Love is Hell.

She so purty

Brain maze. 

J

Some recent sketches- orifices.

j

I made dis. 

J

There’s this place in the human head that acts like a colander- an essential sieve for all things nonsense. It is perhaps where most people stop and stall at about 24 and three quarters plus another 25 cents or so. I’m almost 25 and that’s a good quarter- not a bad quarter but not a very shiny one, it’s rusty at best- not rusty like green, rusty like shoe polish and finger nail polish, and that goop that lives in the bottom of cup holders. My money’s still good it just don’t shine like it used to, but I’m thinking that’s more authentic anyways. All my nonsensical wants to flood those flood gates down to the ding damn ground, I believe I was meant to spend a life running ‘cuz I never seem to get tired, unless I sit, then I get stuck. I get stuck like a stick of gum all up in the mop of a four year old- there just ‘aint enough peanut butter for that kind of stick. The only antisticky that can unstuck that much stick is running itself. It’s running down highland faster than I can hope to birdog after. So I gotta fold I gotta fold, I gotta control, alt, and then delete it, and I gotta do all those tandemish and pdq like. 

There’s a spot in the human head that fakes it- though fakin’ it ‘aint so bad. It’s a place that drinks bubbly and acts all civilized. There’s a place in this head that doesn’t mind the thought of soft and safe, but leaves door open instead (an actual door, not the kind in the head). That door keeps swinging open, and mud tracks in, and it tracks back out, and the crazies start comin’ out but I won’t go back on the ajar decision- It can jar all it wants, those crazies are about the same crazy that goes on in my jar anyways, so I’m gonna keep that “A” tacked on to the jar, and ajar will save the world cuz it keeps us from keeping ourselves in jars. 

There’s a human head that finds a parking spot- a spot that’s parallel- not ‘cuz its easy but ‘cuz it ‘aint in bulk. A head can sit in that spot, hell, it could live there. It could sit for so long that roots reach down and stuck themselves, twist and knot, and ‘aint no peanut butter of any brand, of any type or grams of salt is gonna unstuck it. So that human head home makes, and sets up house, and files address, and gets cozy. Cozy in a jacket that meant for runnin’ but used for sittin’. Sittin’ in a jeep machine thats meant for roadin’ but used for parkin’. There’s a head that looks in a rear view reflective rock and lets a strap that’s meant for safin’ start huggin’- cuz that jacket all tandem with the safe belt makes it feel like one. And that head just lets a safe belt and a pakra in parking spot keep huggin’ that human head that’s parked all parallel, ‘cuz it don’t get more ajar than that. 

Outside somewhere a paper coffee cup kisses wind and whistles- ‘cuz it wants to be a Boylan bottle, and it wants a washboard and spoon to play pretty with- and when they get big, they can add a nose specialist for rhythm. And when they sound all that they can sound and they go their ways- sniffin’ and drinkin’ and washin’ and slurpin’- they’ll go parking somewhere with the cool aunt of somebody’s family and dress up green, red, yellow, and mint. But she’ll leave the door ajar and wont mind if they get caught, ‘cuz the cool aunt is born with a door or two open, broken even, but never gave a flip to call for repair. The cool aunt human head jacknifes out of the womb cuz she couldn’t stand the thought of complacency- of letting life happen to her- of being born- she had to do the birthing herself- so she “borned” and gave birth to a new verb, all in a 24 hours. And an hour later- it was 25, and everybody “borned” by then- and no one thought twice of it. And when they went parkin’ it was like a magnet to the bed, and everything went hot, 

Now when people go parkin’ they worry about other things than the damn door and its hinges. When I lived in Texas I developed a palette for heat- something  I’ve since lost to two winters in a row. But these days I feel so hot, too hot. I feel so hot it makes me also sick. Fever will take you down but at least it lets you know when something is wrong. Like a magnet to a bed, a soaked rung rag- everything went hot and baby food green- my teeth dried out and flaked, my gums got thirsty - even my eyelids were hot-like metal sugar holder doors crankin’ open jello mold eyes. Five feet one of wood, and two lumps of cole.

