Tag Archives: foundations

Melanie.Kristy Foundations (1)

Hey! I’m Melanie. I’m a writer, a reader and a blogger (melaniekristy.com). I’m a future librarian, a collector of neat ideas and an adventurer aching to get out and adventure. I’ve been thinking a lot about what my foundation is, what I’ve been built on and there are a few things that come to mind. I was built on the hard earth of a sleepy farmers town, hidden in a world of cranberries and bike rides. My personality was shaped from imaginary friends, real life conspirers and a steady family. I’ve always been a believer in make believe, off beat when everyone else wanted to be in tune. Since 2nd grade when I was introduced to story writing and computers (with bright green words etched into a dark green computer screen) I’ve wanted to write. My biggest muses since then have been music, fiction and people.

When I think about foundation, however, my first thoughts stray toward roots and where you are and where you’re from and being stuck somewhere you don’t want to be, or settling deep inside the cracks of good enough and complacent and living there forever. So that’s what inspired this poem:

Don’t Settle

Sometimes I think
about growing roots
right there I stand
anchored to this flesh
of dirt and leaves

The vines expand
in every direction
the leaves grasp
at skin and bone
my toes ache
digging into frozen earth

It’s time to remember
this is where you built
But this isn’t your place
this isn’t your time
your space
your town

Exhale out through cracks
in heavy setting cement
Shake it up
Quake the ground
Startle roots
Move along

And rebuild elsewhere

* For some reason some things I am terrible at being on time at. Being part of this project is also an exercise on being accountable, because my blog is as sporadic as it can be and there are other aspects of my life that I somehow forget, put off or just pile into a big mess.


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LT. Week One: Foundations


Take a petal from the middle

Pile it on top

Dust from a rose

Pads softly

Dug up under ground

Nuzzle into


Mountains out of molehills

Bricks out of blood

Mortared with binding scars

Relatable pain

Recognizable terror

Carpe Diem, Darling

New beginnings

Start up

Every day

Natural Matte-Finish

Foundation concealing

Powder pebbles

Cover the blemishes of mind

The dark circles of time

Hiding secrets

Crumbling past

Oozing sadness

Weeping creases







Dancing shoes

Scrape away the heel, that boney ridge, a weakness, raw

Stomp the floor, the ground, the earth

The stage

Shake the boards, rattle the plates, the


To the core


Slippery sweaty joints

The cats come out to swing and play

Crossing the line

To some other time

Beyond the foundation of the mind

If they could talk

What would they say?

The tremors of the earth

The crumbling, crashing rock?

The grounding purr of two cats

One found

One got

The centering space

Hunger for a new place

Foundations and friends

A support group

Circular rock

United by glitter and page

Webs of love and magic

And a literary Faery Queen


Three became four

The guys and the girls

This is my rock

This is my home

My place

This wreckage space

Rising sunshine

Falling walls

Avalanche of bloody stone

Belly of the earth

Tight and clenched

Breathing through volcano lungs

Burnt and croaking throat

Swollen glands

Oceans dry

Morph into rainbow sand

Full of potential

Ripe with decay

Everything is shifting shape


Out of time


Spinning ride

Reality can be a nauseating place

Books and dreams

Imaginary scenes

Crossing through insanity


And I don’t feel like me

I forget

I forget to write and let go

Not as brave as the others

I am messy and incomplete.

I am scattered and procrastinated.

The ground plan

The blue print

The rough sketch

Slipped from the surface of the desk

Fallen, long ago, behind the shelf

Dusty, forgotten

Waiting to be found

Roll me out,

Flat across the table

Start fresh

Fresh feeling

Pencil drawn

Errors meticulously erased so every mark is sharp and clear

Gather ye rosebuds

And let stabbing thorns fall away

Unclench the fist, letting go of petals crushed

Forgetting withered and ancient sorrow


Like an earthquake

Purge those hardened places



Wrapped in cotton

Smells like tar and hospital

Medicine could not heal those gaps

No cure for those cracks

In the foundation of his hand

Take a block from the bottom and put it on top

Build up


What has fallen off the kitchen table.


