realized it, you’ve written your own personal history book titled ‘Successful Proof of Unsuccessful Attempt’. No matter how well intentioned you are about actually doing the thing(s) you intend to, the not-doing has already set. Fixed. Immovable. Permanent. There is no way to change direction. And you can’t catch a breather or break.
A bedroom is as suitable an environment versus any other. It’s the start/end of a day. And it’s so easy to look up at the ceiling; and to think about all of the things that you aren’t doing. And to think about all of the things that can distract you from thinking about, thinking-about-all-of-the-things-that-you-aren’t-doing.
Like the sadness (and honesty) in rain, it can be unbearable. Unavoidable. Even when (especially when) it hurts; the only option is to try, again.
01. Writer
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Elevation
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Muse:
The 2nd Law: Isolated System
04. WRITING
–
In an isolated system, entropy can only increase.
I’ve always felt different, indescribably different. Different felt shameful. Different felt unworthy. Different felt like no one could ever understand me; and certainly not to the depth that I intuitively could understand them. So I hid. I thought that I was fostering connection through providing utility for others. In desperation, I taught myself how to bend who I was in attempt to belong. If I could just provide more utility, or find a way to fit in; just maybe I would get the connection I was searching for.
It turns out that my strategy was a poor one. It didn’t foster connection; it conditioned me to be an inauthentic doormat, and it amplified my feelings of shame, unworthiness and aloneness. I lost who I was; I lost my voice.
When it became unbearable, I really had two options:
1. Figure out a way that I could exist in this world (while managing the crushing pain of loneliness), or
2. Figure out a way to die.
There wasn’t some grand pivotal moment or turning-point of clarity; however, because I asked myself the above question (and other questions like it) I started to turn towards introspection. I found joy in curiosity and discovery. I started diving into philosophy & theory (perspective); art & music (creation); writing & journaling (expression); and dance & sport (release). I dedicated energy towards self-growth. I made a promise to never stop improving.
I have a current (work-in-progress) conclusion: To alleviate the pain of loneliness, I have to be willing to experience the potential pain of being vulnerable. To be both unafraid of, and accepting of pain. To be myself, to speak my truth.
It seems that people find it easy to connect with me. A lifetime of feeling disconnected has acutely taught me that I never want someone else to feel the same pain from loneliness the way I do. I try to advance the conditions requisite to allow someone to be vulnerable; to be seen, heard and valued for all their messy raw awesomeness.
It’s in the realness that we can find genuine connection.
It’s in the connection that we can find order–together–and become whole again.
01. Cover Artist
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Junk
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Pedro The Lion:
Yellow Bike
01. Writer
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Balance
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Brandi Carlile:
The Story
04. WRITING
–
Some friends and I do this thing called Question of the Day (QoTD). We take turns being the question’er, and everyone always answers. A good question, in QoTD, is defined by how profound the insights are in our answers.
QoTD: Other than friends/family what do you miss most about your hometown?
… (easy question, not very deep, should be able to nail this in a sentence or two) …
… (trying to answer in spin class) …
… (trying to answer on walk home) …
… (trying to answer as I put the dishes away) …
… (I don’t miss anything from my hometown) …
… (I really don’t miss a goddamn thing from that place) …
Well, miss… no.
I miss absolutely nothing.
But, value… maybe.
Artifacts.
The train tracks... where we walked and solved math problems… adoration.
The coffee shop... where we discovered our music… infatuation.
The basketball courts where 3-on-3 in the sun and all the fucking cursing coalesced… thrill.
The slope under the bridge… where we made-out… exhilaration.
The library… where we developed our love for research and books… curiosity.
The lunch table… where we sat quietly watching each other’s back… empathy.
The park… where we would draw in our sketchbooks… acceptance.
…
The desk… where the paper with the red ink resided… disappointment.
The swimming pool… where they pointed and laughed… humiliation.
The phone… which received the call saying Cindy had to be put to sleep… grief.
The journal… read out loud to all the classmates… rage.
The gravel… where I bit-it face-first… mortification.
The scale at the doctor's office... where the nurse chuckled... embarrassment.
The drive-way… where I sat still after the eight-hour car ride back from Ohio… loneliness.
… (sigh) …
Everyone's hometown has these artifacts. Right?
… (hometown) …
… (miss) …
I suppose I don’t miss my hometown one-bit.
It is not a place I want to go back to.
But those seemingly ambiguous artifacts;
I can not deny that they profoundly define me.
01. Writer
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Cells
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Chon:
Perfect Pillow
04. WRITING
–
Mind the partition.
Alone in a cavity bounded by space.
Converting your energy into my electricity.
Autonomous and self-replicating.
A quiet unfilled rectangle in a messy spreadsheet.
I own a section of our geography,
where atmosphere behaves as one.
A defined existence.