I just filed my papers for free gettin’. I’ll be the talk of the town, Ill stop traffic, people will want to but won’t touch me with a ten foot pole. They’ll look at me with their chins instead of their eyes and throw tomatos while they eat grenades- and I’ll snack on wrenches in trenches on those days- a delicacy. Some heads will always need parkin’, but some lives need a lick.

Two months ‘till 25.

J

There aren’t enough picture on the blog as of late. Here is a cereal box I made :) 

nom nom.

J

 Damn you Aldous Huxley. The man incepted me with a splinter of an idea, that “Maybe this world is another planet’s hell.” And I can see how someone could very easily believe that- and in my darker, most defeated moments in what little living that I have done- I have to say I’ve have wondered If he wasn’t on to something. If I’m being dead honest with myself and with everyone- I have to acknowledge the human tragedies that are constant at work. For as much food that’s been put on my plate without want for more- and for how few moments in my life I have ever actually had to think about surviving another day- the reality of other’s human realities more dire than mine invades my consciousness and assaults it with a potent cocktail of guilt, helplessness, and sadness- perhaps in that order. 

Maybe this is why I hate so much discussing politics- because at the thought of all that I cannot at this very moment remedy- and may very well never be able to remedy- and must listen to others try and remedy to no avail- a mighty whelm takes over and presto:

I. am. chicken shit. 

I’m not particularly proud of it- but I know that I trend like a clam with its trap shut when faced with an opportunity to snap it open and blab anything religion-like, sexish, or politicy. (not entirely true but two out of three ain’t bad) Still, you are born with the right to an opinion, and If you’re smart, you die with many- If you’re smarter still- from those opinions you collect- you’ve had the good sense to contradict yourself. The smartest thing you can ever say  is “I don’t know.” If you’ve ever changed your mind- you’ve done well for yourself, gold star, you win life. The most valuable thing you can ever do, is listen. Every once in a while- without judgement, or fear of loss, shut your exhaust pipe and open up the gas tanks on either side of that jeep you call a noggin’- and drink. Drink up what everyone else is exhausting out. We are each others dead give away clues and most valuable assets in problem solving-each an ambassador for a population 1. No one will ever know the world the very specific and intimate way that you do- and you will never fully understand the way anyone else understands the world.

Thank god for diversity. Blow the high heavens a kiss-Shiva needs an award- pat Allah on the back- SOMEBODY needs a raise for thinking of diversity. Without somebody we’re nobody. This makes me think of an anecdote my professor used to refer to for comfort. He suggested the idea that all world religions are feeling around blindly for the same huge unknown that is “God”. If God is an elephant- a Bhuddist extends a hand and finds that God is a big floppy ear- though a Muslim may tell you God is a trunk- well all know Christians favor the ass and I have found God to be eyeballish at best-but really, God is just a loaded word for a giant animals various body parts. I believe In Elephant. Elephant for president. Whatever part of a giant mammal you’re fondling take comfort in the fact that you are correct in your assumptions. Also minding the other elephant fondlers in your pursuit is much appreciated- we’re all just tryin’ to grab a piece of a mammoth here. A lifespan is so brief- the best I can think to do is fix what’s in front of me, grab whatever part of the elephant is in front of me. Whatever anyone finds their position relative to the elephant to be-we all thankfully start and end in the same place- with an opinion. 

Another reason I don’t discuss politics is that I’m both hot and hard headed. It’s sort of in my nature to shove a battering ram through metaphysical problems- It’s not very sophisticated but at least it’s honest. Though I have found this to be beneficial to me in many cases- one or more of my feet have been shot. I’ve been hasty with decisions and words at times, leaving me with some amount of guilt. Once while expressing remorse for my mode of operandi-ing - my good and wise friend Christo (all nbd and nonchalant) remarked that “sometimes- what the world needs is people who solve problems like you, and sometimes it needs strategists” 

I’ll admit I’ve battled this quarter with the idea that Advertising won’t save the world. I’ve worried that If I never cure cancer or develop an Iphone that my life will somehow have been worth less than other lives- that perhaps my talents could and should be directed somewhere more useful. But somedays what the world needs is a good doctor- and somedays the world needs a snow shoveler-sometimes it wants  a politician, or a janitor, or a daughter, or ski bum or sister. And some, particularly good days- the world wants nothing more than a damn good designer.

