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Color.

C o l o r . There's a freedom about it.  " Room color psychology is an integral part of your daily life, affecting your moods and energy levels with just the room color you choose for your walls. The colors of the rooms in your home also serve as a direct reflection of your personality. The people who live in a home make it beautiful by choosing colors that reflect their preferences and personalities. Color has the power to change the shape and size of furnishings, as well as the shape and size of the room itself." By Lena Borrelli And color isn't just something we add to our home, it's an  essential  element that we add to our life once we break the barriers of everything being black and white . We all possess within ourselves our special vibrance and the more we discover our own gifts and survival skills, the more colorful we become. I'm using color as a code word for free. Freedom. Notice when you paint a wall or a canvas or a piece of furniture, there
Recent posts

Burn

Them: Don’t burn bridges.   Me: I’ll blow a muthafuckin bridge up. And the flames will light the way... I deal with more let downs than I can count on one hundred and fifty hands. Lifetimes of let downs - as a creative, as a dreamer. As person. And yes, I’ve become more and more vocal because of it. And that’s pretty damn vocal considering I was born vocal. But, because I was silenced as a child (told to “shut the fuck up” every time I used my voice to speak my mind) my voice as a woman, is well, really loud. This doesn’t mean I’m screaming at everyone. It just means I’m not afraid to be myself and speak my mind. I’ll say the things most people will only think to themselves and I have no shame. For anyone who thinks I’m inferior to them be it personal or in my career fields (also personal), my torch is lit. I am important. I am inferior to no one. And neither are you. And yes, this spawns from a recent let down.  Though, the smoke has cleared. 💅🏽 And the funny thing is, it’s be

my own hero

I just realized I've been away for over a year, and for nearly a year I've been back in Los Angeles...living and working harder than I've ever worked in my wildest days. I wrote a tv show about my life ... and some big things are happening right now.  I just wanted to share something very personal... about myself. Per usual, but this time I'm taking you and myself back to where it all began - to the day I died so that the hero in me...  could be conceived .  I went to 17 schools as a kid, and that’s not counting community college. I failed the first grade because I was unable to focus past the gnarly curveballs that life had already started throwing at me. I sat alone at the lunch table in 5th grade every single day while resisting a strong urge to cry just long enough to get home, where I could sob in the privacy of my own bedroom, where I spent most of my time writing to escape the loneliness that was my actual life. In 9th grade, I sat outside with a p

a wonderful kind of nothing

This is a meme I came across recently, which for a brief moment flung me into a state of total euphoric peace, which feels a lot like... nothing actually, even after being "flung", and I have to be flung into peace. No joke. Could partially be the Gemini in me, but I need more than a gentle push or a light shove, or a mediation video, or a great chill your tits book or a meme. I need fulfillment. Peace is the end goal and as screwy as that might sound (in my own head) it sounds more honest than claiming it to be any other way - to be content, settled. I'm not. I never have been. I wouldn't be an artist if I was. But, I feel like we're taught or we're wired to think we have to be all these things and we have to do it with a sense of urgency and obligation. On the daily too, especially when things get hard. Calm down. Someone says to me. Relax. No. I'd rather write. Or paint... create something, anything. Art needs chaos, not a nap. Not contentment. I w

Mother Nature

I just realized I've been away for several months. I'm producing a short film here in Denver, so I've been a bit distracted but in the most wonderful way. But, today I felt the urge to hop on here and say something. I vicariously live through a character in a series I'm writing right now. Her name is Jade and she's me. She's who I used to be and who I want to be. The only difference, she's won an Academy Award and I have not. So, you can only imagine how much I admire Jade. ;) Any who. A lot of thoughts and chatter stir my mental soup these days, especially as a screenwriter. Everything I hear, everything I say... it can all be used differently. I can use it as great dialogue.  Fearlessly . The conversations I have with myself and with other people are what inspire me the most and this is the beauty of character writing. It's truly a wonderful exercise for releasing -  to vent through someone else, someone you invented, someone you didn't invent ra

who you are

Change is real but it doesn't have to mean you change who you are. It means you change.. the way you are . And the way you are is the way you've become . What's the difference? There's a big difference. Who you are is who you were born to be. It's your animus - your dispositions and intentions. It's your spirit-self. The one that says:  hey, be an artist! Or hey, go save lives in the Middle East!   Or hey go do some scary shit that will make your journey so breath taking you won't know where you began. And all that changes with time because change is real and being a glorified soul whether you paint or save lives can be a real struggle, and a lot of people don't survive the fray of being duty bound in constant creation mode. Because to be a prodigy is to be a survivor of your own fear and doubts and those inflicted. Ergo, we adjust our perspectives thus changing our dispositions and intentions - our views. I don't want to save the world, we

monster mind

I called you a monster this morning and I meant it. So go home monster because you're in my head. You're in my words. You're in my prayers. My pillow turns to stone when you don't leave me alone. Today I felt like something divine joined me in my office as I gave myself some down time to reflect. I was looking at the walls pretending the walls were listening. Maybe they do, listen. If only the walls could talk. The decorative fixtures made my eyes move waywardly. The knick knacks, the green and yellow galore. It makes me smile. Then... a transcendent moment of observing with my eyes closed took presence as though it was standing between me and those decorative walls. It felt like an angel blew her breath across my arms. Goosebumps, but for just a brief moment. Then my head spins and the spinning is loud like a rusty old marry-go-round on a grassy dune, but the grass needs watering. She spins with the wind, not with a child because she's old and won't be both