01. Writer
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Disappear
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Half Moon Run:
Need It
04. WRITING
–
I promise to be provocative
Oxygen deprived, yet cognitive
Touch the neck, react, retract
I'll show you how, I want it bad
Want to need it, need to feel it
If we stop to think, don’t let it change the demeanor
I want to come, to press into
Fall through sheets, get lost in you
If we go deeper, we can disappear
Devour the goods, be black marketeers
01. Writer
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Mathematics
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Mason Proper:
Point A to Point B
04. WRITING
–
Love lost. Friendship lost. Sanity lost. Dignity lost.
How do I get here? …so quickly? … and so low?
T-minus 0 days: The Test
“Complete silence.” Stated right before the timer starts for the exam. I want nothing more than time to dissolve, so I can get-out-the-door. I have no intention to answer any of the math puzzles. And I really have no problem with a major-fucking-F that imminently will destroy my current straight-A quarter. My only focus regarding passing, is the passing of forty minutes, so I can hand in my blank paper and bolt.
T-minus 1 day: The Preparation
I should be preparing for the exam, but instead I’m preparing for an emotional punch to the already purple/blue face. I can’t free my mind from thinking of the two of them both being in class with me. How could this have happened? How did I lose both of my best friends in a matter of days? Why wasn’t there any warning? What type of a person am I to deserve the world treating me this way? How am I supposed to sit in the same room with them?
T-minus 2 days: The Ski Crash
I tried to out-do her, an expert skier, and my (day-old) ex-best friend. I edged up to witness the double-black-diamond with moguls, far beyond my capabilities; but it was imperative to demonstrate that I was as good as her. Seven seconds down the hill I knew I was in over my head, but there was no going back. I bit it. Hard. On the very first mogul. One of my skis popped off and I did a forward flip. Bruised, but nothing broken, and a slice of skin cut open on my cheek by my eye from the ice scrapping against my face. She was there to see it all, as she flew past me and looked back, smirked, but didn’t stop.
T-minus 3 days: The Kiss
I caught my best friend, and my (day-old) ex-boyfriend french kissing during gym class. I walked over to him, and slapped him as hard as I could in the face. She laughed. He didn’t see it coming. He looked sad and surprised wrapped together. The slap made a terribly beautiful and satisfying piercing noise. I proceeded to the leg lift machine and lifted the heaviest I had ever tried. A group of students formed around me, “did you see how hard she smacked him?” “can you believe she is lifting that much weight?” “dude she is a beast.” I heard the comments, saw the group forming, but I was not reacting to any of it. I just needed to lift something heavy.
T-minus 4 days: The Heartbreak
The act was done in under 3 minutes. He broke up with me over the phone. We used to spend an hour-plus each night talking. Our conversations were intense, deep and meaningful; during the most intense, deep and meaningful transformative years of our lives. This was the shortest conversation in our history.
T-minus 5 days: The Lost Virginity
The act was done in under 3 minutes. We had been dating for over two years. We talked about how it was going to be special. I heard the clash from the front gate closing as he left, and it echoed inside my head. Was that it? That was it.
T-minus 30 days: New Years Eve
I bought several 9-inch nails from a local hardware store. I put the concert ticket under the nails, in the perfectly-sized, white rectangular box tied with a black ribbon. It is possibly the sweetest birthday gift I have given anyone in my entire life. Of course, I got her a ticket too. The three of us were the best of friends. Regardless of the outcome, it is still the best concert I have ever gone to. That night he and I made the commitment that we were ready to share ourselves with each other. A video of a deteriorating fox carcass in time-lapse counting backwards from one-hundred punctuated the moment. 100, 99, 98, 97, … Happy New Year.
(Back to…) T-minus 0 days: The Test
I know that I’m distracting the class with my sniffles; I really should just blow my nose. I’m weighing the odds between the annoyance of making minor, high-frequency, sucking-the-snot-back-in noises every 1.5 minutes versus the annoyance of getting up once to grab a tissue from the teacher’s front desk, and blowing the snot out in a giant (and disgusting) blow. I don’t like being the center of attention, and somehow several small annoyances seems less obtrusive than one big distraction. I was sick. These were not crying sniffles. Truly. But I was self-conscious that people might think otherwise.
My solidified ex-best friend gets up from her desk in fury. She rips out two tissues from the box at the front of the room. And then slams them onto my desk. “Blow your goddamn nose.”
I blew my nose, began to cry, picked up the pencil, and started the test.
Submission under the weight of indescribable pain. I am alone. I swore to myself, last time was the last time.
01. Writer
–
Michelle Lukezic
02. Theme
–
Commute
03. MUSIC INSPIRATION
–
Golden Retriever:
Sunsight
04. WRITING
–
Jump off the train five stops too early, to examine the city's arteries.
Leverage a sleepless night and the reparable dance of light.
The urban commuters; the visual cadence and polyrhythm coalesce.
This city feels so right.
Contrast shimmer on glass and stark-matte-soiled concrete.
Every character in perfect position, ready for the act.
The chaos neatly organized into rows.