*non dream* "sometimes you regret not doing something"

Things that I regret itch me on the inside That soft under side of the flesh aches from a perpetual bother Things said and actions passed Just little nuances – knats in my face The worst part might be the fact that I’m the one to notice An unnecessary addition, just a little too far I push the subject over the edge and try desperately to pull it back up But that catch is on a rope too long to see and my arms give out before it’s even worth it I should just drop it, try again later But if I knew what I was doing I wouldn’t be here writing Somehow if I write, the mental bother ceases That scratching on the inside becomes the scratching of this pen I haven’t written in a while. Not like this, not with a mean But something struck an old chord and I’ve picked it up again Just like dancing without eyes, I practice lyric without judgment It’s inevitable that my mind will wander It grows on fantasies and I don’t care to cut them down It may be harmful but it keeps me occupied Someday I’ll realize what I never knew and I’ll receive what I did not ask for

*non dream* babies in mom's shoes

(The Chop House) These two girls, they came in and they sat on table 31 - The girl with the blond hair, green dress, the smooth poof of hair on the top of the head, and perfect golden highlights; The girl with the brown hair lining her face, just fitting into her dress, heavy brown eye shadow - a sexy look she found in a magazine.

Finding their feet on the bar stool, their heels slope around the rim. They look comfortable to feel all eyes on them. They don’t touch the bread. (Save room for all the courses.) Talking, she moves her hands and tilts her head. She just graduated high school, now imitating the adults. ‘They wear this, but I‘m younger so this will be mine.’ ‘They talk like this but what about that voice inflection, was the emphasis on the – or the - ?’

These men gobble them up. Are they only attractive because they’ve painted themselves appropriate? Brunette does most of the talking. I can see her trying not to eat. (Always leave leftovers; that’s what the sexy women do.)

The blond slowly consumes. “Perhaps she’s only slacking because she’s talking. But I don’t want to be the fat one. I’m the blond one.”

Skin so soft, no sign of age. I thought they were 17 or 18. Not 22. I still have my doubts. Two girls are playing dress up, baby soft and naive to this world. But this is the crowd in which they want to belong, so they’ll keep on talking – a sure sign they’ve done this before. Along with the leftovers, like ‘I eat this well all the time.’

Old man whitey will suck up the conversation. Does he actually hope to accomplish something or is their company, the touch of her hand, the gaze of her eye, this moment he can call his - is that enough? She graces him hers because ‘Look how sweet, he thinks he can get some.’ No, that’s not it at all. ‘Oh, what a sweet man, I’ll entertain him – my duty as a beautiful girl.’

Then there were the men who shared their whiskey. It goes great with dessert. But they coughed and giggled at their embarrassment. And then the men commented to Steve - behind her back in a pow wow of sorts. Could have taken them. “Sleeping on the job,” is how they phrased it. On the job eh? My skin crawls as I imagine him cheating on his wife, fantasizing about girls half his age. He has two boys that he adores. An example. He needs to be an example.

I’m imagining fitting into their roles at school (the girls’). Among their friends and their boyfriends do they do all that’s expected of them? I hope not, but it’s the only way they can survive. Anything else and they wouldn’t know what to do. It’s not like they can be themselves. Don’t even know what that would mean.

As they leave, she looks at me twice to see if I look at her. She’ll try to read my thoughts but she’ll only think what she wants. Secretly, she wants me to approve. Why? Because I know something she doesn’t. She can see it in my confidence.

*non dream* Holiday smARTshow 2008

My first public showing at the Flat Iron Arts Building in Wicker Park These won't be the official photos or documentation but they'll suffice until I get better ones. I am now in the process of securing and designing a website specifically for the preview and sales of my work.

This series stemmed from a much needed liberation of color. I was practicing formal training of representational imagery. I painted tentatively and was not truly excited about my work. Through the help and encouragement of my professor this semester I have found a new obsession with color and a desire to effect people in positive ways with their energy and vibrancy.

It's been interesting taking a Positive Psychology course along side my this painting studio this semester. This too has become a new passion and I wish to spread my knowledge by example and stimuli so that others may learn to enjoy life at every level of poverty, tragedy, or luxury.

Continuing with this series I will be studying more color theory and experimenting with different effects of color and paint use. Ultimately I want people to become absorbed in these works, even if just for a brief moment shutting everything else out, only seeing the mesmerizing colors before them. That's what it's become - painting color; painting positive energy.

When the official photos are posted I will include more detailed information concerning sizing and pricing. Please contact me via email for commissions: akindl@saic.edu

paper in the bathtub

titles for this show (uncensored)

"on its head the world tipped over silk sheets thinner than paper (spilling slipping gliding) over this naked body"

"hang yellow curtains to watch them leak sunshine when this lonely feeling grows too cold"

just suck it up don't rip it open

you're gonna fucking rip it open

staring straight; a mesmerized face

don't let go don't sit down don't miss this or be found

staring straight; a mesmerized face

don't give up or let down you're here now on this ground

(don't finish. they're never finished.)

“Therefore our whole consciousness is hardly anything more than the medium through which the perceived object appears in the world as representation.”

but then i decided that i didn't want ya'll to think too hard.

*non dream* initial pleasure

The first bite is delectable. The cake is firm and moist, dense with carrots and walnuts, nutmeg and cinnamon. My fork gently pierces the cream-cheese frosting before slicing through the deep orange sponge beneath. I pull the fork away to lift the sliver to my now salivating mouth and place the treat on my tongue. Before chewing I push the sweetness to the roof of my mouth and savor its effect on my taste buds. Now the desire is too strong so I chew it in order to dissolve all the flavor and disperse it evenly. I swallow slowly.

The next bite is already anticipated, but totally predictable. The texture and flavor is the same, no longer a delightful surprise. I realize that every bite proceeding the first diminishes the quality of this dessert. I put the fork down and stare. I want to eat this because it's in front of me, but the motion will be automatic. I no longer will savor the taste, but rather I'll expect it, repeat it, degrade it, and kill it.

One piece of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, made by my mother.

Two home-made chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, also from my mother.

Three home-made regular chocolate chip cookies shipped from Oregon, courtesy of Hannah's family.

Quarter cup vanilla ice cream with chocolate and caramel syrup.

One hand-full chocolate chips.

One cup vanilla soy milk.

Say it to yourself, "Just don't."

Death's Goodbye (Will be elaborated)

Death just becomes this casual gesture

Leaving without saying goodbye

Yes, "Death just becomes this cruel gesture - like a nod and no goodbye"