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Our lives are made of strata
One year rests on top of the other


by | January 7, 2013 · 9:54 am

New Year’s Shuffle

I have this weird little tradition that I started back in 2008. On New Year’s Day, I like to take a quiet moment and sit down with my iphone, hit shuffle, and take note of the first few songs that grace my ears each year. So, here is my own randomized New Year’s Mix for 2013:


And that’s also my first mixed-media piece of the year. What does it have to do with Foundations? Well, I think music is the foundations for most of my friendships. I’m a real music junkie and I actively seek out others that share my passion. We don’t even have to like the same kind of music (I married a metalhead, but honestly I’m not much of a headbanger, give me some Belle and Sebastian, please), but I can appreciate anyone’s musical obsessions. Make me a mixed tape and we’ll be bff’s for life.


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Week 01, Foundation


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by | January 7, 2013 · 3:54 am

jessa’s [sic] foundations.

hello everyone,

I’m Jessa Marie Mendez, and I am thrilled to be a part of the Kindred Collective! Bios are so hard for me, I tend to have that “what the fuck do people want to know about me?” moment, you know? Do I go quirky, or do I write just the facts. I don’t know. I sometimes refer to myself as [sic]. I am a freelance journalist and writer; my literary heroes are Francesca Lia Block, Junot Diaz, Sylvia Plath, Mark Z. Danielewski, Neil Gaiman, Charles Baudelaire, Stephen King and many, many more. I have an awesome blog of awesomeness, aptly titled jessa is somewhat damaged. One of my stories is in the Love Magick Anthology, edited by Francesca Lia Block.

My foundation is a concrete slab with bones buried within. It has poufy hearts with initials of past lovers etched on its surface and cracks from earthquakes and other assorted natural disasters. There’s gum matted to the curb. My foundation supports many buildings, depending on where you are on the block: a massive skyscraper; a little vintage boutique with antique brooches and two dollar cigarette pants; a bakery with vegan cookies and sweet cupcakes; a library with zines and fashion magazines from all over the world and tons of books with yellowed pages and cracked spines; an abandoned factory building where artists house secret performances.

Spooky, by the way, drew a tarot card for me on New Year’s Day: The Ten of Pentacles. Apparently, this card stands for passing down family traditions. Two days after Spooky drew this card, I received a video of my father singing. My father died when I was a small child; I had no memory of his voice. (I maintain that Spooky is a witch!) I cannot post it here because it just feels too sacred. I did write a poem about it, though, and I can think of no better expression of foundation than describing the beauty of his voice.

el voz
like honey
like wine
bitter and sweet
truths emerge from the hollow of your throat
like butterflies
in your sweet song
i hear the cries of my sisters being born
i hear the sighs of separation
i hear every “i love you”
slashed away by a cruel hand
there is no strain,
only pain
only love
only regret
only wishes
my heart swells
a big red balloon
ready to burst and bleed
your voice is not merely musical
it is music
the genesis of every sound that has ever filled my ears
the measure by which every other song shall now be compared
from my mouth emerges the first strangled cry of birth.



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Aurora: Lost and Foundation

House foundations are made from concrete and rebar. My foundation is made from paper pulp and ink. Sunny days spent indoors, shelves alphabetized, eating and drinking whatever the characters I’m reading eat. I like it when they drink tea, imagining I sip when they sip. There is no one better to break bread with than your best book friends. My BBFs are loyal. They stuck with me through high school, college, two grad programs, a move to New York and then back home to Los Angeles. They were there when I needed company in heartache, by my side in the hospital bed after a particularly nasty car accident, joyfully nestled in my purse on dates and interviews, and bravely in my hand above treacherous bath waters. My BBFs are so accepting, they never judge; I mean they’ve been there, done that, behaved poorly. My BBFs are brilliant, to boot.  I always learn something when we’re together. (My favorite is when they teach me a new word.) You may think me misanthropic, finding my besties in books, but you’d be wrong. After all, people write books. 


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Jennifer, here. Spooky asked us to write about our foundations, how we grew as artists from them. When I think of art (lowercase a, uppercase A, whatever the case) I think of all forms of making and creative expression, not just the traditional forms: pen, paper, paint, canvas, voice, instrument. Building something from nothing and caring about it is art in my book. But nothing comes from nothing, so if I were to define my foundations, poverty, language, stardust, and alchemy would all be keynote speakers.

I’ll explain.

Poverty (or “creativity is the opposite of despair)
The less you have, the more you need to create or escape. Luckily, I was inclined to reading at a very early age so I found my escapism in books. Most people I knew found their release in more self-destructive methods,this is something I am only now beginning to understand and appreciate. Not to sound like an after school special here, but I firmly believe that the worlds I was able to travel to through reading kept me pretty grounded and hopeful.  There are tons of books that helped shape me but the two I carry with me still are Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder and Weetzie Bat by Francesca Lia Block.