Every fall at the first big drop in Fahrenheit, my mind wanders to the guy or girl sleeping out in it. I know I’m miserable without a jacket- someone somewhere must really not be able to stand it. I get in my bed at night and lay flat and think about someone on a park bench somewhere- waking up every 30 minutes to readjust. I clean my teeth with a seemingly insignificant 5 inch piece of plastic and bristle that probably cost less than what I spent on lunch to produce -and what some people would trade their lunch to have. It is very difficult not to take anything for granted but I like to think that it crosses my mind more than often. 

I’m already knee deep in life and from what I hear it only gets faster from here on out. I have personal beef with the idea of life standing me up- and I intend to show up at it’s house instead. I want my moments in an instant- and I want them fuller that they’re given to me. I find myself stopping to looking around a lot more these days. I find myself throwing up thanks for very small things right in front of me. I find myself replaying the previous 5 minutes in my head in slow motion like an old home movie reel- and wondering- and hoping- if my life will have been worth something to someone. All I want is everything. 

It is hard for me to think of this world as another’s hell when everyone seem’s so hell bent on saving each other from it. It is hard for me to imagine that things like 70 degree weather, boys with glasses, and sushi would run rampant in place that is dying. If we were already there- then so many people wouldn’t be trying so hard to evade it. I don’t buy the idea that a world where we can still understand and be understood is hellish. The world gets cold but It’s not dead yet- and besides, you have me and I have you, and we have Nutella.    -J

            I’ve been finding it’s a little tricky switching gears between design concepts and headlines during the week.  I have been trying to solve this by designating certain places for certain types of class work. For Headlines I have designated San Francisco Coffee on highland (original I know- writer in a coffee shop) I love this coffee shop- the coffee is steamin’, the baristas gleamin’ and the music tasteful. Love is not enough-the Internet here sucks. First of all you have to buy something to get it to work- which is not really an unreasonable request- but then It’s glitchy. My access code doesn’t work and no one who works here seems at all too concerned about it. This woman’s idea of “handling the situation” is “oh yeah- it gets glitchy- just keep trying” (cricket…cricket…)

            Ever the pragmatist- I take this as a sign from God. God must not want me to work on my homework- and who am I to argue with God? But I’m still here- with my notebook- and my cute little cappuccino just ‘a burnin’ a hole in my marble side table. I even wore my most writery looking digs for this hipster session! How anticlimactic. I feel a bit like a teenage virgin- All eager beaver and micro managed down to the Walmart candles and out-of-town parents- only to discover… no boner. No Internet.  I don’t have the internet- but people got along just fiiinnneee well before the internet- (right?) and what did people do before the Internet you ask?

They organized.

            So I organized. I cleaned out my flash drive and my desktop and that weird little untitled creepy uncle of a file- full of screen shots and stolen tumblr jpgs that I keep in the bottom left corner of the desktop (away form all the good and natural files). It sort of feels like I lost weight- you know what I’m talkin’ about.

            I’m getting away from myself- the point is- In all my organizational glory I ran across my application Essay for the creative circus and very much, well, identified with myself. I suppose It should come as no surprise that the advice you give yourself retroactively is the most useful to you. It put things in perspective- It got me thinking why I wanted to come here in the first place- It reminded me of me before advertising- and It felt damn good. Sometimes you just have to take a deep breath- step back, and realize that at the end of the day, despite all your plans for world domination, partner drama, moments of triumph and of great failure- It’s just a fuckin’ ad. And more importantly- It’s just a fuckin’ job…. A fuckin’ fantastic job- An amazingly innovative exciting relevant pick-you-up-out-of-the-muck-of-life kind of job…but a job nonetheless. You are still you regardless of a paycheck, the entire adobe suite, fame, fortune, or all the caffeine in the world.  Life cannot begin and end in a portion of it- thank god. Go back and read yours- I’m interested to see if you guys find it as useful as I did.  “There is no end. There is not beginning. There is only the passion of life.” – Frederico Fellini

Jessy Cole

Art Direction

July 6, 2009

Circus,

            In what ways will I participate and contribute to my own education in order to have success? It seems an obvious answer, that is, do the work. But the more I think on what life at the Creative Circus will likely be, I know that answer alone is incredibly finite. Naturally, I don’t expect to gain success as a student by not doing any work, but I’m also aware more than ever that success requires much more that completion. Its funny, I’m just now realizing that my answer to this question is essentially the single most important thing I took from my undergraduate education.

            My answer then, is this: It is not enough to be passionate. There was a time I thought that if everything wasn’t working out the way I wanted it to, or if it didn’t feel natural that I was doing something wrong. On the contrary, I’ve learned this is often indicative of just the opposite. To have conflict means you’re doing something right because to be conflicted is to change. Difficulty breeds growth, to suffer is noble I say! Dramatics aside, I believe the most important part of educating yourself is to realize that you are uneducated. What I mean by this simply is that we must always be aware of our own ignorance and weaknesses.

            I plan to make myself successful because I plan to seek out and perfect what I don’t already do well. If there is anything most eye opening that I have learned from spending four years fluttering in and out of feeling like the next big thing and the biggest failure simultaneously it is this: Failure is the biggest part of success, and in that depth of failure you must have enough faith and confidence in your own ability to get up and improve. I am no stranger to staying up late nights finishing projects, I’ve never cried when verbally abused in critique, and I have a good amount of humor to speak of. I know I’ll always be trying new things creatively; this is just one way of benefiting from that desire. As a student I promise to turn in projects I’m proud of, to have fun doing it, and I promise I’ll fail.

Here’s to us,

Jessy

The Internet just came on, 

J

I think I have one of those faces- the kind that makes random strangers feel compelled to do one of two things: point and laugh or shout random insight. I may be biased but I swear this happens to me more than your average gal. And without further adieu…strange things strangers have said to me in the last few weeks:

#1. Another Kroger encounter of the bizarre kind- whilst perusing the frozen food section (the healthy one not the Stouffer’s one) A man stomping past me makes a pit stop at my left ear and delivers a speedy…

“CAN I ASK YOU SUMTHIN!?” 

“(blink blink) totes.”

“WHERE DO YOU GET YOUR INFORMATION?!”

“my information sir?”

“YEA! YOUR INFORMATION!”

“…..the internet I suppose”

“DON’T YOU EVER LISTEN TO YOURSELF!??? YOU’RE THE MOST TRUE SOURCE!”

“…absolutely sir- everyone should check with themselves when it comes down to it- I suppose- you’re the most important opinion…”

“oh. really? you’re the only person that’s said that (walks away)”

I don’t think I provided him the opposition he had hoped for- welp, ya can’t please everyone.

#2. Doc Christo and I took a quick trip to Asheville over the break- It was GAWGEOUS- really. I wore my combat boots because- everyone should wear combat boots to the mountains I believe. This turned out to be a very good decision for a couple reasons: utility and diplomacy. While waltzing merrily down the street:

random ambiguously homeless person: ” THANKS FOR STEPPIN’ ON THE FUCKIN’ FLOWERS!!”

stunned and immediately concerned that I had decapitated some poor man’s sidewalk garden- I slowly glance over my shoulder 

“oh. sorry?”

His grimace quickly curls to a howdy neighbor grin- “hey, nice boots!”

“thanks!”

Keen fashion choices disarm the hostile once again!

Style will save the world.

There were no flowers- still not sure if he was homeless or not.

#3. I visited my sister in Millidgeville recently. On the drive out we took a quick ceremonial french fry stop at Chic-fil-a if only to bond over the Polynesian and Squeezy ketchups. Just as we gesture to leave, an old- and I mean OLD man in polo and corduroy pauses very naturally at our table and pauses just a little too long to feel natural before speaking-

old guy: “can I ask you girls a question?”

(my sister and I glance at each other and back at him simultaneously)                together: “yessss?”

old guy: “how does it feel to be beautiful?”

(our answers overlap each other) my sister: “awwww thank you” me: “IT FEELS GREAT!”

The events and people here are real. I hope strange keeps happening.

IT FEELS GREAT!

j