And let’s not forget that the more you know how to make the less you have to do without. Enter learning how to: sew/alter/mend my own clothes/bags/purses, bake and cook from scratch, cut my own hair, etc. (My Laura and Weetzie influences emerged strongly here.)

Am I saying you have to have been poor to learn these things? No. But expressing yourself is harder with limited resources, and poverty taught me there are two essential choices: create or die.

Language (“The real secret of magic is that the world is made of words”)
Words cannot express my love for words. Talk about creating with limited resources. 26 letters. I like the sounds they make, the forms they take in print and design, the images they conjure, the neurotransmitters they connect and excite. I love linguistics and morphology. Plus, writing was the form of art that cost the least amount of money, and I clung to it to get toxic thoughts out of me and to create all new realities on the cheap.

Star dust (“We are all star dust.”)
My favorite one! When I was in kindergarten someone asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I replied, “a star.”  The elation and fascination to find out a few years later that I already was one. This may sound trite, but come on! We are made from exploding stars and we are all one and that is awesome (“something which inspires awe”). This has since inspired me to search for  the connections in seemingly unrelated things, to connect-the-dots so to say. Essentially, that is what I am doing when reading or writing.


All this transformation. Stars to dust to people to reality to words and back.

Talk about Alchemy!
(“The true alchemists do not change lead into gold; they change the world into words.”)

I hope to contribute to each theme with a written piece along with a mixed-media piece, written piece at the beginning of the week and mixed-media at the end. I look forward to connecting more dots with The Kindred Collective!

x- jenn


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It gives me thrills to wind you up…

I’ll never understand why some people seem to thrive on this sort of situation. Personally, I don’t enjoy drama, especially not in relationships.

But I am envious of her fabulous collection of vintage dresses.

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Week 1: Foundations – From rubble and ruin, we must rebuild ourselves to withstand the next great test of our strength.

Hi, I am Travis(T-Rav) Thorne A.K.A. EnigmA Jade Sky. I am a professional performance artist working out of St Louis, Missouri. I also make art from recycled plastics, circuitry, gears, motors, gears, bones, twine, glass, stone, etc…using a wide variety of tools and techniques. My drawings, and writings(sometimes shorts, or rants, but generally poetry/lyrics) tend to be my most private works, and tend to be very dark in nature…so when/if I share them, please keep criticism constructive. I found it best to start off this project with a simple introduction…sharing with you who do not yet know me where my art comes from, my roots…..my foundation.

I, The fifth birthed by the lofty loins of a mother looking to love one more child before her womb no longer bore fruit, came to be. Born into a family larger than it’s own means of support, I came into this world knowing love over money, and honesty over appearance. This abundance of love and understanding, however, was rarely shown to me outside of my family, and I quickly grew aware of how cold and cruel the outside world can really be. Teased, and beaten over sexual, and social identifiers that I myself was not yet even aware applied to me, I was often an unhappy person. As puberty made clumsy my entire body, the weapons of my tormentors gained strength, and ammunition…and as the beatings got worse, I turned to excessive drug use, and self mutilation for company.

I became a very bitter, and un-trusting person, seemingly making waste of the love i was born into. I took refuge in the acceptance of the outcasts, and the bonds I forged with them forever changed my life. These new friends not only allowed, but encouraged me to identify myself…to find and share my own voice. The voice I found was thunderous in volume. I shouted from every rooftop how proud I was to be the person I had found within myself, and made no apologies for it, which came at no small cost. By this time in my life, my eccentricities had caught the attention of educators and local lawmen. I was doomed from that point on. If my family name weren’t enough, then my appearance, and general lack of concern for complacency was certainly enough to make target me for uneven distribution of heavy-handed punishments.

Eventually I became much too much to tolerate in the eyes of those officials, and was dejected from my hometown…..being blessed with the choice of move to the big city or move to the big house, I took my eccentricities elsewhere. The hurried life of the city was the best thing I had ever experienced. The people here relished in my aberration, and encouraged me to explore and expressed myself through art in all it’s many forms, creating a sense of peace within myself I never thought possible.

All the aforementioned combined is the foundation of who I am now. I hold no regrets. All of this helped form the person I am today, and combined with the experiences of tomorrow, it will continue to mold the person I will be the day after.


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